ALLAH IS ANGRY

A year after Salman Rushdie

was sentenced to death, Jane Kelly finds

herself facing the wrath of Islam

IF THERE is one thing worse than getting no message on your answering machine, it is one which says: `Miss Kelly, your Specta- tor article about the Irish jihad has insulted Islam and offended ten million members of the Ahmadi sect. We would like to talk to you as soon as possible.' (In the Christmas issue of The Spectator I had revealed the proselytising activities of the Ahmadi Muslims in Ireland.)

I have done many rash things in my time, such as streaking through Reykjavik, and stealing a number plate from the roof of a moving tram in Katowice, and never thought of answering to anyone, but when tJe black-bearded face of Islam insulted bears down at you, you know the game is up.

After a week of such messages, and finally the offer of lunch, I decided to go and face my accusers, at the London Ahmadi Mosque in Wandsworth.

Their premises have a high fence and locked gates. Bearded men wearing caps like cowpats let me in, peering at me as if they'd never seen a woman before. I had purposely dressed like a boy, but I felt my femininity acutely It felt eerie to know that everyone there automatically saw me as an inferior, the way a black walking down a white street must have felt in about 1950. The only woman I saw, completely swathed in black, gave me what can only be described as an amorous look. She must have been as con- fused as I was.

The headquarters of the Ahmadi sect is no more than a little cluster of huts. Inside I sat under a sign in Arabic, with the translation: '0 Allah, we put thee against them and seek thy shelter against their mischief.' It felt uncomfortably like being

in the headmaster's office. To comfort myself I took out a portrait of St Francis Xavier, the saint who had a Christian jihad to Asia, and I remembered that I am only a woman, so they couldn't be really cross. They were. But Hadayit Ullah Bangvi - the general secretary of the Ahmadi Mus- lim Association — was very polite about it, obviously feeling I just needed education. He took me to his house and gave me a long tour of his living-room walls. They were lined with portraits of astoundingly ugly old men with white beards and turbans. He discussed each one in detail and there was no escape. He paid particular attention to the face of Ghulam Ahmad who founded the Ahmadi sect in 1876 when he declared himself the Mandi, or Messiah, and de- clared that he was going to 'demolish the Christian Church, break the cross and slaughter the swine'.

The lunch was delicious: my accusers had made sure it was not too spicy for me. It was served by a man, either because I was in the role of honorary man, or because they knew exactly what I would make of a woman waiting on us. We sat at a very long, shining table. I was placed on my own at one end, my judges lined up on either side of me. At last, after we had started eating, they got to the point. Mr Bangvi said: 'Your article defames our movement, but it is pointless because in the end we will win. Christianity was once banned, then it became the top religion in all the world. We will soon be in that position. We definitely intend to take over the world. Despite ridicule from people like you, I am absolutely certain that Ireland will be converted, and the Irish jihad a success.'

I invented the term 'Irish jihad' and it was gratifying to hear them now using it themselves. Then Mr Bangvi told me they were going to sue The Spectator over my allegation that they receive money from Libya. Apparently all the mosques in Dublin do, but in Galway, where the mosques' belong to Ahmadi, they are self- supporting. In fact, they say they are now at war with Gaddafi, and indeed with almost all other Muslim leaders. There is not much you can say to that really, so I

helped myself to some more yoghurt and mumbled an apology.

Libya was just a diversion; what the men really wanted to know was my motives for poking fun at them. I tried to explain that in describing the impact of one extreme religion on another there might be comic possibilities, but around the table the dark faces darkened, and I could see there was a complete sense of humour failure taking place. As Anthony Burgess recently pointed out, Mohammed had no sense of humour, there are no jokes in the Koran, and above all Muslims don't like or even understand jokes about themselves.

Hamid Ur Rahman, a former Pakistani diplomat now working permanently for the sect, insisted on going through my 'con- temptous article' line by line. Bangvi sug- gested to him that there is a free press, but he could not agree that ridicule was an expression of freedom. I knew what was coming, and sure enough he added: 'Why can't Rushdie come out and fight instead of cringing away and leaving it to people like you?'

I ate my rice pudding in silence and they all set off decrying The Satanic Verses and its wicked author. The man on my left joining this chorus was Bashir Ahamad Rafique, himself a journalist sentenced to three years in prison and exiled from Muslim Pakistan for writing an article about his faith.

The Ahmadi sect is now outlawed in most of the Muslim world. In Pakistan, under Ordinance 20, passed first by Ali Bhutto, then upheld by Zia in April 1984, any Ahmadi calling himself a Muslim will go to prison. A criminal law amendment act of 1986 promises death for males and life imprisonment for females 'who defile the name of the Prophet Mohammed'. Ahmadis are considered to do just that because of their belief in a recent Messiah.

But the men around the table, despite being victims of persecution, with 185 of their own texts proscribed, have no con- ception that tolerance is a good idea. They cannot understand my jokes, and I cannot understand their logic. What is it about Islam that makes its members demand to be taken so seriously, whilst at the same time talking rubbish? In Ireland one of their leaders insisted that eating pork makes you homosexual. I am constantly hearing from them that women have to be veiled, as the alternative is to see them made into playthings. It seems that Mus- lims think no outsider can judge them on their words, because no one else has the authority to do so. They live in a kind of overgrown boy's Wendy House, imper- vious to the complexities of the big world outside.

As coffee arrived, I asked Hamid if he was going to sentence me to death. His, handsome face contorted with rage and contempt. As if there were any precedent for such a thing! Mr Bangvi gently told me that a full retraction would be enough.