in the democratic movement in Pakistan during the Martial Law period in the 1960s, but when Bangladesh rose against the Pakistani military crackdown in 1971, due to its active support for a united Pakistan Jamaat was banned in Bangladesh after independence. It was, however, allowed to resume political activities in 1978; when Jamaat became a political force and joined with the country's two main political parties, Awami League (AL) and Bangladesh Nationalist party (BNP), in a coalition against military rule in the 1980s.
I respected the elders of both camps in east London, those who were Jamaat-oriented and those Tablighi-focused. I felt comfortable because they were dedicated individuals with a long-standing record of community service in the management committee, including Sulaiman Jetha (formerly of the Ismaili community) and Haji Taslim Ali, a Bangladeshi philanthropist and keen Tablighi.
In 1978, the better-organized leadership of the Jamaat group formed a community organization in the East End called Dawatul Islam UK & Eire (DI), meaning 'Call to Islam', attracting various Bangladeshi elders as well as some youths. These youth members also formed their own group, the Young Muslim Organization (YMO) in the same year. However, after the first purpose-built structure of the East London Mosque was completed in 1985, and the mosque began to gain influence and stature within the local community, tensions began to grow within the DI leadership over who would run the mosque. Having finished my PhD, I also got involved in the ELM as well as DI in the late 1980s.
It was painful to see the misunderstandings and recriminations arise, and I joined in the efforts of a few professionals to try and heal these rifts – but to no avail. During much of 1987, others within the wider Muslim community made attempts to sort out the differences, but could not make any headway. The recriminations were becoming embarrassingly public, and eventually the YMO decided enough was enough and withdrew their support from Dawatul Islam. Well-connected with many youth leaders in Tower Hamlets' Bangladeshi community, they attempted to bring in changes to the composition of the ELM's management.
Meanwhile, some British-Bangladeshi professionals both within and outside DI, including some former members of the YMO leadership, felt it was time to build a professional network in the UK and across several other European countries to concentrate on future generations of the Bangladeshi diaspora. I was very unhappy with the nature of community politics from those with supposedly Islamic leanings. I wanted to contribute to the professional class of the Bangladeshi diaspora and their future generations. So I became involved in this process from the beginning, working with a few dozen like-minded people, and in March 1988 we formed an organization called the Islamic Forum Europe (IFE). The YMO became a partner organization of the IFE and I was elected its first president. Its main objective was to bring together Bangladeshi professionals settled in various UK cities and universities, as well as those who were newly arriving in Britain and other European countries, to harness the talents of professionals in order to build the community's capacity. We received support from an influential office bearer at the East London Mosque during the 1980s, Chowdhury Mueen-Uddin, although he was not part of the IFE leadership.
A natural link grew between the ELM, the IFE and the YMO. In Tower Hamlets' close-knit Bangladeshi community, where almost everyone knew one another, the three organizations shared volunteering responsibilities. This cooperation created a synergy later on, towards the end of 1990s, and helped the ELM grow immensely. I remained IFE's president during its early years, it was an exciting period of growth, and all membership and council positions were voluntary. There was a small executive body, with a few designated volunteers, to organize a database of supporters and put together occasional events in major cities with a Bangladeshi presence. I would use some weekends and evenings to meet relevant people and plan for the IFE's future, as well as spend time with young people and occasionally their families. The IFE's initial goals were simple: to harness the contribution of expatriate Bangladeshi professionals and improve the educational and socio-economic conditions of the Bangladeshi community in Britain, and in other European countries. For me, it was an ambitious collective effort to add what we had already been informally doing in the East End on a very limited scale since 1983 (with the mosque's more talented youth members).
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In the summer of 1989, during Rima's school holiday, Sayeda and I decided to perform Hajj (the main Muslim pilgrimage to Makkah). We were both excited with the thought that we would be God's guests. Every able-bodied and financially solvent Muslim needs to undertake this spiritual as well as physical journey once in his or her life, to fulfil religious obligations and also to use the time in the holy places for deep personal reflection and introspection. In our case, the main stumbling block was where to leave our two young children, Rima and Raiyan, for two weeks. There were a few offers from close friends, but eventually we were assured by one nearby, and with full reliance on God we left the children in their house and took a flight from Heathrow.
Hajj, the fifth pillar of Islam, is the largest yearly human gathering for a divine purpose on Earth. It is the collective human expression of the Oneness of God, tawhid. It is also a manifestation of unity among believers; a physical, emotional, mental and spiritual journey by believers passionate and devoted to retrace some of the rituals of Prophet Ibrahim (or Abraham) and his wife Hagar. It is for those lovers of God who are in need of His closeness and acceptance. With the allwhite, two-piece unstitched simple attire for men, Ihram, it brings pilgrims to the same level of equality and demolishes human artificiality and arrogance. Once pilgrims are in the holy precinct, in the midst of a sea of human beings of different colours, cultures and languages, they feel spiritually and emotionally uplifted and overwhelmed – no matter what their background is or where they come from. The few days in Makkah, Mina, Arafah and Muzdalifah are etched into pilgrims' minds and hearts. They have the opportunity to immerse themselves in the intense and irresistible love of God and levitate on His limitless mercy, forget their transient existence on Earth and to make a change for good.
From hard-core sinners to the elevated pious, if one comes to Hajj with pure intentions then the experience is similar. The African-American Muslim minister and human rights activist, Malcolm X, was one such pilgrim who wrote from Makkah about his own feelings during pilgrimage:
Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood as is practiced by people of all colors and races here in this ancient Holy Land, the home of Abraham, Muhammad and all the other Prophets of the Holy Scriptures. For the past week, I have been utterly speechless and spellbound by the graciousness I see displayed all around me by people of all colors.1
It was unusually hot in Makkah that summer, with temperatures rising as high as 48°C. The scorching sun above the clear skies made the hot air stifling and the pavements were difficult to walk on with sandals. But the feeling of closeness to God in the precinct of the Kaaba (house of God) gave us a spiritual lift that words could not express. The sight of the Kaaba itself with my own eyes was pure joy and literally made me forget the world outside. It was an exceptional reminder of the willing submission and sacrifices that Ibrahim (Abraham), his wife and son made for God 4,000 years ago. Hajj is a journey towards God, and this global assembly of humanity brings believers of all backgrounds into one place, to purify them and cleanse them from the garbage of our base desires in life. Alas, once they return to their normal life the spirit and message of Hajj are soon forgotten by many Muslims. Sayeda and I prayed for goodness for ourselves, our children and parents, families, community and all the children of Adam.
After completing the rituals of Hajj in Makkah, we travelled to Madinah (where the Prophet Muhammad had once lived with his Companions) with Firdaws, Sayeda's elder brother, who had introduced us both and was at that time working in Jeddah. The Prophet's City, or City of Light, had a serene and soothing atmosphere; people were more hospitable and approachable. I had learned about this difference in Hajj literature and from people who had performed Hajj before, but it was a unique first-hand experience. After a couple of days in Madinah, we went to Jeddah for another couple of days and returned to the UK refreshed and energized. The reunion with our children was exceptionally memorable. For the next few weeks, the memory of Hajj often made me unmindful; though life gradually returned to normal.
After our return from Hajj, I felt more inclined than ever to stay in the UK, but the decision and practical steps towards this were not taken until towards the end of the year.
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