A Bit of Elmer Gantry in All of Us

In July, 2011, I began a post this way.

Mark Stroman

Rais Bhuiyan

The guy on the right is Mark Stroman, and the Great State of Texas plans to murder him on Wednesday.

This post is not about him, except incidentally.

The guy on the left is Rais Bhuiyan.

This post is pretty much about him.

On September 21, 2001, the guy on the right shot the guy on the left in the face, hoping to kill him.  Just as he'd killed Waqar Hasan on September 15 and as he would kill Vasudev Patel on October 4 of that year.  His death sentence is for the murder of Patel.  It was a hate crime.  All three shootings were.  Stroman, a white supremacist, was targeting men he believed to be of middle eastern descent in revenge for the September 11 acts of terrorism. 

Except Bhuiyan didn't die.  And in the last few months, he's undertaken a truly daunting task.

He's trying to save Stroman's life.

* * * * *

That was the second time I'd written about Rais Bhuiyan.  The first time, a couple of months earlier, I gave Bhuiyan's account of what Stroman did to him, quoting the Dallas Morning News, where it sits behind a paywall.

"Where are you from?"The question seemed strange to ask during a robbery, which certainly this was -- the man wore a bandana, sunbglasses and a baseball cap, and aimed the bun directly at my face as I stood over the gas station register."Excuse me?" I asked.As soon as I spoke, God sent some angel, and I turned by face a bit to the left; otherwise, I would have been blinded in both eyes, instead of just one. I felt the sensation of a milion bees stinging my face and then heard an explosion. Images of my mother, father and finace appeared before my eyes, and then, a graveyard. I didn't know if I was still alive.I looked down at the floor and saw blood pouring like an open faucet from the side of my head. Frantically, I placed both hands on my face, thinking I had to keep my brains from spilling out. I heard myself screaming, "Mom!" The gunman was still standing there. I thought," If I don't pretend I'm dead, he'll shoot me again."

And I also quoted Bhuiyan's explanation for his plea.

I am requesting that Stroman's death sentence be commuted to life in prison with no parole. There are 3 reasons I feel this way. The 1st is because of what I learned from my parents. They raised me with the religious principle that he is best who can forgive easily. The 2nd is beacuse of what I believe as a Muslim, that human lives are precious and that no one has the right to take another's life. In my faith, forgiveness is the best policy, and Islam doesn't allow for hate and killing. And, finally, I seek solace for the wives and children of Hasan and Patel, who are also victims in this tragedy. They have already suffered so much; it will cause only more suffering if he is executed.

* * * * *

Not surprisingly, there's more to the story.

Of course, there's the obvious more.  Texas didn't give a shit.  Victims who don't want vengeance don't count.  Bhuiyan's international efforts to save Stroman?  Nah.  His lawsuit, insisting that Stroman should remain alive while he had the chance guaranteed by Texas statutes to meet with him and pursue reconciliation?  Not a chance.  Stroman was executed July 20, 2011, just 4 days after that second post. 

But that's just the obvious more.

There's all the rest.  How did it happen that Rais Bhuiyan went from Dhaka in Banghladesh, spent a couple of years in New York, and ended up working at, and nearly dying at, a mini-mart on the outskirts of Dallas?  What happened during the ten years from when Stroman shot him that at the end turned him into an impassioned advocate for his would-be killer's life?  And what afterwards?

And then there's the other guy.  Who was Mark Stroman, anyway?  What drove him to become a one man anti-whoever exactly-it-was avenger, a self-described "American terrorist," for what happened that day in September 2001?  And how, Where did he come from?  And how in the world did he view the guy he shot in the face but was now trying desperately to save his life?

Inquiring minds, as they say, want to know.  Anand Giridharadas was one of those inquiring minds. He's a columnist for the Times, one of those biographical facts that shows up on book flaps, like the fact that he lives in Brooklyn, really of no moment.  But he's also the author of the book that has those factoids on its flap.  It's The True American: Murder and Mercy in Texas, and it's terrific.

The question that haunts, really, is the one embodied in the title. Who is the "True American"?

Is it Rais?  He left a promising career in the Bangladeshi Air Force to come to the US, raise the money to bring over his fiance, and carve a new life for himself.  Instead, he was shot, lost nearly all the sight in one eye, underwent four surgeries, found himself with some $60,000 in hospital bills and no job.

