Nigerians In U.S. Stunned By Accused Bomber
When Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab allegedly tried to blow up a Detroit-bound jet on Christmas Day, he put U.S. Muslims in a familiar and uncomfortable place: having to defend themselves and their faith against the actions of what they call a radical minority.
Most in Detroit's more than 200,000-strong Muslim community have taken a stand against the kind of Islamist extremism that apparently turned Abdulmutallab from a pious young man into someone charged with a terrorist act. But there's also a keen awareness that as a Nigerian, Abdulmutallab doesn't fit the stereotypical image of a terrorist. That's a huge concern for Michigan's 10,000-member Nigerian community, particularly the 20 percent of whom are Muslims. Many are anxious not to be perceived as the "new face" of terrorism.
Egerton Abulu, secretary of the Nigerian Foundation of Michigan, says religious extremism is anathema to Nigerian society.
"What that guy did was just an isolated case, very isolated," Abulu says. "Why he did it we don't know. But it is not our nature."
No Sympathy
The All-African market on Detroit's west side is a small store selling West African food staples along with a selection of CDs and DVDs. On a recent evening, Ameeka Sarnati and Ezenua Uwazrike sat behind the counter watching a Nigerian TV show on a laptop computer.
Uwazrike, a teenager who was born and raised in the U.S., says his Nigerian family was horrified when they found out the alleged terrorist was a fellow countryman.
"Everybody just sat down in the living room ... watching the news because nobody would expect a Nigerian person to do that," Uwazrike says.
Sarnati grew up in Nigeria and says he has no sympathy for Abdulmutallab, calling him "a young man of privilege" who was ruining his country's name.
"He was in a better position as a young African man to help out his community," Sarnati says. "All that effort and passion that he had for extremism he could have channeled into other, better things."
It's almost unthinkable, says Sarnati, that a Nigerian could be seduced into religious extremism.
Sarnati's comments reflect sentiments expressed by many in the Nigerian community: that Abdulmutallab, the son of a wealthy and politically connected Nigerian banker, and who was educated abroad, is somehow fundamentally "un-Nigerian."
Many are quick to point to his reported isolation from his family, and they seem to view the Abdulmutallab family with a mixture of disdain and pity: disdain that they could have allowed their son to become an Islamic radical, and pity that the family — and its reputation — may never recover from his actions.
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MICHELE NORRIS, host:
In communities across the U.S., Nigerians are anxiously watching this case. Some of them are Muslim, and they find themselves in a familiar position, defending their faith. Many others worry about the impact on the image of their home country and Nigerians everywhere.
Michigan Radio's Sarah Cwiek has the story.
SARAH CWIEK: Just hours before bombing suspect Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab was scheduled to make his first appearance in a Detroit federal court, a group of local imams gathered to denounce those who practice terrorism in the name of Islam. Joining them was Hebba Aref, who was returning to Detroit on Northwest Flight 253 when Abdulmutallab allegedly tried to set off an explosive device on the plane. Aref says as a Muslim, she doesn't understand Islamic extremists.
Ms. HEBBA AREF: I don't know how they can twist such a wonderful and peaceful religion, turn and do what they do.
CWIEK: Most in Detroit's 200,000-plus strong Muslim community have taken a strong stand against the kind of Islamic extremism that apparently turned Abdulmutallab from a pious young Muslim into someone charged with a terrorist act. But there's also a keen awareness that as a Nigerian, Abdulmutallab doesn't fit the stereotypical image of a terrorist. And that's a huge concern for Michigan's 10,000-member Nigerian community, particularly the 20 percent of whom are Muslims. Many are anxious not to be perceived as the new face of terrorism.
Egerton Abulu is the secretary of the Nigerian Foundation of Michigan. He says religious extremism is anathema to Nigerian society.
Mr. EGERTON ABULU (Secretary, Nigerian Foundation of Michigan): What that guy did was just an isolated case, very isolated. Why he did it, we don't know. But it's isolated. It is not our nature.
CWIEK: The all-African market on Detroit's west side is a small store selling West African food staples along with a selection of CDs and DVDs. On a recent evening, Ameeka Sarnati and Ezenua Uwazrike sat behind the counter, watching a Nigerian TV show on a laptop computer. Uwazrike is a teenager who goes by the initials E.Z. He was born and raised in the U.S., but says his Nigerian family was horrified when they found out the alleged terrorist was a fellow countryman.
Mr. EZENUA UWAZRIKE: They was all in shock. Like, we was all together on Christmas. And that, like, everybody just sat down in the living room, was watching the news, because nobody would expect a Nigerian person to do that.
CWIEK: Ameeka Sarnati grew up in Nigeria and says he has no sympathy for Abdulmutallab. Sarnati calls him a young man of privilege, and says he's ruining his country's name.
Mr. AMEEKA SARNATI: He was in a better position as a young, you know, African man, you know, to help out his community. You know, use all that efforts and, you know, passion that he had for extremism, he could've channeled into other, better things.
CWIEK: Sarnati says it's almost unthinkable that a Nigerian could be seduced into religious extremism. His comments reflect sentiment expressed across much of the U.S. Nigerian community - that Abdulmutallab, the son of a wealthy and politically connected Nigerian banker who was educated abroad, is somehow fundamentally un-Nigerian. They're quick to point out his reported isolation from his family. And they seem to view the Abdulmutallab family with a mixture of disdain and pity - disdain that they could've allowed their son to become an Islamic radical and pity that the family, and its reputation, may never recover from his actions.
For NPR News, I'm Sarah Cwiek in Ann Arbor. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright National Public Radio.
