Quotes of the Day

Australia's most senior Islamic cleric, Sheik Taj Al-Din Hilali, was justly slapped down by the community after he described women who did not wear the hijab (headdress) as "uncovered meat." In a Ramadan sermon in September, the mufti also told his flock that women, by the way they dress and act, were to blame for sexual assault. When the comments were reported in late October by the Australian newspaper, the nation's leaders condemned Hilali. After he apologized, claiming his words were taken out of context, Hilali fell into the arms of his physicians. He rode out the storm behind a floral wall his supporters had laid out for him at a Sydney hospital. Again, the questions came: Is Islam anti-women? Can Muslims be true to their faith and practice Australian values? Has multiculturalism and tolerance gone too far in allowing the mufti to preach vile views?

Muslims felt that they, too, were under attack; the scrutiny was not welcomed. The media is hostile toward them, some Muslims claim, and ignorant about their faith and life experiences. It was a reminder of the nation's mood after the riots at Cronulla beach last December, where young locals and Lebanese Muslims went on a criminal rampage. With each new episode, it feels as if the gap between Muslims and their fellow citizens gets wider: hearts harden, fear seeps in, unreal stereotypes become set in concrete. But that's not happening in those communities where Muslims live in large numbers. The Sydney suburb of Lakemba is Australia's Islam Central; immigrants from the Middle East, Asia and Polynesia have transformed a place that was solidly Anglo-Irish and European (and obviously Christian) for most of last century.

Lakemba is home to the country's best-known mosque and cleric, and also the place associated with Islamist extremists. Lakemba, where the police station was sprayed with gunfire in 1998, is also code for violent misfits in the fantasyland of the State's law and order politics. The Lakemba stigma, says Steve Conlon, principal of St. Therese primary, is evident in a decision by his Catholic school's P&F to scrub the suburb from its organization's name. Unemployment here is high, particularly among boys and men with low levels of education. Families live in small apartments; hope one day of a better home, with a yard for the kids, gives Lakemba a transient disposition, says Conlon. Yet, as in many parts of Sydney's western suburbs, what was a dull main street a decade ago has become lively. On any day along Haldon Street, you'll see women covered head-to-toe pushing prams, restaurants that are busy around the clock and clothing stores bursting at the seams.

In the days following the violence at Cronulla—trouble also spilled into other parts of the city—those in Lakemba sensed a strain as the image of the suburb was again being spoiled from outside. The people of Holy Spirit College, a co-educational Catholic high school, felt they needed to show solidarity with local Muslims and promote the area. "It was a tumultuous week," recalls Holy Spirit principal Frank Malloy, speaking a year after the school canceled end-of-year beach picnics to Cronulla and its evening of Christmas carols at the school. "We wanted to say to the people of Lakemba, 'We are feeling your distress. That the events of the past few days have not changed our view of our neighbors.'" Fifty students and teachers from the school moved through the shopping center passing gerberas to commuters and shopkeepers. An attached note said: "Wishing you God's peace and blessings from your friends at Holy Spirit College, Lakemba."

Girls have changed my old school; in the 1970s, when the De La Salle Brothers were in charge, it resembled a Rugby League academy with prison-like discipline. Before classes on a recent morning, every seat is taken in Holy Spirit's chapel; there isn't a boy present. Senior students have organized a prayer service for Remembrance Day, marking the 1918 armistice. Many of the girls here have a Lebanese background. The prayers are mostly about hope and peace, asking the Lord to guide world leaders, to protect from harm Australian soldiers and Iraqis and, at home, to help people treat each other with respect and dignity. Outside, as the boys pass through the school gate, genial Malloy puts on a stern face as he monitors uniforms, the state of ties and punctuality.

