Dreams of my Muslim son

Obama waves farewell to students after his remarks at the Islamic Society of Baltimore mosque.
PHOTO: REUTERS

Long before I came to the United States, I was fascinated by the American electoral process. I grew up in Pakistan in the 80s, during the brutally repressive military dictatorship of President Mohammad Ziaul Haq, when fear crushed hope.

Finding old copies of Time magazine in my school library, I learned about primaries and presidential debates — something almost unimaginable in Pakistan at the time. I had a favourite board game where the players’ mission was to become the American president. I watched snippets of news, of the Bush-Dukakis race in 1988 and the Clinton-Bush-Perot debates four years later that we got on our only TV channel. I missed alot of the nuances, but I developed a deep admiration for the idea that a campaign had to present a vision that people cared about. You had to talk about a better future, and there was a strong undercurrent of hope.

I like to think that my 12-year-old son, the first member of our family to be born in the United States, has inherited some of his love of American politics from me. We are practicing Muslims, and about four years ago my son wrote to Michael Dukakis, the former governor and Democratic presidential nominee, asking if a Muslim boy could become president.

Mr Dukakis invited my son to his office at Northeastern University, and among my son’s most prized possessions now are a picture of himself with Mr Dukakis