Closing Pandora's Box

Some of you may remember the interview with a niqab wearing lady I posted a few months ago. Last week on Monday, the Times 2 supplement contained another juicy article and I’ve posted it here for you to get your teeth stuck into:

The article, which featured on a double page spread, is a very interesting read and raises a lot of issues.

Click on the files to download

Part 1 – 2.58mb

Part 2 – 548kb

Part 3 – 3.5mb

If you are a Muslim woman or girl, to what extent do you agree with some of the comments made by Shaista Gohir? Has Islam really become a patriarchal faith dominated by men?

..."The preachy police - you know, these young men who think they are the moral police. They go around judging other Muslims. They are becoming quite arrogant. What irritates me about them is that they have reduced Islam to a few sets of rituals and the dress code - but Islam is much more than that. It is about how you treat other people; it is about respect, justice and tolerance. So the preachy police will pull out verses on dress but ignore the ones on being good to your neighbour, or being peaceful. They have reduced Islam to a piece of cloth."

*****

Feel free to leave your thoughts in a comment, and feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

[This is a scheduled post]

Disclaimer:
All views mentioned in external articles belong to their respective writers and are by no means my own.

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Title: Alice – Avril Lavigne
All scanned images were taken from the Times2 supplement included inside the Times on the 21^st March 2011.

The men, the women, the children walk
In a line, on the side of the dusty track.
Feet scraping, shoulders hunched, in silence, no talk.
Left, right, left, right, left, right, there’s no going back.

Some carry their lives in bundles, on their heads, their backs or hanging by their side,
Under the burden of memories, others carry themselves from falling to the ground.
Their shadows spill around them, forming dark puddles where they collide
Left right, left right, left, there’s no turning around.

They are  like soldiers, they are martyrs, each one an exile,
Marching in suits starched with mud, others with dresses torn.
Feet hurting, cuts in skin that is still fragile.
Left, right, left, right, it’s behind, a cause forlorn.

Where are they to go?
Left, right, left, no rhythm in their feet.
The eyes of the world are on them, what do they have to show?
Left, right. Maybe one day  they will be back, they are not yet beat.

Nas - (March 2011)

This poem I wrote after a 3 year drought of poem writing and so thought I’d share it with you.

*****

“Most of the patients here,” she said. “Suffer from terminal illnesses and disease. Many have been told they have limited time to live.” It was another day at the hospice training. And we were having a group discussion. “I want you all to get into pairs and threes if needed, and discuss what you would do if you were told you had a short amount of time to live?” I ask you that question,

What would you do if you were told you would die soon?

“It’s important because many of us never think about it. And I think we should ask it because it reminds us of our mortality.” She said after the discussion.

*****

Many people in the Middle East, in New Zealand, in Japan, were forced to ask themselves this question. There are people living today, who have the shadow of death hanging over their shoulder and they just do not know when their counter will stop counting. We’ve all heard and seen pictures of the death, the destruction, the suffering those people are going through. We’ve all heard the stories of poverty and persecution some people are a victim of each day of their lives.

When you jump into bed tonight, just spare a minute for those people, who do not have a bed in which to to sleep. Think of those people who will be resting their head amid the sound of gun fire. Think of those people who will be cuddling up against rubble. Think of the elderly, the children, the sick, the injured. Think of those that have lost brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters and friends. Think of them and say a prayer.

Please do give generously to those charitable organisations that are providing aid to those in need to the best of your ability.

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Title: Better Days – Goo Goo Dolls
Picture 1, showing a girl walking with a bag through rubble taken from here.
Picture 2, showing a woman prisoner taken from here.
Picture 3, showing a frail man laying taken from here.

O ye who believe! be strict in observing justice, and be witnesses for Allah, even though it be against yourselves or against parents and kindred. Whether he be rich or poor, Allah is more regardful of them both than you are. Therefore follow not low desires so that you may be able to act equitably. And if you conceal the truth or evade it, then remember that Allah is well aware of what you do.¹

O ye who believe! be steadfast in the cause of Allah, bearing witness in equity; and let not a people’s enmity incite you to act otherwise than with justice. Be always just, that is nearer to righteousness. And fear Allah. Surely, Allah is aware of what you do.²

In my 6^th form class there were 10 boys (including me). We had quite a weird bunch of guys.

