My Friend, the Terrorist: From Rich Rosendahl's Blog


A friend of mine, Rich Rosendahl, runs an organization in Des Moines, Iowa, that inspires and equips people to "love our neighbors and live life together."  As he puts it, "Never in history have the nations of the world been neighbors like they are today."  Anyone living in Providence, should recognize this as profoundly true.  All it takes is a stroll through few city blocks in South Providence to glimpse the neighboring of nations. 

Providence Granola just hired 3 new trainees for our granola project.  One used to tend cattle in Congo.  Another farmed in Bhutan.  The third, and our first Spanish speaker,  used to bake cookies in Columbia.  Just last week I went to the naturalization ceremony for one of our employees, originally from Burma.  Her little cohort of 30 new citizens represented over 20 different countries.  How beautiful is that! 

I know not everyone sees this as good news--and some are afraid.  But, really, the most powerful way to dissipate fear and prejudice is one meaningful relationship--which is what I love so much about what Rich is doing.  Rich gave me permission to reprint one of his blog entries here as encouragement for us all to take a risk to make friends with our neighbor who may have been born on the other side of the world.  I'll confess, I felt some internal resistance to repeating his title--the word terrorist, even used ironically, groans under the weight.  Rich is braver than I am.  But the thought of having anyone think terrorist just because of the way I looked or dressed feels outrageously heavy and unjust--so I'm leaving it.  Please do visit and follow his blog on your own.

My Friend, the Terrorist

He has olive skin, jet black hair and speaks the same language as the people who carried out the 9/11 attacks.  He is Muslim and his wife wears a scarf that covers all but her face.  He is from a country that most Americans view as an enemy and he now lives in the US.

When he was young, he received an advanced degree and looked forward to a successful career.  He got married and started a family.  And then one day everything started to change.  War had broken out across his homeland.

There were massive bombings that destroyed his country’s infrastructure.  In some cases even schools and hospitals were not spared.  Then the combat reached the streets.  Soldiers and militia would often be fighting on either side of a city block, with his family trapped in between.  Lying on the floor, heads covered, praying for it to stop.

As the war progressed, he found work at the military base nearby.  There were thousands of foreign soldiers and one day he met one from America that soon became his friend.  He even invited him to a traditional Arabic meal with his family.

Years went by and things got worse, not better, especially for his son with special needs.  The city he grew up in was becoming unrecognizable, literally and figuratively.  Division, mistrust and fear seemed to rule the once peaceful land.  But most importantly, his son needed medical treatment that simply wasn’t available.

The once seemingly random encounter with the American soldier had turned into a 6 year friendship, mostly over email.  And with his friend’s encouragement and support he moved his family to the US.  It was at the airport, on his first day in America, that I met him.  

Our friendship grew quickly.   And even though I was raised in a small town in the Midwest, and he grew up in a city in the Middle East, we have a ton in common.  We both like to talk about our children, our jobs, international politics and religion.  We like to tell jokes and laugh and play dominoes. We share a love for Jesus and believe ‘God is great’ (in Arabic – ‘Allahu Akbar’) Sometimes we meet and just talk about how tough life can be.  How the world seems like a crazy mess.  Sometimes we just need to encourage each other through the valleys of life.

Other times we discuss ways we can work together in changing the world around us.  We have talked about starting an after school program for youth.  We have collaborated on a medical project overseas to help children with special needs.  We ask each other, what can we do to better Love our neighbors?

I’ve learned a lot from our friendship.  I have discovered some new recipes (I love to cook) I have developed a deeper understanding of Middle East politics and how they are so different than what we find in the US.  I have experienced the genuine, and unmatched, Arab hospitality.  I have even learned how to make better coffee.

My friend has had a profoundly positive impact on my life.

But some people see him very differently than I do.  They use words like enemy or even terrorist.  They look at him through the lens of our media which fosters an environment of fear.  Some people, decent people, are caught up in the illusion that he is someone other than an average, soon-to-be-American.

How about you?

When you encounter an Arab or Muslim family, pause and think about what is going through your mind.  Ask yourself, what do see and what do you feel?  Are you suspicious or nervous?  Are you hurrying to get out of the situation?  And don’t just give yourself the politically correct answers we have been trained to say.  Be honest with yourself.

For many of us, our reactions in these situations are not reflective of the people we hope to be.  Instead, they are a byproduct of decades of media influences that have pulled us away from our core beliefs, replacing them with a fear-based fantasy.

But this can be overcome.  I have seen it with people from small towns, large cities, retirees, ex-military, current military, teachers, cooks, young people, old(er) people, introverts, extroverts, religious leaders, atheists and everyone in between.

People just like you and me who have taken captive these thoughts and replaced them with the idea that it would be better to start Loving each other as neighbors.  Turning the once perceived terrorist into a friend.

Rich Rosendahl

"Loving our neighbors and living life together"


You can link to the Nations blog here.