Well, no job until he caught on as a waiter at the Olive Garden. That's where he had to learn to recommend the appropriate wines with the meals, to discuss their character, to push them.  First, though, he had to convince himself that although as a devout Muslim he never had and never would have even a taste of alcohol, God would be OK with him selling what he was forbidden to drink.  But once he did.

For Rais, the greatest challenge remained alcohol.  On a good night, it could account for most of server's tips.  Rais, devout to the bone, was also pragmatic and driven enough to decide that if one was going to sell alcohol to the godless, one might as well be good at it.  

That's a quintessentially American drive.  And Rais proves to be a terrific salesman - of wine, and of himself.

He loses his fiance, but he manages a lifelong dream and takes his mother on a pilgrimage to Mecca. Which is where he remembers the promise he'd made while lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor of that mini-mart.  That if he survived, he'd dedicate his life to doing good works.  And so . . . . But of course we know that part of the story.

There's some Elmer Gantry in there along with rather a lot of Horatio Alger.  And more than a smidgeon of one or another saint.  Not hard to find a lot of True American in that kid from Bangladesh.

But maybe it's Stroman.  He's alive, his mother told him more than once, only because she couldn't raise the last 50 bucks she needed for an abortion.  Raised in poverty.  Grew up in a world of country music, NASCAR, motorcycles, guns, violence, and gung-ho Americanism.  There were the swastika tattoo, the hero worship of Hitler, the open racism.  There was the criminal record.  And always the open racism.  Dallas, he thought, was the greatest place in the greatest state.  Easy for him to say since he'd never lived anywhere else.

And yet.  Stroman is befriended by Ilan Ziv, an Israeli filmmaker.  He has supporters around the world. His victim from Bangladesh wants to save his life.  And he repents.  Maybe.  Changes.  Maybe.  Or maybe it's an act.  His version of a sales job.  Like Bhuiyan talking up the virtues of this or that wine. His siblings wonder.  But then there are his kids.

They didn't get to Huntsville for his execution, but they had a few minutes on the phone.  Amber:

Dad, I'm not CNN news; I'm ot your publicity crew.  I want to know where you're at in your spiritual life.  Because I worry about that, and I stress on that.  I mean, after you're gone, where are you going?

On the outside, before this, he'd "said little about God to her."  Now, she thought, he sounded "like a true believer."

To Erika he offered a bit of advice.

I'll always be the same fucking knucklehead that I've always been.  But if you don't know God, let Him into your life."

Like I say, maybe.  There's some Elmer Gantry in Stroman, too, though not much Horatio Alger.  

* * * * *

The thing is, there isn't a simple answer.

Rais's contact with the more rooted underclass was an education.  What struck him at the Olive Garden, making these new friends, was that the Americans he worked with didn't share his ability to reimagine and remake himself.  They seemed not to know how to take advantage of their own, fortunate country. And they were often left to themselves, without anyone to cushion their falls or witness their triumphs.

In Rais Bhuiyan, there's one American.  In Mark Stroman, there's another.  Neither quite so simple as he seems at first.  Which is, after all, the point.

Murder and Mercy.  

Indeed.

_________________________

Thanks to the good folks at W.W. Norton for sending me a copy of the book to review.

What Lesson Do You Want To Teach Your Children?

Mark Stroman

Rais Bhuiyan

The guy on the right is Mark Stroman, and the Great State of Texas plans to murder him on Wednesday.

This post is not about him, except incidentally.

The guy on the left is Rais Bhuiyan.

This post is pretty much about him.

On September 21, 2001, the guy on the right shot the guy on the left in the face, hoping to kill him.  Just as he'd killed Waqar Hasan on September 15 and as he would kill Vasudev Patel on October 4 of that year.  His death sentence is for the murder of Patel.  It was a hate crime.  All three shootings were.  Stroman, a white supremacist, was targeting men he believed to be of middle eastern descent in revenge for the September 11 acts of terrorism. 

Except Bhuiyan didn't die.  And in the last few months, he's undertaken a truly daunting task.

He's trying to save Stroman's life.

I wrote about Bhuiyan's astounding capacity for forgiveness back in May.  That post was occasioned by a press conference at which Bhuiyan announced his efforts.  It will be no surprise to anyone, I don't think, to learn that so far Bhuiyan has not succeeded.  As I said, Texas intends to murder Stroman on Wednesday.  It still intends to.

But where press conferences and a website and a fair amount of publicity (and a lonesome blawgger in Ohio) haven't achieved anything what can you do.