• One was gay. He was an excellent singer. We made fun of him.
• One was extremely homophobic, spoke like a robot and loved America more than anything. We made more fun of him.
• One was a diehard Chelsea fan and came to school drunk on many occasions. We had a lot of banter with him, because he was a little mentally challenged loud mouthed.
• One was called Eid. His ability to change his tone from ghettoese to well spoken, grammatically correct English was quite startling. But with a name like Eid, how could you make fun of him?
• Two were Manchester United fans (like me), hard working (not like me), good guys (I was a bit of a *insert appropriate word here* back in the days).
• One was an Arsenal fan. Dynamite comes in small packages. He was small. Every Monday I’d happily remind him, “For the last however many seasons, the only silverware Arsenal have seen has been the studs on their boots.”
• One had the most ostentatious hair ever and would be seen each morning during registration drinking a can of relentless with a carrot cake.
• And then there was me.

Our form got along well with each other (apart from American kid). We played hilarious pranks on one another, like on valentines the gay guy gave the homophobic guy a rose. We shared a lot of friendly banter (mainly about football) and also a lot of homework (usually chemistry).

I was good friends with most of my form, especially the gay guy. We used to sit next to each other in Biology class, had long discussions (mainly me making fun of him) and he even nearly tricked me into seeing a BMW once (not the car). There was another Muslim guy in my maths class who hated the gay guy. “F***ing f*g,” he would say. “Look at that poofter. Stay away from me!” Once I was discussing this with the gay guy and I told him, “Though I do not think homosexuality is right, I also do not think it is right to discriminate against any person.”

But this post isn’t about the gay guy or any of the guys mentioned above.

*****

I was standing in the queue at the post office. In front of me were two hijabi girls, who had just come out of school. They had been talking about all sorts of stuff; boys, one’s boyfriend, Lady Gaga’s new song and then one of them said:

Girl 1: I heard this siiiiiccccck joke this morning.
Girl 2: What?
Girl 1: Why do Jews have such big noses?
Girl 2: Errrrm I dunno.
Girl 1: ‘Coz the airs free init.
Girl 2: I don’t get it.
Girl 1: Ah don’t worry about it, I got another one. How do you get 6 million Jews into a car?
Girl 2: Errrrm dunno.
Girl 1: *with a smug I am so clever look on her face* Stick ‘em all in the ashtray.

If looks could kill, she’d have been a gonner if her eyes happened to have crossed mine.

*****

When I wrote my 3-part thoughts on hate (1,2,3) I got an email from someone who wasn’t too happy with the points I made. “You don’t understand Islam at all,” The person said. “You’re a Jew lover.” Followed by a lot more things that are not appropriate to mention here. Am I really?

Fear of the unknown makes people do irrational things, say irrational things and believe irrational things. I already wrote a whole post on that in part 3 of the series on hate, but I wanted to revisit the topic. A significant proportion of Muslim youth (and adults) have this notion in their head that all Jews and Christians are worthy of Allah’s wrath. They seem to think they’re doing Allah a favour by spreading the hate. Some even go as far as usurping the rights of anyone that is not a Muslim. I’d like to ask them why?

“They’re killing our innocent brothers and sisters in Palestine,” they say.
“Who?”
”The Jews.”

Let us analyse that. That reply seems to insinuate that all Jews are responsible for the conflict happening between Israel and Palestine. If that was the case, what were those Jews doing marching in London among the pro-Palestinian protestors in the wake of the Gaza bombings (2009)? If all Jews are bad, then I guess following the same logic all Muslims too should be terrorists after what happened on 9/11 in America, 7/7 in London and with that young man (Abdul Farouk Abdulmtallab) trying to blow up his balls on the flight from Amsterdam to Detroit. Let’s be just, and use the same measuring stick. If due to the action of a few Jews the whole of the Jewish community is labelled as being bad, then why not the same for the Muslims, and the Christians and the Hindus etc.?

