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Parker: 'It's our mistake that we didn't deliver the message a long time ago.'

"Your luxury of being an observer [in politics] has been taken away by 9/11," she said. "You have to go out there and work to re-establish that American Muslims are a great asset to the U.S. And [you] have to decide that the reason to be part of any political party is the betterment of this country -- first, second, and last."

But it is unclear what influences most Muslim Americans' foreign policy opinions. Their views differ from those of other Americans, sometimes substantially. More Muslim Americans (78 percent) believe that American foreign policy in the Middle East led to the Sept. 11 attacks than other Americans (58 percent), according to a Zogby International poll released in July and an L.A. Times poll done last September, respectively. Zogby reports that 58 percent of Muslim Americans approved of the way President Bush handled the attacks, compared to 85 percent nationally. And almost two-thirds of Muslim Americans believe that the military effort in Afghanistan could lead to further attacks, compared to 50 percent of all Americans, according to an October 2001 ABC/Washington Post poll.

At another wedding party, the setting is distinctly less opulent and less formal. It is a Sunday night, and the small number of people in attendance creates a more relaxed and intimate mood. Women sport silk instead of cotton because they are attending an evening party, but necks, wrists, and fingers are not weighed down by the diamonds and gold that most society weddings demand. Again, families exchange news of matrimony, graduation, and accreditation. But, perhaps due to the casual nature of the night, they share more. They speak of their children not just in terms of achievement, but also in terms of hope -- and fear.

Pakistani-American Naeem (not his real name) hopes that his only daughter will become a broadcast journalist. He wants her to be one of those specialists CNN brings in to talk about the Middle East and Islam. He wants her to define jihad, hijab, fatwa, and those other Arabic words that have been tossed around newsrooms mostly by non-Muslim journalists. He wants her to speak up about being Muslim, to let people know what's really going on in the Muslim-American mind.

But, for the first time in his life, Naeem, 51, an established cardiologist and family man, is afraid to speak up himself. Before Sept. 11, he would have given his name freely. He has always been interested in politics and world affairs, but now he finds himself holding back his opinions in discussions. He restrains himself from commenting on viciously racist comments in AOL chat rooms. He's cautious even when speaking to his patients, many of whom expressed concern for his safety after Sept. 11.

It's not that he fears his patients. "But you always wonder, how far can this conversation go?" he said. "It's almost like the old Soviet Union now; you worry about who will report you. It's the norm for me not to speak my mind on this particular issue."

Naeem's primary fear is not of being arrested by the government, although the Patriot Act (a federal act that allows the government to monitor internet chat conversations, among other things) and Operation TIPS (a volunteerism initiative being pursued by the Justice Department that would recruit civilians like postal workers and truck drivers to report "suspicious activities") show that such a fear is well-founded. Instead, Naeem, a wealthy homeowner who arrived in the United States in 1976, fears most for his and his family's physical safety.

"If my wife and I go to the beach for a vacation, we won't walk to a place isolated or secluded. We will not walk on the beach alone without fear -- never again will we walk alone," he said.

Naeem's daughter, the one he hopes will be a broadcast journalist some day, is only 14 now, so she doesn't know exactly what she wants to do. As Naeem thought of her uncertain future, he sighed. "Now I wonder for the first time if I will be able to stay here for the rest of my life," he said. "Ask around here. Everyone does."

Perhaps if Muslims were like the rest of America, they'd angrily march to city council demanding a response to terrorist attacks on their communities -- the mosque bombings, physical harassment, and verbal abuse. They'd write to the Dallas Morning News and Fort Worth Star-Telegram demanding that the terror stop, and maybe they'd even start putting crescent-star stickers on their cars as a sign of Muslim solidarity.

Certainly not all of them quietly accepted the backlash against Muslims. The Dallas-Fort Worth chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations reported that, after the mosque attacks, area imams, or religious leaders, did approach CAIR for help and legal advice. But few individual Muslims have contacted CAIR, said Tamir Ayad, the organization's secretary. Since Sept. 11, Ayad has gone to area mosques to ask individuals to report discrimination or abuse and to become involved politically.

The majority of his audience, he said, realizes that political involvement is now more necessary than ever, but a small minority that includes both white Muslim Americans and recent immigrants hesitate to become involved with CAIR. "Some people are just afraid -- they come from dictatorships in which [activism] is taboo," Ayad said. "Others feel that, from a religious standpoint, they can't give their allegiance to something or someone that is non-Muslim [because] they'd be committing anti-Islamic behavior." Some Muslims consider a vote or campaign donation so serious and personal an action that giving that kind of support to a non-Muslim would be a religious infraction they are not willing to incur.

Many mosques took an interest in political issues such as U.S. aid to Israel and involvement in Bosnia before Sept. 11, usually through raising money for war victims and refugees; some mosques have raised money for charitable groups that have been accused of supporting terrorism. But since then, groups like CAIR have pushed mainstream political participation as an answer to both foreign policy and domestic concerns. Responses have been mixed.

"When we started to bring politics into the mosque it was a polarizing issue," Ayad said. "The biggest ideological difference in Muslims is between those who believe we need to become part of the fabric of the United States and those who believe that the United States has to change [for Islam]."

The latter, explained Ayad, are a tiny minority of Muslims, wide-ranging in ages and ethnicity, who oppose participation in mainstream politics. They believe the United States will have to transform to accommodate their version of Islam, which is wholly unlike mainstream religions such as Christianity. That transformation would involve improving the morals of society and creating a state that accommodates Islamic law. Such Muslims are not interested in changing the United States through the political system, Ayad said, but are also wholly opposed to the violent methods of so-called Islamic extremists, including those who participated in the Sept. 11 attacks. Instead, they are isolationists who avoid contact with the non-Muslim world.

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