Sitting down for a chat with four of Holy Spirit's senior students, you sense why these kids have been chosen as leaders: Mark is clever, Mounia is vivacious, Charbel is exuberant, Rebecca is contemplative. They're puzzled about the fuss others make about their local area. The Muslims who are their neighbors, are just that: people to greet, to share food with and to visit on special occasions. Charbel, from Punchbowl, hangs out with the local Muslim boys; sometimes they ask each other questions about their faiths. Those whose parents are immigrants from Lebanon have heard stories of conflict and bloodshed; the younger ones don't seem to harbor grudges on their behalf. Some students had relatives caught up in the recent troubles in Lebanon. Only when questions turn to inter-marriage between Christians and Muslims does the line harden. "That's when the big differences come out," says Charbel. "Personally, I'd find it too difficult to marry a Muslim."

Living in the same community and bearing goodwill toward one another, however, does not mean that young Christians and Muslims understand each other. "We're in the epicenter of Islam in Australia," says Holy Spirit science teacher David Gearin over a spicy lunch at a Lakemba café. "And I asked myself, and others, How much do we know about Islam?" Gearin, 41, has spent most of his life teaching, playing sport and growing up in the area. "It's like when you're in a group at a party. When someone new arrives, you invite them into the circle. So it's up to us, who've been in Australia for a long time, to make those in the minority feel welcome." Gearin and religious education co-ordinator Mary Musolino have initiated contact with Malek Fahd Islamic School in adjoining Greenacre. In the near future, both schools will work together to establish peace gardens on their respective grounds as a mark of friendship.

Last week, on a stinking hot morning, some 300 Year 7 students from the two schools were bused out to Tempe, close to Sydney's airport, for a clean-up of the Cooks River and some nearby parks; they listened to lectures about pollution, river quality and storm water, played games and painted a colorful canvas mural. The groups didn't mingle much at first; a few self-conscious attempts to break the ice came unstuck. Four Holy Spirit boys sulked under a tree, offended that some Muslim girls had laughed at their Asian names. Some Malek Fahd girls were embarrassed by the physical intimacy between Christian boys and girls. In their hijabs and long-sleeved shirts, the Muslim girls must be feeling the heat. "No sir, I'm used to it," says a beaming 13-year-old. She chats about professional wrestling on TV, and like every other student assigned to this neatly-kept, lush park, moans about the pink rubber gloves they are obliged to wear. By noon, when it's time to board the buses, a fun, friendly chatter abounds. "It's much better than being in class," says an excited girl from Holy Spirit.

A few days later at Malek Fahd, social science teacher Pinad El Ahmad says the inter-faith experience was beneficial; she's the major mover in the school's values program. "We want our students to see that the world is not limited to what goes on at this school," she says. "We'd like them to make friends and see new things." Deputy Principal Ali Kak says the school fosters the idea that being a good Muslim and a good Australian are complementary. "Our mission is to contribute to society in a positive way." There are 1,800 students at the school, established in 1989. There's no more room. Posted around the school's reception area are the same three signs: no place in any class, k-12. A new mosque has just been completed; with most of the senior grades away on camp, the high school is quiet. During recess, the junior kids chase balls, sip flavored milk and munch on sugary packaged snacks. The boys and girls are separated, except in some senior classes. As in most schools nowadays, females are the star performers. In the Class of 2005, 11 of the top 14 university entrance scores were achieved by girls.

Principal Dr. Intaj Ali stresses Malek Fahd's motto: Knowledge is Light & Work is Worship. He reads out the four items from the previous week's school newsletter: a student has won a state-wide competition for her Harmony Day poster, a local newspaper's front page features Malek Fahd's Remembrance Day ceremony, blood was donated and there's a bicycle safety message. "These are normal Aussie kids, doing normal things," says Dr. Ali, whose staff is 40% non-Muslim. "We don't have the ghetto mentality here. We want the students to experience the full gamut of life." He says students are involved in civics and citizenship courses and when Islam is in the news they are free to discuss the issues. Unlike many Australians, Dr. Ali says his students don't register a division between Muslims and others. "I can tell you what's on their mind right now," he says. "They're more interested in what will happen in the cricket against England. The kids want the Ashes back here."

• Tom Dusevic
• Reaching across Australia's religious divide