If Jews are so bad, then why did the Holy Prophet Muhammad^(saw) marry one [Refer to Sister Sara’s comment below] why does the Holy Qur’an allow Muslims to marry them? The Holy Prophet Muhammad^(saw) married a recently converted Jew. And when the other wives of the Prophet taunted her or behaved harshly towards her she did not respond. Once Hadhrat Aisha^(ra) and Hadhrat Hafsa^(ra) called her a ‘Jew’ but she remained quiet. On the arrival of the Holy Prophet^(saw), she mentioned these happenings. He replied, “If they claim to be from the family of the Prophet then why didn’t you say that I am far superior because I am daughter of Haroon^(as) (Aaron), niece of Musa^(as) (Moses) and the wife of Muhammad?”. This wondrous woman I refer to is none other than Hadhrat Safia^(ra).

The Holy Qur’an talks of the Khaira-Ummah in the following words:

You are the best people raised for the good of mankind; you enjoin what is good and forbid evil and believe Allah…³

Let us not transgress the rights of justice (refer to translation at the top of the article) owed to one another for that is a commandment given to us by our Lord. I have been brought up being taught respect for others, their beliefs and their way of doing things. Just because it’s different doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong.

I was looking for a wallpaper of a Mosque to put onto my PC at home. Scrolling through pages and pages of pictures on Google images I came across the following picture. It looked beautiful:

That is to say, until I clicked on it and read the text on the right hand side. Bad people are found in every group, every religion, every society and every culture. I’d like to see you prove me wrong.

Come to think of it, once you remove the layers of labels everyone is surrounded by, we’re all essentially the same at the core. Whether we belong to different religions, different sexualities, different races, different sets of football fans, deep down inside, we all feel the same pain, the same hurt, the same happiness, the same fear etc. After all, we are all human and that is where it matters. Forget the labels and see the people who reside behind them.

Or maybe I’m just wrong, and just too nice. Maybe hate is the way forward (despite the lessons history teaches us contrary to that belief).

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Picture 1, showing mosque wallpaper taken from here
¹Holy Qur’an - Al-Nisa' Chapter 4 : Verse 136
²Holy Qur’an - Al-Ma'idah Chapter 5 : Verse 9
³Holy Qur’an - Aal-e-`Imran Chapter 3 : Verse 111

On Monday, I have immunity and infection lectures in the afternoon from 13.30-16.30 / 17.00. This week’s lectures were 2; mucosal immunology and the second one was on something to do with bacterial infections and investigating them. Half way through the first lecture I was overcome by sleep and it required an elbowing from Furbeed to wake me up. The second lecture was actually pretty useless so I took out The Times 2 crossword and for the first time ever (in recent days), the great minds of Furbeed and I solved the whole thing:

We started approximately 10 minutes into the second lecture and finished about 10 minutes before the end. The lecture was just over an hour long, so do the maths and work out how much time we spent on it. We started doing the code word on the right, but stopped when the lecture ended.

Because of my sleeping and doing crosswords in lectures I have a mountain of work to do. I have 2 essays to write for the end of the month (still need to read the original research articles and do some background work too), finish my dissertation for next month, and revise for exams. My first exam is in early May, and looking at the amount of work I have left myself, it makes me want to cry. Well not really. I’ve made myself a revision timetable and if I stick to that, I should hopefully be able to get everything done well in time.

In terms of blogging, I have started 3 posts, but haven’t got round to finishing any of them. As for blog reading, I read nearly every single blob blog people write, but don’t always comment due to the hectic rush that I seem to always be in now-a-days. Forgive me!

It’s about time I read my posts on the value of time, my new years resolutions and actually acted on them. Anyway, back to dissertation writing. *Yawn*

[This is a scheduled post]

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Title: Survivor – Destiny’s Child
Picture 1, showing completed crossword from personal photography.

This post I initially started writing back in February. Today I thought I’d sit down and just get it done.

*****

Her: My granddad is ill, and the doctors have said he’s about to die.
Me: I’m really sorry to hear that.
Her: I don’t want him to die ;(
Me: Everyone has to die some time. Maybe it’s just his time. Maybe he’s waiting for you give him permission to go.
Her: But I don’t care. I’ll miss him so much.
Me: You’d rather he suffer?
Her: ;(
Me: Has anyone told him what the doctors have said?
Her: No. We didn’t think it would be good for him.
Me: Why not? He knows he’s ill, maybe it would be better if he be told everything. At least that way he could start to prepare.
Her: But I don’t want him to go!

