ESSAY

It doesn’t surprise me at all that he gave his life shielding others from gunfire. He was a true American Muslim.

On the morning of May 18, as two teenage gunmen attempted to storm the Islamic Center of San Diego, one man stood between them and mayhem.

Amin Abdullah, one of the three people who died from the attackers’ bullets, was a security guard at San Diego County’s largest mosque. The city’s police commissioner has since described him as a hero whose actions in trying to stop the gunmen likely saved many lives, including children.

“It’s fair to say his actions were heroic,” San Diego Police Chief Scott Wahl said at a news conference. “Undoubtedly, he saved lives today.”

I’m not surprised. For I knew Amin – as a colleague, a man who wanted to protect others, and as someone who made me smile on one of the most difficult days of my life.

Last December, with a thousand thoughts in my mind, I had walked up to the Islamic Center of San Diego to attend my father’s funeral prayers. My family migrated to the US from India in 1995. I was educated in the US, have worked here and am the father of an American-born daughter.

By burying my father in this land that day, I was tying my past, present and future to the land where I have now spent the majority of my life.

Being a Muslim, I have also had a front-row seat to the growth of Muslims in the US – socially, culturally, economically and politically. Equally, I have seen the rise of anti-Muslim rhetoric and violence in the US since the 1990s.

It had been a few years since I had been to the Islamic Center of San Diego, the biggest mosque in San Diego County. I noticed that not much had changed in the building itself. A beautiful minaret and a dome, a modern take on traditional Islamic architecture, clearly visible from the freeway, announced the presence of the Muslims.

What was strange, though, was the presence of a heavily armed security guard at the door. That was something new, I thought. Even with all the hate messages in the answering machines of various mosques that I frequented in the San Diego area, I never thought we were in any danger. “Do we really need this high-level of security?” I thought.

The face of the security guard looked familiar. Then, as I got closer, the guard yelled “KASHIF BHAI!!!”, and then I saw the familiar big smile of Amin.

We used to work together when I was working at a dental office. I was his manager, and he was not very good at his dental job. But it’s hard to fire someone who always greets you warmly with a big smile. So he continued working.

He was always fascinated by men in uniform. He would bolt out of the dental office as soon as he heard the siren of the police cars whizzing by.

I finished my education and moved out of San Diego to pursue a career in biotech, while my parents and siblings stayed put. I kept going back but never ran into Amin until that day.

It was such a delight to see him fulfil his lifelong dream of being a security officer. That difficult day when I was to bury my father, we shared laughs and a quick catch-up on life updates. I was probably seeing him after 20 years. That was to be our last meeting.

Yesterday, he was martyred defending the mosque. Amin, which means “trustworthy”, lived up to his name and died doing what he loved.

Amin was born a Muslim to an African American mother. He was as American as one can get. He was also as Muslim as one can be.