Bhuiyan wants to meet with Stroman.  Stroman wants to meet with Bhuiyan.  They both want to engage in a process of mediation leading, perhaps, to reconciliation.  The Texas Department of Criminal Juistice (the state prison folks) have a mediation program in place for violent criminals and their victims.  Just as soon as Stroman's legal efforts to avert his execution next week, the TDCJ can begin deciding whether to allow mediation for the two of them which could begin as soon as 5 or 6 months after Stroman is dead.

Oh, that won't work.

Texas, of course, like Ohio, like other states, like the feds, is deeply committed to ensuring the rights of crime victims.  Their voices will be heard.  Their needs will be met.  They will be offered support and comfort and help.  As long as they seek vengeance.  The rights of victims don't extend to seeking mercy.  At least, not so far.

Bhuiyan's rights have been violated and are being violated.  He wants Stroman's execution stopped so that they can engage in mediation.  Wednesday he filed a lawsuit.  He explained why in an op-ed for the Austin American-Statesman.

I love the great state of Texas, but it makes me mad that some of the state's elected and appointed officials want to kill Mark. He shot and tried to kill me, yet I have never wanted him to die. The family members of Mark's other victims support my personal battle to stop his execution.
So why do some of the state's elected and appointed officials think we should execute him? In whose name is this going to happen?
That is why I am taking Gov. Rick Perry to court.  Perry decreed that April 10-16 would be Victims' Rights Week. "I encourage all Texans," he said, "to join in this effort by learning more about victims' rights and supporting victims of crime whenever possible. We can help our fellow Texans on the road to recovery with compassion and respect."As a victim of a "hate crime," I had hoped to see a little of that compassion and respect. The Texas Victims' Bill of Rights says I am entitled to dignity. I have been bitterly disappointed by the legal process, which only causes me more suffering. Nobody told me what was happening at the trial; the prosecutors told the jury, "This man needs to die."
Why? Mark Stroman is no saint, but he is not the man who shot me. I met a lady recently who described to me how Mark had saved her 78-year-old mother's life; even today he writes to her every week, helping to encourage her out of her suicidal depression.
I have no recollection whatsoever of ever being asked if I wanted the death penalty; I have never been allowed mediation with Mark, which would help me to understand my ordeal, and recover from it. Instead, the state officials want to kill my attacker. It may buy them votes, but it will only cause me more pain.

You'll notice that it's not just Bhuiyan.  The spouses and children of Hasan and Patel fully support what he's doing.  The government of Texas, at least so far, not so much.

Bhuiyan says that he was raised in a loving, supportive family that stressed forgiveness.  

Only then can you heal.

Stroman's family took a different approach.

When he was a kid, about the kindest thing his mother told him was that she was $50 short on aborting him. His stepfather ordered him to hate people who were different, and beat him every time he refused to get into a fight.

Each clearly learned something from home.  Which brings Bhuiyan to his final thought.

I guess my question, governor, is what lesson do you want to teach your children?

Bhuiyan v Perry

I wish I could say that I expect the Texas courts to side with Bhuiyan.

Forgiving the Unforgivable

We've seen these stories of forgiveness before.  We've seen those who understand that hatred doesn't heal and that every killing causes pain.
Let me introduce you to Rais Bhuiyan.

He was shot in the face, blinded in one eye, by Mark Stroman, a white supremacist.  It was 2001, and Bhuiyan was shot because he was from Bangladesh, because he seemed middle eastern, because he is a Muslim.  It was a hate crime and a revenge crime.  Stroman was striking back because of what happened on 9/11 that year.

Bhuiyan tells the story in the Dallas Morning News (unfortunately, behind a paywall):

"Where are you from?"

The question seemed strange to ask during a robbery, which certainly this was -- the man wore a bandana, sunbglasses and a baseball cap, and aimed the bun directly at my face as I stood over the gas station register.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

As soon as I spoke, God sent some angel, and I turned by face a bit to the left; otherwise, I would have been blinded in both eyes, instead of just one. I felt the sensation of a milion bees stinging my face and then heard an explosion. Images of my mother, father and finace appeared before my eyes, and then, a graveyard. I didn't know if I was still alive.

I looked down at the floor and saw blood pouring like an open faucet from the side of my head. Frantically, I placed both hands on my face, thinking I had to keep my brains from spilling out. I heard myself screaming, "Mom!" The gunman was still standing there. I thought," If I don't pretend I'm dead, he'll shoot me again."