~ Sometime in late January

*****

Him: I’m sorry I’m late.
Me: Don’t worry about it. I’ve only had to deal with a hugely long queue, do so much washing up, and anyway, you’re always late so it doesn’t really matter. But why are you late?
Him: *shakes head* My cousin passed away in the morning.
Me: Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that man. What happened if you don’t mind me asking?
Him: He was sitting there with his family. And just started having a fit. Before anything could be done, he was gone.
Me: That’s horrible. How old was he?
Him: Only 16.
Me: Damn. Only started his life as well. And then this happens.
Him: He was an only child too. His parents were so distraught.
Me: *I thought of Charley, she too was an only child. Her parents were left in such a bad state after she passed away* I can only imagine. It must be so hard on them.
Him: And you know what it makes me think? What’s the point of it all? What’s the point of life? And God? Only 16.
Me: I know. It must have been just so unexpected. When was the last time you saw him?
Him: Ummm about 6 months ago. No Christmas, so 3 months ago.
Me: Life’s such a bitch sometimes. Were you guys close?
Him: Yeah sort of. He used to look up to me as a role model. Do things I did etc etc. But damn it really makes you wonder.
Me: Yeah reminds you just how unexpected the future can be, and just how mortal we are. Would you like a hug?

~ Last week

*****

When I started my training for working at the hospice, along with the introductory pack we were also given a list of books that we might find worthwhile reading. Among them was a book that I posted a quote from before. I got this book from the library in November and finished reading it a few days ago. The book I am referring to is Intimate Death: How the dying teach us to live. This book is, I can honestly say, amazing. Marie De Hennezel takes us on a short journey to meet with terminally ill patients, many of whom initially wish to end their lives. That is, until they meet Hennezel. During their meetings with her, and the love, affection and concern she shows allows them to discover something deep within themselves, a hidden strength, a hidden desire to live another day, week, or month.

The book is extremely inspiring; full of accounts of people who, in some cases due to no fault of their own, are condemned to live a life of very few days. There was one patient in particular who, despite being unable to move at all except her eye lids and one finger, was full of life and wanted to live. Daniele is young (early 20’s I think. I forgot to write down her age) and suffers from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis¹, a neurodegenerative disease caused by degeneration of the motor neurons. Motor neurons, for those of you who are not familiar with them, are the nerves that control all our voluntary movement. This includes smiling, talking, moving your body parts etc. Her condition is so severe that she relies on others to turn her head after a while to prevent her from swallowing her own tongue and choking on it. The only voluntary control she has is the movement of her eye lids and the ability to move one of her fingers. It is with this finger that she communicates with the world through a type writer. There are many moving scenes with her, but I want to share just 2 of them with you.

*****

Daniele is laboriously picking out the letters on the screen. I bend over to look. In this position, half-lying on the bed beside her, we are very close. She says that makes her feel good.

She always wanted to be given lots of love, and now she is getting it in abundance. But it is so difficult to receive it. She talks about her family’s love, and that of her friends and those who take care of her, as “a fountain from which she doesn’t know how to drink,” and she adds, “Perhaps you have to learn to become a little child again, humble enough to accept the gift.”

And this is not easy, because Daniele was the absolute opposite: she loved to give egotistically. Knowing how to receive requires abandoning oneself, letting go, an attitude dramatically opposed to the way she’s always been. Will her current journey lead her to explore this fallow ground?

“What kind of journey is illness dragging us through?” She often refers to this idea of a journey. For her, the whole idea of going forward, of moving, is primordial. How can she live in her paralysis except by moving psychologically?

Fine-tuned and intelligent, she has decided to take up the challenge of this illness. “I can tell you my weapons: Avoid all comparisons with the past and learn to live this as a particularly long and difficult passage. You see, I don’t know how many years the ordeal will last, but there are difficult lessons, and they need time.”

Sometimes Daniele cries. But tears run down her face, which undo us.

“I didn’t let the emotion out before, but now that my virus has taken my speech and my muscles, I can’t keep it in anymore.”

She writes about just how difficult it is to be there without voice and without movement.²

Movement as well as talking is one of the most primitive of things. We don’t even think about moving, it just happens. Can you imagine life without it?

*****

Baths for bed-ridden patients. Daniele is given a bath:

I wait for the staff to get her into bed and finish what they have to do before I go to her. She’s relaxed, bright-eyed, ready to write.

