An Indian man came forward and they said, ‘What is the name of Muhammad’s mother?’ When he couldn’t answer they just shot him,” said Hakim who owes his survival to his last name which sounds like that of a Muslim.
So finally we reach the point of catharsis familiar to the residents of Beirut and Belfast during their sectarian civil wars where the Dhimmī are separated from the Ummah so that they can be culled like the fatted calf.
As a sometime resident of a Muslim country and thereby self-confessed in my dhimmitude it does give me cause for concern. Will I face a Muslim gunman in Queensbay Mall, Penang questioning me on the ancestry of the prophet or simply face a bullet in the back of the head for being an obvious unbeliever? With the red hair and pale skin it is hard to pass as anything else in Malaysia.
For myself, rather than bow down to the oppression of fundamentalist Islam I’d rather take the view that I’m more likely to die falling off my moped riding around Georgetown, so fuck the terrorists and their inquiries into the genealogy of the prophet. If I do win the lottery and end up with a bullet in the back of the head behind Starbucks at least I will have earned it through my defiance of their medieval barbarism.
On a separate note, I’ve just finished binging on seasons 1 and 2 of Homeland and it’s bloody good, I recommend it.