Translator: Linh Ngo Thi Hong Reviewer: Ai Tokimatsu
I was seven years old when my father went to prison.
It's not a day that goes by
that I don't wish that he had chosen a peaceful path.
It's certainly unusual when an American citizen admits to being the son
of the first member of the Bin Laden organization to shed blood
on American soil.
Shame for what my father had done and fear for how I will be judged
for his actions had caused me to hide my identity
from most of those who knew me.
In 1990, my father assassinated Rabbi Meir Kahane,
the leader of the Jewish Defense League.
The JDL, as it was called, was described by the federal government
as the largest terrorist organisation operating inside the United States
at the time.
While attempting to flee the scene, my father was also shot
by a federal postal officer.
And he and Meir Kahane were rushed to the hospital with similar gun shot wounds.
Kahane died at Bellevue Hospital that night.
My father lived.
From his prison cell, my father would be convicted of seditious conspiracy
as well as other charges related to a plot to bomb several landmarks
in New York City including tunnels, synagogues, and the World Trade Center.
I carried the legacy of my father with me for much of my life.
But as an adult, I realized that I wasn't just hiding my identity,
I was also hiding something valuable:
my story.
And my story was that, as a 7 year-old, I was taught to fire
fully automatic weapons,
and that the men in my life who I loved were sent to prison because
they were fanatics.
I was taught that anyone who didn't follow a very narrow idea of
what it means to be good was an enemy.
Thanksfully, I was able to shed those beliefs by being exposed
to those I was compelled to judge.
With the help of my best friend Sharon, I was able to realize that
there was power in my story,
and that only by sharing it, would I be able to claim my future.
My first TED talk gave me a voice,
and my TED book The Terrorist's Son allowed me to share my story
in more detail.
The process of going from hiding my identity to sharing my story publicly
has been both profound and surreal.
One of the lessons that I've learned is that storytelling
has the potential to change lives.
I quickly discovered that by hiding my identity,
I was unable to fully claim my future.
I realized that stories can have a transformational effect.
Only by owning my story, would I be able to escape
the shadow of my father's legacy.
It was never made more clear to me that when I was asked to give a speech
in front of hundreds of young people from all over the world
who had either survived terrorist attacks
or had lost loved ones due to terrorism.
I stood at a podium in front of this group between the ages of 12 to 24
who'd experienced some of the worst things that humanity can possibly imagine.
And I shared my story. And they shared theirs.
It became immediately apparent that these young people
See, my fear was that...I was somehow supposed to teach them something.
What knowledge, what wisdom could I share with them that may make them feel
like this world is worth saving.
But, it became immediately apparent that these young people refused to allow
the worst experiences of their lives to determine their life in a negative way.
We can look at the headlines and think that this world is beyond saving
or we can look to the incredible results of these young people
and the many others like them around the world
who have been through these terrible experiences
but refuse to be broken by them.
They were sharing their stories and they were helping each other to heal.
Now,
it's easy to think that - with all the information we have these days - that
the world is worst than it ever was.
but the truth is these young people refused to allow the extremists to win.
They weren't going to let them become what the extremists had hoped.
Hateful, fearful, full of angry. They would not be broken by them.
And it was a beautiful sight to see.
They came from every walk of life, every religion or none at all.
But to watch them help each other.
was just incredible and it's a privilege for me to be a part of it.
And it served me as a reminder that we must work together
in order to achieve peace.
Remember that extremism thrives on the fringes of society.
When we divide people into smaller and smaller groups based on
one arbitrary distinction or another,
we create communities ingrained with hostility toward one another.
But what is peace?
As I have come to understand the definition of peace,
it is not an absence of violence.
Because the truth is, in a free society,
there will always be people willing and able to commit acts of terrorism
in the name of their beliefs.
No, peace is not an absence of violence.
Peace is a proliferation of justice.
And courage is having the strength to stand up for that justice
in the face of extreme violence.
Over the past year and a half or so,
I've received countless emails from all over the world about my story.
And it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that 99.9% of them
have been overwhelmingly positive.
But I noticed the theme in these emails,
people not only crave stability but peace.
And I realized then, as I do now, that what the world needs
are people - storytellers
who are willing to share how they were able to overcome their prejudices.
But it can be a difficult task.
I was speaking for 5 years before I felt that my voice was being heard.
But I realised that storytelling has the potential to change lives.
It may come as a surprise to some but although I was raised
in the religion of Islam, I'm no longer a Muslim.
And it has little to do with my feelings on Islam in particular.
I knew that my father's actions were well outside of the mainstream.
And in fact, I only bring this up to point out that I'm not here advocating
for any particular belief system.
I'm simply here to share my story.
Now, nowadays, I get to travel all over the world and share my message at
schools and conferences and various religious and business organisations.
And a few months ago, I had the privilege of being invited to
share the stage with Archbishop Desmond Tutu
at the Skoll World Forum at Oxford University.
It was really an honor for me to be a part of this because it showed that
while our individual beliefs are precious,
they're never something that should be used to divide one another.
It is by finding commonalities within each other, by communicating
that we make this world a better place.
This desire for common ground leads to respect and, ultimately, peace,
which is why I find that it's so important that we bring people
with different belief systems together.
Now, this can be one of the most useful tools for encouraging
solidarity within our community.
And when I say 'dialogue', I don't mean that we bring everyone into a room
to debate who's right and who's wrong.
All I'm talking about is simple interaction.
Sharing a meal together or working together on a community project.
It not only aids in dispelling false stereotypes and prejudices,
it helps to create stronger, safer communities.
Opening up dialogue between people of different backgrounds helps to promote
mutual respect and understanding among all faiths and cultures.
And I really urge everyone here to look into the different ways to foster
interfaith events in your community.
By interacting with one another and breaking down the walls in our society,
I believe that we can change the world.
Being raised in the home of a Muslim zealot,
I've been exposed to many other things that people fear about Islam.
Yet I stand here promoting peace.
This would be impossible in a world where we hang on to those old prejudices.
And it's only by bridging the gaps in our beliefs that society will be able to
withstand the psychological effects of extremist violence.
When we ostracize the innocent, it tears apart the fabric of our society
which only works to format the next generation of intolerance.
Ultimately, it is human experience that will solve this dilemma.
Wherever I speak, the subject inevitably turns to groups like ISIS
and what can be done as an individual and society
to combat those willing to go to such brutal lengths for their beliefs.
And to that, my answer is a relatively simple one:
Don't give into fear.
Do not allow the actions of a radical group to alter society in a way that
further alienates nonviolent citizens
marginalised by a fearful majority.
Like most belief systems, these ideologies cannot be
destroyed with bullets or missiles.
You cannot bomb people into Democracy.
Religion is simply used to cloak the intentions of men
like Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the leader of ISIS.
But it is human emotion - anger, fear, isolation - that binds the rank-and-file.
And this is where we can make the difference.
This is why we must choose peace.
As I mature, I realised that the only way I can overcome the challenges of my past,
which, at times, had been crippling is to help others understand
that hatred only produces more hate.
But belief in nonviolence at least provides an opportunity to heal.
Those cycles of violence, no matter how old, don't have to continue forever.
I am not my father.
And with that simple fact, I stand here as proof that violence isn't inherent
in one's religion or race,
and the son does not have to follow the ways of his father.
And should we fulfill our obligation to live peacefully,
and to put in the work needed in order to obtain peace,
however difficult it may be,
that ultimately will leave this Earth a better place for the ones we love.
Thank you very much.
(Applause)