“Being washed can be like a party – lots of sweet smells, massage that makes you feel like you’re being caressed, peals of conspiratorial laughter.” And then: “Talking about pleasure, how could I never have noticed that moving is one of them? Will I ever get it back, or will it always be a matter of some kind of complicated exercise? Movement is the most primitive pleasure there is – you have to undergo such ordeals to find treasures you never dreamed of.”

When I left Daniele, all I wanted to do was go and run barefoot in the grass like a mad thing. Get drunk on movement! I took my car and went to the park at Sceaux. It was warm, and I realized that the days were getting longer. On the big lawn in front of the castle, I took the most immense pleasure in running, spinning in circles, feeling the warm, damp earth under my feet, and I said thank you to life and to Daniele for such a conscious flash of pure joy.³

*****

This book taught me a lot. It taught me the importance of living. Daniele’s example especially was heart-rendering. Despite being able to do very little, she still enjoyed life. Yes there were periods when her disability left her drowning in tears she was unable to wipe away, but even then, her positivity was awe-inspiring.

Many people are scared to break bad news to extremely ill loved ones because they are afraid the effect it would have may be detrimental. ‘We think we’re protecting the person who’s dying , but aren’t we first and foremost trying to protect ourselves? What do we know of the innermost feelings of the dying? Do we not underestimate their capacity to face things squarely?’⁴

For anyone who feels they have forgotten how to live, this book will show you just how great life can be and how much we take for granted. I would honestly recommend it to each and every person, because death is something all of us have to face. This book will just make it a wee bit easier understanding it and give you the ability to aid the dying.

We can’t escape death, but we can live while we have the chance. ‘Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you’.⁵

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Title: If I die young – The Band Perry
Picture 1, showing running barefoot on the grass taken from here
¹More information about ALS can be found here
²Intimate Death: How the dying teach us to live, pages 121-122
3Intimate Death: How the dying teach us to live, page 123
⁴Intimate Death: How the dying teach us to live, page 13
⁵Annie Dillard

I was going through the documents on my old computer and came across this piece of writing I once did for English. This was back in year 8, that is when I was 13…

*****

THE URBAN JUNGLE

What type of a name for a city is London? I still can’t believe my parents sent me here.

“David,” they said, “you’ll love it.” Well have I got news for them. I don’t love it, I don’t even like it. I love playing all summer with my friends over the great green grassy plains. But most of all, I love exploring the jungle. I knew the jungle really well. How am I supposed to get used to all this foul air? Tough luck you might say, I have 6 whole weeks to get used to it. 6 weeks!

Here I am in a flat with my cousin who does nothing but sit in front of the television which consumes most of his time. His room is littered with pizza boxes, coke cans lying around the bin and dirty socks, all adding to the distinct smell of the Logan‘s household.

“David,” Lee shouted between mouthfuls of fries, “Superman’s new film is on. Don’t you wanna watch it?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going out" I replied walking out and rolling my eyes.

Outside, the cold crisp morning air blew past me carrying with it leaves that rustled in its footsteps. All was quiet except for the sweet birdsong. I stood listening to the unexplainable beauty that God had created. But it wasn’t like the beauty you would find in the countryside. Suddenly my body stiffened. My eyes fell upon the tall buildings pumping dirty smoke into the virgin morning. Man was destroying the beauty which God had created, for nothing but to quench his own greed. The cars, the electricity guzzling lights on every shop front, and the filthy chimneys piercing the clean morning sky with their towering turrets. The jungle where I was from was different. The jungle was a labyrinth of dense forest and tangled vegetation. It was silent, except for the background murmur of little insects, buzzing and clicking. When the day began, you could hear the birds singing their hymns and the tigers come out and prowl through the vegetation looking for food.

A police car went by, prowling just like a tiger. It was hungry and saw what it wanted. Food. Having not eaten for days the chances of the prey getting away were slim. The blue lights came on. The siren began to howl. When the tiger comes out, the other animals move out of the way due to fear. In the same way, when any car heard the siren, they made way for the police car.

