Waiting for Terry Jones

It was easy to find the Islamic Center of America when I turned off the Southfield Freeway service drive onto Ford Road at about 4:30 p.m. last Friday. Twenty or more police cars with lights flashing served as my GPS in the gray, rainy afternoon. Police cars blocked access to the area and officers directed traffic onto the side streets.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Los Amigos restaurant and walked past the St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church to get to the mosque. The ICA is flanked by three Christian churches. I don't know about the spiritual energy around there, but it is apparently not exclusive.

I was there to see what Terry Jones, the Quran-burning Florida minister, would do in his planned protest in front of the Islamic Center. Right before I got out of the car, I heard a radio report that he was in court and a jury was deliberating on whether he would be allowed to carry out his mission. Jones had said that he would come, permit or not, so I joined the gathering of police and news reporters shivering in the cold near the front of the mosque. There were a handful of onlookers out on the berm off Ford Road.

A guy from the mosque asked for my press credential. I had none. He told me I either had to go inside or stand with the group out near Ford Road. I went inside where it was warmer and drier. On entering the building I was given a Quran and read a few lines as I walked the hallway past small groups of people mostly chatting quietly near the windows.

I began questioning folks, but the first few I approached didn't want to talk so I stopped. I overheard one man say, "If he is a pastor and he's coming in peace, why does he bring his gun?"

Indeed, Jones' .40-caliber handgun went off in his car the evening before, after leaving the FOX 2 television studios. He wouldn't be the first person to come to Detroit with his gun loaded and ready to go. On the other hand, I felt that if Gandhi came to town, he would not be armed. But then the Rev. Jones is no Gandhi.

The crowd had surged to some 40 or 50 people outside, so I headed back into the rain. As I approached the group, a guy in an oversized poncho and hood approached me. I jumped when he grabbed my arm.

"Relax, don't be getting paranoid on me," said Mulenga Harangua, my conspiracy theory-loving friend.

"Mulenga, what are you doing here?"

"I want to hear what Jones has to say. I'm not for the guy or against him. I don't want him to burn a Quran, but if he does, I want to see that."

"Even if he's trying to incite a riot?"

Mulenga looked dismissively at the soggy crowd. "That crazy bunch of rioters there? Let's go talk to them."

He grabbed my arm again and dragged me over to a guy carrying a sign that read: "I will debate you anytime, anywhere." Mulenga shoved my hand with the tape recorder in the guy's face.

"Sir, why do you want to debate Terry Jones?" I asked.

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