Abdi Akgun, in Lindenhurst, NY on November 09, 2009. Akgun joined the Marines in August of 2000. As a Muslim who abhorred terrorism, the attacks of Sept. 11 only steeled his resolve. But two years later, when Akgun was deployed to Iraq, the thought of con
Abdi Akgun joined the Marines in August of 2000, fresh out of high school and eager to serve his country. As a Muslim, the attacks of Sept. 11 only steeled his resolve to fight terrorism.
But two years later, when Akgun was deployed to Iraq with the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit, the thought of confronting Muslims in battle gave him pause. He was haunted by the possibility that he might end up killing innocent civilians and was relieved when nothing of the sort came to pass.
"It's kind of like the Civil War, where brothers fought each other across the Mason-Dixon line," Akgun, 28, of Lindenhurst, N.Y., who returned from Iraq without ever firing in combat. "I don't want to stain my faith, I don't want to stain my fellow Muslims and I also don't want to stain my country's flag."
Thousands of Muslims have served in the U.S. military - a legacy that some trace to the First World War. But in the years since Sept. 11, 2001, as the United States has become mired in two wars on Muslim lands, the service of Muslim-Americans has become more necessary and more complicated than ever before.
Since the shooting rampage at Fort Hood on Thursday, in which Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan of the Army, a psychiatrist who is accused of killing 13 people, many Muslim soldiers and their commanders say they fear that the relationship between the military and Muslim service members will only grow more difficult.
On Sunday, the Army's chief of staff, Gen. George W. Casey Jr., said he worried about a backlash against Muslims in the armed forces and took pains to emphasize the military's reliance on those men and women.
"Our diversity, not only in our Army but in our country, is a strength," Casey said Sunday in an interview on NBC's "Meet the Press." "And as horrific as this tragedy was, if our diversity becomes a casualty, I think that's worse."
It is unclear what might have motivated Hasan. Senior military and law enforcement officials said they had tentatively dismissed the possibility that he was carrying out a terrorist plot. He seems to have been influenced by a mixture of political, religious and personal factors, the officials said.
Muslim leaders, advocates and military service members have taken pains to denounce the shooting and distance themselves from Hasan. They make the point that his violence is no more representative of them than it is of other groups to which he belongs, including Army psychiatrists.
"I don't understand why the Muslim American community has to take responsibility for him," said Ingrid Mattson, the president of the Islamic Society of North America. "The Army has had at least as much time and opportunity to form and shape this person as the Muslim community."
That sentiment was echoed by Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., who told "Face the Nation" on CBS that the shooting was "not about his religion - the fact that this man was a Muslim."
Hours later, Sen. Joseph I. Lieberman, I-Conn., announced he would hold congressional hearings on whether Hassan's actions constituted terrorism.
Whatever his motives, the emerging portrait of Hasan's life in the military casts light on some of the struggles and frustrations felt by other Muslims in the services. He was disillusioned with the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, which he perceived to be part of a war on Islam, according to interviews with friends and relatives.
He had been the subject of taunts and felt singled out by his fellow soldiers for being Muslim, according to interviews with friends and relatives. His uncle in Ramallah, West Bank, Rafik Hamad, said that some of Hasan's fellow soldiers had once called him a "camel jockey."
That term, like "haaji" and "raghead," has become a more common part of the lexicon common among soldiers on the frontlines of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, several Muslim servicemen said in interviews. They spoke about the epithets philosophically, saying they understood that using them was a survival tactic to dehumanize the enemy.
But for Muslim soldiers, particularly those who speak Arabic, the struggle to distance themselves from those they fight has often proved more difficult in these wars.
Amjad Khan, who served in the Army for eight years and was deployed to Iraq, said he tried to get used to the way his fellow soldiers talked about Iraqis.
"It gets to you sometimes," said Khan, 32, who is of Pakistani descent and from Queens. "But the more personally you take things, the more you're going to have a hard time surviving."
For Khan, the most difficult part of his wartime service came before he was deployed, when a senior officer found his Islamic faith cause for suspicion. "He said, 'I have to watch my back because you might go nuts,'" Khan recalled.
Since Sept. 11, the nation's military has recruited Muslim-Americans, eager to enlist people with linguistic skills and a cultural understanding of the Middle East. There are 3,557 military personnel who identify themselves as Muslim among 1.4 million people in the active-duty population, according to official figures. Muslim advocacy groups estimate the number of Muslim service men and women to be far higher, as listing one's religious preference is voluntary.
