The government must engage with Muslim students

Islamic student societies are challenging extremism.

Prime Minister Cameron claimed in his Munich speech that not only had multiculturalism failed, but that certain parts of British society (Muslims mainly) had been divisive in their influence rather than integrating properly into the fabric of "British values", the lack of which leads to extremism and radicalisation, or so the cloudy logic goes.

The question of integration is particularly problematic. British Muslim communities are characterised by low educational attainment and poverty, yet many bright lights have broken barriers in contributing positively to British society. Take the example of Usman Ali, the first-ever Muslim Vice President of the National Union of Students (NUS) from the humble neighbourhood of Longsight in Manchester, an inspiring tale and, most encouragingly not an isolated example.

Bright lights aside, there is a need to promote this sort of aspiration and contribution on a wider scale and in light of this the national Muslim student body, the Federation of Student Islamic Societies (FOSIS), has sought to establish a British civic responsibility amongst British Muslim students. From artistic to political leadership events, inclusive of both Labour and Conservative representatives, we have arranged career events with city firms, technology giants, and media outlets - a good attempt in associating Muslim students to opportunities that make a beneficial difference to Britain.

This summer, FOSIS worked closely with the Civil Service in connecting its wider membership to the corridors of government,engaging with students in Cardiff. This is integration by exactly its narrowest definition; providing for aspiring young Muslims from difficult backgrounds with access to work for the betterment of the people of their country through political engagement.

However, just days ahead of another joint FOSIS-Civil Service careers engagement in London on Tuesday, the event was cancelled from the darker corners of government. As reported by former Tory MP Paul Goodman on ConservativeHome, this happened on account of the "fury" of the Home Secretary, Theresa May. He detailed two reasons for her reaction; FOSIS' "insufficient willingness to tackle extremism", and its support of a human rights campaign.

On the accusation of cultivating extremism by neglect, umentioned is any recognition of the consistent steps taken by FOSIS to engage with key stakeholders, including government, on the issue of radicalisation on campus, an example being the widely acclaimed conference organised by FOSIS on countering extremism, the first of its kind and graced by government, security experts and university leaders alike.Also on record is FOSIS' half-century of fostering engagement between Muslim students and students' unions, universities and students of other faiths; of supporting a spirit of discussion and dialogue and intellectual integrity within Muslim groups. The allegation isslanderous, implying as it does that FOSIS fosters and promotes extremist elements. The absence of evidence is deafening.

The Babar Ahmad issue is even more contentious. Here is a man, a citizen of this very land, held without charge for seven years in high security prisons on evidence deemed unworthy in British courts, fighting extradition to kangaroo courts in the US who will probably incarcerate him to Supermaxfacilities for the rest of his natural life. FOSIS, together with a host of British organisations, is simply supporting his right to due legal process, that he be tried in a court in this country. Indeed,"British values" signify social justice, to protect the rights of individuals and of society, and our very democracy in the hands of citizens gives the right to force the government, our elected representatives, to debate the extradition of this man in parliament.

The government continues to up its rhetoric on integration and extremism, making frivolous claims whilst laying the blame at the doorstep of FOSIS and other Muslims organizations, yet its deeds in policy formation and in cancelling events such as the above are counterproductive to any notion of integration. The Home Secretary's decision to ignore an invitation to meet Muslim students in June is also restatement to this. It is time the government stopped demagoguery and started engaging; organisations like our own and students at large will continue championing British contribution, with or without them.The disconnect between the political elite and its citizens continues apace.

Nabil Ahmed is the president of the Federation of Student Islamic Societies.

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism