Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [136]
On the sixth day the battle commenced, and I instantly gained a new respect for the soldiers. I was sent to the artillery line where the clatter of war damaged my eardrums. Of course, I slowly grew accustomed to the noise of war, but never to the sight of war. The carnage of useless death was hideous, with wounded and dying men all around, most of them no older than me.
I was sorry to continually disappoint my father, but I came away with renewed conviction that war was the most useless exercise imaginable. While perched on that mountaintop, I had pledged to spend the rest of my life speaking out against the very thing my father so loved.
The only thing my father loved more than war was Islam. While a Muslim can pray anywhere, on the street, in his home, in his office, in the desert, or even in an airport, it is best if a Muslim—at least a Muslim man—has the opportunity to pray in a mosque. But there were times when my brothers and I wearied of going to the mosque. This was not due to lack of faith, because we were believers, but because the mosque was utilized for so many things that my brothers and I spent more time there than in our homes. There were too many tedious gatherings that persisted for many hours. Often the most uninspiring Islamic speakers lectured until our eyelids drooped and our heads swayed with boredom. Our father had no pity on our situation, expecting his young sons to sit still and appear enthusiastic during countless variations on the same theme.
Over time, word got around that anyone who felt the urge to lecture was allowed to do so. Those enthusiastic lecturers detained reluctant spectators, keeping them captive for hours. Nearly every adult clamored to address the audience, to convince the others of his special understanding of Islam. Most were not Islamic scholars, but ignorant men who felt themselves elevated by the ceremony of endless talk.
Already my brothers and I spent more hours than most in the mosque, where we were taught verses of the Koran, the history of Islam, the reasons for Jihad, the facts we needed to know about the wickedness of the non-Muslim world, along with my father’s future plans to destroy the West. It was in the mosque that we received the message that the United States feared that Islam was closing in on the Christian faith. We were told that it was God’s holy plan for all religions, including those practiced by Christians, Jews, Hindus, and others, to yield to Islamic rule. All the people of the world would come together under an Islamic caliphate.
After two years of being subjected to lengthy haranguing from the mouths of uneducated bores, I wrote an anonymous letter, cautious to alter my personal handwriting.
Here is what I remember of that letter:
“No one should be allowed to stand up and speak in the mosque without the permission of Sheik bin Laden. It is unfair that the congregation should be subjected to a continuous barrage of lectures. There are many things in life worthwhile for men to do rather than sit for hours in the mosque to listen to unlearned speakers.
“The mosque should not be used in such a careless manner. Such boring lectures, which are generally the opinion of a single individual, do nothing to further Islam. Islamic lecturers should be inspiring for believers, but the majority of the lecturers who have hijacked our mosque are creating discord and dissatisfaction. Believers should not be put in a position of total boredom, as this will discourage believers from attending many worthwhile events at the mosque.”
Not wishing to be discovered, for I had no desire to incite my father’s anger, I slipped into the mosque during a quiet time to nail my letter to the wall.
When the next prayer time arrived, I was there with my father. One of the older men came to us to speak frankly. He said, “The men have been talking. They say that only a son of the prince [meaning my father] could be brave enough