Many Muslims are drawn to the military for the same reasons as other recruits. In interviews, they cited their patriotism, their search for discipline and their dreams of attending college. Some Muslims said they had also enlisted in part to win new respect in a country where people of their faith have often struggled for acceptance.
But if military service has brought approval among non-Muslims, it has sometimes invited a markedly different response among Muslims.
In the South Asian and Arab immigrant communities where the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are deeply unpopular, many Muslim military members have often felt criticized for their service, and even seen as traitors, Muslim chaplains, military members, veterans advocates and others said in interviews.
Some return exhausted and traumatized from their tours, only to hear at the mosque that they are going to hell for "killing Muslims," said Qaseem A. Uqdah, the executive director of the American Muslim Armed Forces and Veterans Affairs Council.
"Imagine you are 20 years old and you hear you're going to purgatory," Uqdah said, adding that Muslim groups must work harder to help their veterans cope with coming home. "We are failing as a community here in America."
During the first gulf war, Muslim scholars in the United States debated whether members of their faith could engage in combat in a Muslim country on behalf of the U.S. military. The consensus was yes, provided the conflict met the Islamic standard of a "just war."
"In the Quran it says that war is to end the state of oppression and to uplift the oppressed," said Khaled Abou El Fadl, a professor at the UCLA School of Law.
It has been increasingly difficult for Muslims to view the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan as just, as accounts of the mistreatment of civilians, political corruption and scandals like the abuse of prisoners at Abu Ghraib have become the dominant narrative, he said.
"Is it an army that defends the oppressed, or have you slipped into becoming the oppressor?" said El Fadl, who has counseled Muslims who are conflicted about enlisting. "People from the military who contact me - that's what I find they're torn up about."
And yet more than 3,500 Muslims have deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, according to military data obtained by The Times. As of 2006, some 212 Muslim-American soldiers had been awarded Combat Action Ribbons for their service in Iraq and Afghanistan, and seven had been killed, according to military data provided to The Times.
Too many Americans overlook the heroic efforts of Muslims in uniform, said Eric Rahman, 35, an Army reservist who won the bronze star for his service in Iraq at the start of the war. He cited the example of Petty Officer Michael A. Monsoor, a Navy SEAL who won the Medal of Honor after pulling a team member to safety during firefight in 2006, in Ramadi, Iraq.
Monsoor died saving another American, yet he stands little chance of sharing the spotlight given to Hasan, said Rahman.
Muslim and Arab-Americans are crucial to the military's success in Afghanistan and Iraq, he added.
"Take a look at these conflicts," he said. "We need those skill sets, we need those backgrounds, we need those perspectives."
But two years later, when Akgun was deployed to Iraq with the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit, the thought of confronting Muslims in battle gave him pause. He was haunted by the possibility that he might end up killing innocent civilians and was relieved when nothing of the sort came to pass.
"It's kind of like the Civil War, where brothers fought each other across the Mason-Dixon line," Akgun, 28, of Lindenhurst, N.Y., who returned from Iraq without ever firing in combat. "I don't want to stain my faith, I don't want to stain my fellow Muslims and I also don't want to stain my country's flag."
Thousands of Muslims have served in the U.S. military - a legacy that some trace to the First World War. But in the years since Sept. 11, 2001, as the United States has become mired in two wars on Muslim lands, the service of Muslim-Americans has become more necessary and more complicated than ever before.
Since the shooting rampage at Fort Hood on Thursday, in which Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan of the Army, a psychiatrist who is accused of killing 13 people, many Muslim soldiers and their commanders say they fear that the relationship between the military and Muslim service members will only grow more difficult.
On Sunday, the Army's chief of staff, Gen. George W. Casey Jr., said he worried about a backlash against Muslims in the armed forces and took pains to emphasize the military's reliance on those men and women.
"Our diversity, not only in our Army but in our country, is a strength," Casey said Sunday in an interview on NBC's "Meet the Press." "And as horrific as this tragedy was, if our diversity becomes a casualty, I think that's worse."
It is unclear what might have motivated Hasan. Senior military and law enforcement officials said they had tentatively dismissed the possibility that he was carrying out a terrorist plot. He seems to have been influenced by a mixture of political, religious and personal factors, the officials said.
Muslim leaders, advocates and military service members have taken pains to denounce the shooting and distance themselves from Hasan. They make the point that his violence is no more representative of them than it is of other groups to which he belongs, including Army psychiatrists.
"I don't understand why the Muslim American community has to take responsibility for him," said Ingrid Mattson, the president of the Islamic Society of North America. "The Army has had at least as much time and opportunity to form and shape this person as the Muslim community."
