When we recognize others as human beings, we gain the compassion required to respect differences.

Canada’s foreign policy is all about how we deal with “The Other.” How do Canadians choose to relate to “Other Nations,” “Other Worldviews,” “Other Faiths?” There are, essentially, three ways to deal with “The Other,” suggests well-known journalist Ryszard Kapuscinski in his book by the same title:

1. We can attempt to assimilate or annihilate “The Other”;
2. We can choose to build a fence to isolate ourselves from “The Other;” or
3. We can try to understand “The Other."

In my recent book, Unveiling the Breath: One woman’s journey into understanding Islam and gender equality (Pari Publishing, 2009), I share a story about an encounter I had with “The Other” in a remote community in the Muslim-majority country of Yemen. Here is an excerpt from Chapter Five of Unveiling the Breath:

One of my most daunting encounters with fundamentalist Islam took place in June 2006, at an all-girls school in Ta’iz – a poor and conservative Muslim city in the terraced highlands of Yemen. As executive director of Bridges Social Development, a Canadian-based volunteer organization, I was overseeing a program with journalists and educators to teach young girls how to tell their stories, how to define what is possible in their lives.

One critical partner in this work was Amat, the principal of this all-girls school. Amat is one of Ta’iz’s first elected female politicians; her gentle brand of leadership has enabled her to deftly model feasible roles for women in this community in a non-threatening way.

Not surprisingly, many of Amat’s fellow teachers at this all-girls school were anxious to understand Bridges’ program, and our motivators: why did Canadians care about young girls in Yemen? Were we trying to “westernize” their girls? A fellow volunteer and I were invited to a gathering in Bridges’ honour hosted by these teachers. Amat drove us to the reception in her white Suzuki – her petite frame barely stretching over the steering wheel. We were carefree, happy to be cruising around the city with one of Ta’iz’s first female drivers behind the wheel.

Our buoyant mood abruptly shifted gears on arrival at the door of the host’s apartment. A man with a full beard, obviously a fundamentalist, solemnly opened the door. My colleague and I did not make eye contact with the host, nor did we extend our hands in greeting. We simply nodded, acknowledging gratitude for the invitation into his home.

We were directed into a salon, enthusiastically greeted by more than a dozen animated women eager to find out more about us. For nearly two hours, we answered their questions about our beliefs and values – why we volunteered with Bridges; why we travelled to Yemen; why we cherished respectful relations between faiths.

After this intense grilling, we sat on the floor to share a Yemeni meal, eating with the fingers of our right hands and talking about the program. I relaxed. Trust was palpable in the room.

After dinner, the female host, Nadia, isolated me and in Arabic commanded that I swear allegiance to Islam. I was startled, and simply pretended not to understand. The second time, I got angry, deeply angry – after talking for two hours about the value of mutual respect, how could this host now dare to demand that I claim allegiance to Islam? In my halting Arabic, body taut, I exploded.

The third time Nadia asked, the elastic band holding this tension between our faiths snapped. The pressure suddenly broke – calmly, and from the bottom of my heart, I looked into her eyes, and asked: “Nadia, can you understand that my values and beliefs mean as much to me as yours do to you?” And then I hugged her, really hugged her. We stepped apart, both of us wiping away tears. This fundamentalist woman understood, accepted and respected the depth of the beliefs underlying my secular veil.

This face-to-face experience shed light, for me, on the boundaries between "The West" and fundamentalist Islam. At first, we try to coexist at a superficial level, ignoring our differences. But, as we become more assertive in claiming the worth of our own beliefs, and rights, anger mounts and polarity becomes inevitable. When this tension breaks, recognizing each other as fellow humans is the only way we can hold the compassion and empathy required to ultimately respect our differences. Academic theorizing cannot move us past this impasse.

This fundamentalist Islamic teacher in Yemen has seen the values that lie beneath my secular veil, and I have seen the values that lie beneath her black hijab. Together, we move forward, building flesh and blood bridges to span the widening ideological chasm that threatens to divide us.