-What exactly are you asking of me? -I suppose I'm asking you to look into it.
Look into what, exactly?
Look into St. Patrick's?
On… And just to be clear,
on the basis that some of your mother's blood tests got damaged?
-It's a lot to ask, I know. -Do you?
[Sarah sighs]
Do you?
[clicks tongue] Did I ever tell you why I moved here?
No. No, I don't think you did.
Didn't tell anybody, now that I think about it.
It's almost as if nobody asked.
You know, I was, um, 21 when the Towers went down.
Watched it on TV in my dorm room just weepin'.
When I was a kid, I wasn't religious at all, really.
But I went to the mosque that day, because they had a blood drive,
and the line went for blocks.
I wanted to help.
I wanted to protect this country.
So I moved to New York and enrolled in NYPD training.
Now, some of my friends, they weren't happy.
"NYPD is against us," they'd say. But I'd tell them, "No. You're wrong."
"I'll show them they don't have to be afraid of us."
"I'll show them who we are."
So I worked my way up.
You know, traffic, and translating and transcribing wiretaps, then Vice.
I get married. Ali is born, and I'm promoted again. Detective now.
Top secret security clearance for the joint terrorism task force.
I'm helping the FBI fight terrorists.
We're taking collars. You know, petty stuff, pot, parking tickets
and leaning on them hard if they're Muslim.
"You know, we'll drop the charge, help you out."
"You go to the mosque and listen."
I thought we were supposed to be fighting terrorists.
Not flipping some pothead student in Queens to spy on Americans.
So I complain.
Gently. One time.
Everything changed.
I was surveilled by other cops.
I mean, they even had an official file on me.
And not just me. See, like, after the Towers,
Muslim officers were promoted fast. Especially if we knew the language,
like, linguistic knowledge, cultural knowledge.
We were very desirable for that.
But it started to occur to them,
with so many of us on the force, elevated to positions of real authority,
what if that had been our plan all along?
What if we were interlopers?
What if we were infiltrators?
What if we were double agents? And they fucking panicked.
Internal Affairs was suddenly all over us. We were being followed.
We're being recorded. Civilians too. Surveilled at mosques, cafes.
And suddenly I'm out of plain clothes and I'm back in uniform.
Night shift, street beat.
And more and more, I realize I've lost their trust.
I roll with it.
I keep my head high.
Dignity.
Dignity is a word my wife uses.
"Show them dignity."
And then she's diagnosed.
And she's robbed of her dignity so fast.
And then she's gone.
And I couldn't…
Ali and I get as far away as we can. And I find this gig.
This little island.
So sleepy, it could be dead.
No elections, no staff. Just a tiny room at the back of a grocery store,
and a bunch of fishermen without a notable incident of intentional violence
in almost a century, and I beg for the post.
Dignity.
Ali is bored to tears.
But he's safe.
And I still think I could maybe move the world that one millimeter.
You know, maybe here's where we make a difference.
Not in the big city, but in this tiny village.
Win over the fucking PTA and call it a victory for Islam.
So I don't intimidate.
I don't overshare or overstep or intrude in any way.
I don't even carry a gun.
And still…
Still…
Beverly Keane and a few others too
look at me like I'm Osama bin-Fucking-Laden.
And you'd like me
to investigate St. Patrick's?