The Reluctant Fundamentalist

by Mohsin Hamid

Did these things trouble me, you ask? Certainly, sir; I was often ashamed. But outwardly I gave no sign of this.

It is remarkable indeed how we human beings are capable of delighting in the mating call of a flower while we are surrounded by the charred carcasses of our fellow animals—but

I did not know whether I believed in the truth of their love; it was, after all, a religion that would not accept me as a convert. But I knew that she believed in it, and I felt small for being able to offer her nothing of comparable splendor instead.

What your fellow countrymen longed for was unclear to me—a time of unquestioned dominance? of safety? of moral certainty? I did not know—but that they were scrambling to don the costumes of another era was apparent. I felt treacherous for wondering whether that era was fictitious,

but we were being threatened nonetheless, and there was nothing I could do about it but lie in my bed, unable to sleep.

me,” I said it without that core of conviction that gives words their power;

the ruins proclaim the building was beautiful.

I did not know where I stood on so many issues of consequence; I lacked a stable core. I was not certain where I belonged—in New York, in Lahore, in both, in neither—and for this reason, when she reached out to me for help, I had nothing of substance to give her.

It was right for me to refuse to participate any longer in facilitating this project of domination; the only surprise was that I had required so much time to arrive at my decision.