That sentiment was echoed by Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., who told "Face the Nation" on CBS that the shooting was "not about his religion - the fact that this man was a Muslim."
Hours later, Sen. Joseph I. Lieberman, I-Conn., announced he would hold congressional hearings on whether Hassan's actions constituted terrorism.
Whatever his motives, the emerging portrait of Hasan's life in the military casts light on some of the struggles and frustrations felt by other Muslims in the services. He was disillusioned with the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, which he perceived to be part of a war on Islam, according to interviews with friends and relatives.
He had been the subject of taunts and felt singled out by his fellow soldiers for being Muslim, according to interviews with friends and relatives. His uncle in Ramallah, West Bank, Rafik Hamad, said that some of Hasan's fellow soldiers had once called him a "camel jockey."
That term, like "haaji" and "raghead," has become a more common part of the lexicon common among soldiers on the frontlines of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, several Muslim servicemen said in interviews. They spoke about the epithets philosophically, saying they understood that using them was a survival tactic to dehumanize the enemy.
But for Muslim soldiers, particularly those who speak Arabic, the struggle to distance themselves from those they fight has often proved more difficult in these wars.
Amjad Khan, who served in the Army for eight years and was deployed to Iraq, said he tried to get used to the way his fellow soldiers talked about Iraqis.
"It gets to you sometimes," said Khan, 32, who is of Pakistani descent and from Queens. "But the more personally you take things, the more you're going to have a hard time surviving."
For Khan, the most difficult part of his wartime service came before he was deployed, when a senior officer found his Islamic faith cause for suspicion. "He said, 'I have to watch my back because you might go nuts,'" Khan recalled.
Since Sept. 11, the nation's military has recruited Muslim-Americans, eager to enlist people with linguistic skills and a cultural understanding of the Middle East. There are 3,557 military personnel who identify themselves as Muslim among 1.4 million people in the active-duty population, according to official figures. Muslim advocacy groups estimate the number of Muslim service men and women to be far higher, as listing one's religious preference is voluntary.
Many Muslims are drawn to the military for the same reasons as other recruits. In interviews, they cited their patriotism, their search for discipline and their dreams of attending college. Some Muslims said they had also enlisted in part to win new respect in a country where people of their faith have often struggled for acceptance.
But if military service has brought approval among non-Muslims, it has sometimes invited a markedly different response among Muslims.
In the South Asian and Arab immigrant communities where the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are deeply unpopular, many Muslim military members have often felt criticized for their service, and even seen as traitors, Muslim chaplains, military members, veterans advocates and others said in interviews.
Some return exhausted and traumatized from their tours, only to hear at the mosque that they are going to hell for "killing Muslims," said Qaseem A. Uqdah, the executive director of the American Muslim Armed Forces and Veterans Affairs Council.
"Imagine you are 20 years old and you hear you're going to purgatory," Uqdah said, adding that Muslim groups must work harder to help their veterans cope with coming home. "We are failing as a community here in America."
During the first gulf war, Muslim scholars in the United States debated whether members of their faith could engage in combat in a Muslim country on behalf of the U.S. military. The consensus was yes, provided the conflict met the Islamic standard of a "just war."
"In the Quran it says that war is to end the state of oppression and to uplift the oppressed," said Khaled Abou El Fadl, a professor at the UCLA School of Law.
It has been increasingly difficult for Muslims to view the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan as just, as accounts of the mistreatment of civilians, political corruption and scandals like the abuse of prisoners at Abu Ghraib have become the dominant narrative, he said.
"Is it an army that defends the oppressed, or have you slipped into becoming the oppressor?" said El Fadl, who has counseled Muslims who are conflicted about enlisting. "People from the military who contact me - that's what I find they're torn up about."
And yet more than 3,500 Muslims have deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, according to military data obtained by The Times. As of 2006, some 212 Muslim-American soldiers had been awarded Combat Action Ribbons for their service in Iraq and Afghanistan, and seven had been killed, according to military data provided to The Times.
Too many Americans overlook the heroic efforts of Muslims in uniform, said Eric Rahman, 35, an Army reservist who won the bronze star for his service in Iraq at the start of the war. He cited the example of Petty Officer Michael A. Monsoor, a Navy SEAL who won the Medal of Honor after pulling a team member to safety during firefight in 2006, in Ramadi, Iraq.
Monsoor died saving another American, yet he stands little chance of sharing the spotlight given to Hasan, said Rahman.
Muslim and Arab-Americans are crucial to the military's success in Afghanistan and Iraq, he added.
"Take a look at these conflicts," he said. "We need those skill sets, we need those backgrounds, we need those perspectives."
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