This was not a robbery. This was a hate crime because of the tragedy at the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001. Mark Stroman, a white supremacist, was in the middle of a shooting rampage to express his anger toward those of Middle Eastern descent. He shot and killed Waqar Hasan, a Pakistani immigrant, on Sept. 15, 2001. He shot me, an immigrant from Bangladesh, on Sept. 21. He shot and killed Vasudev Patel, from India, on Oct. 4. We were all shot while working at gas stations and convenience stores in Dallas.

Stroman is on death row.  For the killing of Patel, he's scheduled to be murdered on July 20.  Bhuiyan wants to prevent that.

I am requesting that Stroman's death sentence be commuted to life in prison with no parole. There are 3 reasons I feel this way. The 1st is because of what I learned from my parents. They raised me with the religious principle that he is best who can forgive easily. The 2nd is beacuse of what I believe as a Muslim, that human lives are precious and that no one has the right to take another's life. In my faith, forgiveness is the best policy, and Islam doesn't allow for hate and killing. And, finally, I seek solace for the wives and children of Hasan and Patel, who are also victims in this tragedy. They have already suffered so much; it will cause only more suffering if he is executed.

The other victims in this tragedy are Stroman's children. Not only have the Hasan and Patel children lost their fathers, but, if Stroman in executed, his children will lose their father, as well.

Now meet Mary Johnson.

In 1993, Oshea Israel murdered her son, Laramium Byrd after an argument at a party in Minneapolis.  NPR tells the rest of the story.

As Johnson recalls, their first face-to-face conversation took place at Stillwater Prison, when Israel agreed to her repeated requests to see him.
"I wanted to know if you were in the same mindset of what I remembered from court, where I wanted to go over and hurt you," Johnson tells Israel. "But you were not that 16-year-old. You were a grown man. I shared with you about my son."
"And he became human to me," Israel says.
At the end of their meeting at the prison, Johnson was overcome by emotion.
"The initial thing to do was just try and hold you up as best I can," Israel says, "just hug you like I would my own mother."
Johnson says, "After you left the room, I began to say, 'I just hugged the man that murdered my son.'
"And I instantly knew that all that anger and the animosity, all the stuff I had in my heart for 12 years for you — I knew it was over, that I had totally forgiven you."

But wait, that's not all.

Johnson's forgiveness has brought both changes and challenges to [Israel's] life.
"Sometimes I still don't know how to take it," he says, "because I haven't totally forgiven myself yet. It's something that I'm learning from you. I won't say that I have learned yet, because it's still a process that I'm going through."
"I treat you as I would treat my son," Johnson says. "And our relationship is beyond belief."
In fact, the two live right next door to one another in Minneapolis.
"So you can see what I'm doing — you know firsthand," Israel says.

Israel is out of prison. Mary Johnson is rooting for him.

Bhuiyan is working to save Stroman's life.  The Dallas Morning News, in an editorial that's not behind their paywall, approves.

It’s time for the hate to stop, says Rais Bhuiyan, a native of Bangladesh.
With his attacker set to die in Huntsville this summer, Bhuiyan has begun a quiet campaign to spare the man’s life.
We wish to give that campaign voice. It delivers a potent message to a nation still torn by the loss of 9/11. It resists the cycle of revenge that doesn’t stop until someone has the courage to say enough.

Which is exactly right, of course.

That's not to say it's easy. But the capacity of the human heart.

According to Dianne Solis of the Dallas Morning News, posted by the Greenfield Daily Reporter,

Bhuiyan said the event changed him and he now celebrates Sept. 21 as his new birthday because it was then he got his life back.

Mary Johnson?

"Well, my natural son is no longer here. I didn't see him graduate. Now you're going to college. I'll have the opportunity to see you graduate," Johnson says. "I didn't see him getting married. Hopefully one day, I'll be able to experience that with you."

I don't want to get mawkishly sentimental about this.  We can't all be so forgiving.  I'm far from convinced that I have so much generosity of spirit.  But that it's possible at all.  And the healing that it brings.

Rick Halperin, Director of the Human Rights Education Program at Southern Methodist University, is working with Bhuiyan to try to save Stroman's life.  Solis, again:

The events, Halperin said, "raise questions about compassion and healing and the nature of justice."
As for Bhuiyan, Halperin said, "I am amazed at the calm with which some can forgive the unforgivable."

Yeah.

h/t for Bhuiyan's story to Joachim and Amnesty International USA