02 October 2004	Saturday	16 Shaban 1425

We have all seen bad films; fortunately most of them are quickly forgotten. However, I'm going to find it difficult to erase the latest from my mind: was it mystery, comedy or action? I wish to God I knew.

The drama I found myself in last week was like some horrible Hollywood B-movie. And I was the star. But nobody ever told me the plot, let alone the lines. "Wait a minute!" I thought, as I sat in front of three FBI agents in the US immigration office, "Am I supposed to be the baddie?"

The Boeing 747 carrying me and my 21-year old daughter, with more than 200 other passengers, had been ordered to make an emergency stop in a ghost-like airport called Bangor.

It seemed a terrible mistake. My ticket said Washington. The FBI men kept asking me to spell my name. "Y-U-S-U-F," I patiently repeated. They looked puzzled. "Are you sure that's the only way you spell it?"

My daughter and I were separated for over an hour for questioning. The officers treated us well, but there was an unbearable uncertainty echoing round my mind: Why? Nobody could answer that question. At least in the past I could see my Moon shadow; now I was dealing with a ghost within a database system, untraceable and indiscriminate.

I had been on my way to Nashville to explore some new musical ideas with a record label there. It was meant to be low-profile because of speculation that it might have raised in the music world about a return of "the Cat" - media attention was the last thing I wanted. But it seems God wanted it otherwise.

Whether there was a mix-up of names and identities, I still don't know. There was no obligation for them to give me a reason; the green visa waiver form I had so neatly filled in denied me any right to appeal or demand answers.

The worst thing was to be separated from my daughter, not knowing how she was or when we might be reunited. She was finally permitted to travel on to Washington with the luggage. Since my phone was confiscated, I couldn't contact her for the next 33 hours, neither could I ring my family, who were relegated to watching the whole frightening episode on TV.

I was driven over 200 miles to Boston, changing vehicles three times. It was only while I was watching TV in a confined hotel room at Boston's Logan airport, that I realized the gross slanders and allegations being spoken against me.

The amazing thing is that I was not given (and have still not been given) any explanation of what it is I am accused of, let alone an opportunity to respond to these allegations.

I was simply told that the order had come from "on high". On the planet I come from, I've never known a court where you don't know what crime was committed; you don't hear evidence; and you don't even see a jury or judge.

Finally, the curtain dropped down and the lights came up; I was relieved of my ordeal and delivered home to my family. Never would I have believed that such a thing could happen in the "land of the free".

The consternation of Muslims living in the west is clearly justified: Islamophobia is not a theory, it's a fact, and many ordinary Muslims in the UK and elsewhere are suffering, unseen and unheard. Was I just another victim of religious profiling?

Big questions remain. Was it a mistake? Was it because, after embracing Islam in 1977, I considered the majority under- privileged dark-skinned people of the so-called third world brothers and sisters in humanity, and the fact that I have sympathy for the neglected people of the world who are suffering from tyranny, poverty or war? Was it because I walked out of the wild world of the music industry? Why? -Dawn/The Guardian News Service.

Yusuf Islam is chairman of the lslamia Schools Trust and the Small Kindness Trust. He was formerly known as Cat Stevens.