He was dazzling.
Perhaps unexpectedly.
He is only a private citizen, not a high-profile personality accustomed to crowds.
But perhaps his soaring message should not have been so surprising.
By his account, though he never enunciated the claim nor even hinted at it, he has endured more governmental harassment than anyone in the room, and still he is leading cheers for America.
All the more reason that Mohammed Abdul Aleem emerged as the champion of the Diversity Panel last night at the Culver City Democratic Club for delivering an extraordinarily touching testimonial about his adopted land.
He converted a rainy, low-key evening into a resounding triumph for Islam and its attendant features.
Mr. Aleem, a devout Muslim, was selected by program chair Bill Wynn to join Jose Medina, a West Los Angeles College student, Rabbi Zachary Shapiro of Temple Akiba and Parks/Recreation Commissioner Marianne Kim in examining the flaws and desirability of diversity in America, personally speaking.
Nothing in Mr. Aleem’s announced, unremarkable biography, that included years in the aerospace industry, indicated he was going to give a glasses-clinking talk.
He said Mr. Wynn had told him not to make notes, to speak raw. But he did anyway. “I like to have some notes in front of me,” he said. “Otherwise, I might start babbling.”
He assuredly did not.
Measuring Time
He spoke for 12 minutes, far longer than anyone else — because he told a far better story than anyone else, subtly, not overtly, compelling.
What made Mr. Aleem’s speech was that each time he recounted a negative incident of intrusion, he executed an immediate U-turn and declared that, almost regardless of what happens, he is better off here than in any country in the world.
A no-fudging tribute to American exceptionalism.
Outwardly traditional, Mr. Aleem, who lives with his wife and daughter, honored his mother at the outset of his talk.
Given the Muslim-related local and global developments of the past 8 years, Mr. Aleem’s memorable off-the-cuff remarks, tracing the 30 years of his adult life in the United States, probably should be archived and made widely available to students and adults.
His several — peripheral, casual — references to chilling government intrusions that contemporary American Muslims have to endure, were not allowed to dangle in a non-judgmental manner.
He promptly placed a cherry atop each negative scenario.
Mr. Aleem alluded to the FBI knocking on his door, more than one time, after dark. He followed up immediately by saying, virtually, so what? He and his family are better off here than in any other country. Eschewing passivity, he declared his love for America.
He mentioned being detained, when traveling, at LAX, for 5 hours at a time. Again, he invoked the equivalent of so what and saluted the greatness of America. Under another government, he said, he might not even have been permitted to come home.
Plain but Powerful
Without tension or irony, only pure authenticity, he gave a speech, from his sitting position at a table, that — by public record — seldom has been matched anywhere in the country since Sept. 11.
He was beguiling, and that probably rarely has been said of any amateur 51-year-old orator.
Fearlessly, the unflappable Mr. Aleem approached the most volatile cultural subject in America. He related his story without pretentiousness, ignoring an almost irresistible temptation.
Mr. Aleem’s repeatedly declared affection for the land he entered at the age of 21, made the program, stole the evening.
He could, or should, take his speech into wider venues.
With the aid of a megaphone, the public relations harvest for the favorability-starved Muslim community in America surely would be overwhelming.
Not that his opening sally gave even a remote hint that something statesmanlike lay ahead.
Shaggy dog story was more like it.
His words did not gleam like expensive diamonds.
The tradeoff was that Mr. Aleem’s sincerity provided the klieg lights that illuminated his compelling path.
And Then There Were the Rest
Although his colleagues on the Diversity Panel unintentionally were reduced to chopped-liver status, they made splashes, too.
Mr. Medina was a strong runnerup. Impressively articulate with a forceful delivery, a confident, persuasive and agreeable manner, the second-year West L.A. student stressed the importance of political involvement by his typically disinterested peers.
Ms. Kim, a low-key first generation American, sharply softened the tone of the three men who preceded her, but reeled off several memorable lines.
Although she worked on the Clinton-Gore campaign during her student days in 1996, she suggested she has seen enough.
“I hate politics,” Ms. Kim said. “I hate the partisanship of politics. I hate the divisiveness of politics.”
True diversity cannot be achieved without aggressiveness, she said. “People say, ‘If we open doors, we are being inclusive.’ But it isn’t sufficient to merely open the door, to welcome inside. You have to push. You also have to keep your eyes and your heart open.”
Rabbi Shapiro said Temple Akiba does not resemble the traditional notion of either a Jew or a Gentile. Without stratification, he said the spectrum of cultures in modern America play prominent roles in his synagogue community. A few years ago, Akiba’s cantor, who was black, may have been the only one of his culture, at least in Southern California.
What is commendable, said young Rabbi Shapiro, is that regardless of overt distinctions, “we are one community.”