Then, a loud, polluting truck rambled by. I felt guilt. But more overwhelming was the feeling of anger. Man had made things that would destroy the beauty Mother Earth had to offer. What for? Greed, selfishness and money. As the birds flew away and the exhaust fumes made their way into my cold, red nose I looked around and pondered over the man made things around me. The technology, the transport, the buildings, everything. Yes it was wonderful. But when this same technology and advancement endangers the life of a fellow living species, it not wonderful at all. It would be better if this technology didn’t exist.

How difficult would it be telling your grandchildren what elephants looked like and why they were no longer there. Would it not be embarrassing to have to say the elephants were killed because man wanted to use its tusks to make rings and other ornaments? After a while the coolness of the morning settled my anger. I walked back home where I found Lee still sitting in front of the television. Maybe this box with moving pictures is not that bad after all. I had 6 weeks to spend in this place, why not make the most of the speaking box and foul air. Tough.

*****

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a tree hugger or anything but the state of the environment sometimes worries me. Here’s a documentary starring ex-president Al Gore, in which he highlights the issue of global warming:

An inconvenient truth

Where do you stand on this whole issue? Is caring for the environment important? Or should we just live while we can, and enjoy it as much as we can?

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Title: Black moon – Emerson, Lake and Palmer
Picture 1, showing elephants in a city taken from here
Picture 2, showing a polar bear on a retreating glacier taken from here

In my post on Friday, I mentioned I was going on a trip to Paris. In the end, after a ‘family meeting’, we decided to go to Belgium instead, to a place with the unpronounceable name of Brugge. I can pronounce it, but the variations I’ve heard go from Brugga, Bruggie (brother’s bogie) to Bruggay. I can’t phonetically write it because I just don’t know how to put the sound into letters. Anyway, this is how the day went.

*****

We were meant to leave the house at 7.45am, so that we’d make it in time to catch the ferry from Dover. It was 7.30 when my eyes opened and I realised the whole house was still covered snuggly by sleep’s blanket. I was slumped on the sofa with a book that had now ended up on the floor. DAMN! I must’ve fallen asleep after reading morning prayers. All I could remember was going to bed too early, but not knocking out till much much later, waking up to pray, grabbing a book to read and then nothing. It wasn’t long before the whole house was awake and the toilet line became too long. I smiled to myself. I don’t think there has ever been a time when we, as a family have managed to get ready and leave to go somewhere on time. When we finally got ready and had everything packed the time was 8.45am. It had been raining all night, but we weren’t going to let a little bit of water dampen our spirits.

The plan was to drive from London to Dover, catch a ferry from there to Calais (France) and then drive to Brugge.

With dad hurtling down the M20 towards Dover, it was no surprise we got there well in time. So early in fact that we had to wait at the port for approximately half an hour. Dad knew our record of never being ready on time and so purposely told us we would be leaving at 7.45am just so that we would ‘hurry up’ a little. The sun had come out, and you could tell the little ones were excited; my brother wouldn’t stop farting. It was time to board the ferry.

We drove onto the ferry, parked the car and ran up onto the deck. I think we were meant to take our seats first because we missed all the initial safety instructions regarding what to do in an emergency. Who cares? Dear God, please let us have a safe journey. K thanks bye. The boat finally started moving and the hair blowing (literally) journey across the English Channel had begun.

“What’re you looking at?”

The beautiful white cliffs of Dover getting further…

…and further away

The closer we got to Calais, the harder the wind blew and the darker the clouds became. My hair felt like it was going to blow away any minute. Luckily however, it stopped for a few seconds allowing me to take a picture with the one and only little bro and the little sis.

As we entered the port of Calais…

…the little brother called over some of his mates.

Little Sister: What are all those seagulls doing?
Littler Brother: I think they must have sniffed out my farts.

Amidst ominous grey skies we disembarked from the ferry and were shocked to find that Europe drives on the wrong side of the road.

[End of part 1]

*****

The rest of the day’s adventures will be posted soon and then you can hear all about chocolate cock(rel)s, church services, boat rides and the pretty lady at Pizza Hutt.

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Title: Come sail away – Styx
All photographs were from personal photography except for the map which was taken from Google maps.

‘Cause if you take your vitamins and pay your taxes and never cut the line, the universe still gives you people to love but lets them slip through your fingers like water. And then what are you left with? Vitamins and nothing.¹

 

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Title: Dream catch me – Newton Faulkner
¹Grey’s Anatomy – Season 7, episode 16; Not responsible.