On the flight to Brussels, most of the new PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) got seats together, but a few of us got randomly placed off on our own. In the latter group, I found myself lucky enough to sit on the aisle, with an empty seat between myself and a middle-aged Turkish man on his way home.
He seemed friendly at first. He had a thick accent that was difficult to understand, especially because he spoke quite softly in a high voice. He asked my about myself, and he told me that he studies tsunamis, and he talked about something else that might have been earthquakes, although all I could hear was "<indistinguishable vowel sound>keeks."
At one point, he asked me what my group was going to do in Africa, so I told him that we were volunteering as teachers in the schools. He said something in response that I couldn't understand, so I asked him to repeat it, and again, and again a fourth and fifth time...finally I lent him a pen so he could write it on the napkin that came with his Coke. "One day you will go to heaven." I said thank you.
His next question: "Are you religious?" Uh oh. I felt that it would be awkward to say no, because that would negate his last compliment, but he seemed friendly enough, so I went for it anyway. No. "Not Muslim? Not Christian?" No. "But why not?" Because I'm just not.
I was halfway through the free mini wine bottle I had gotten when they brought around beverages. The Ukrainian-American PCT from the row ahead of me passed me a bottle of vodka from the duty-free store.
I tried to explain religious freedom, but he didn't buy it. That freedom of religion also includes freedom not to believe in a major religion. "If you do not believe then I can not pray for you. You will not be saved." Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.
I tried to be obvious about reading my book.
"I think that you would make a good Muslim girl." Okay. "Do you read books about religion?" No. "Can I have your address? I will write to you about Islam." No. I don't have a mailing address right now.
The flight attendants brought around dinners. He tried to give me the crackers and the pat of butter that came with his meal. I wasn't that hungry. "If you are Muslim then you can only eat Kosher foods," he said helpfully, as if the prospect of not eating cheese with my meat was going to tempt me. Oh.
At first my Oberlin-acquired political correctness came out full force. I appreciate your trying to save me, and I respect your religion even if I don't believe in it, and maybe someday I will feel the same way as you do, but I don't feel that way right now. Yes, I understand what you're trying to say, but I believe in the things that I believe the same way that you believe in the things you believe. (Was he just pretending not to understand English at that point?) "Do you want to get married someday?" he asked. Probably. "Well, what if the man you wanted to marry told you that he would only marry you if you converted to Islam?" That's opening a whole other can of worms right there. And it won't end well for Islam.
"If you will tell me right now that you want to convert to Islam, I will kiss your hand." Well you better bet you won't hear it in that case.
I understand where his comments were coming from. I'm sure that they would make sense in the context of his own culture. But when applied to a young educated liberal American, they were just hilariously off-target. Maybe what you think is saving someone is, from their perspective, forcing your worldview on an unconsenting recipient.
"I don't want to see you not be saved because you will not believe in Islam. Why do you not believe?" You're not going to change my mind. Please stop talking about it.
The threat of not being saved kind of loses its punch if you don't believe in salvation in the first place. I think that the core of the issue for him was not so much the specific religion necessarily, so much as overall belief in God. What he couldn't understand is that for me, believing in science and logic is as much of a religion for me as Islam is for him. 20 minutes' proselytizing in broken English is not going to convince me that the Koran has a better explanation for the universe than physics. Can you tell me that there is a more beautiful explanation for the afterlife than the particles that were once momentarily part of me, a sentient, pulsing being, moving back into something infinitely bigger and more mysterious?
A group of us congregated by the bathroom door and giggled about it. I wasn't laughing at him. This was the first time anyone had made a serious attempt to get me to get me to change religions. Especially on an airplane.
In the face of a contradictory viewpoint that has no wish to be reconciled, what can you do but shrug and laugh?
He exited the plane looking grave.
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