In the 1980's, I was privileged to work closely with a cardiac surgical resident in Houston, TX who was a citizen of Nigeria. He was one of the most conscientious, kindest and competent people I have ever known, and our friendship left an abiding impression on me. He had a spiritual, contemplative, introspective, other-worldly aura about him, and I often imagined that he could look straight into a person's soul.
Twenty-seven years later, my daughter chose as her first college roommate, a beautiful young woman whose parents were Nigerian Americans. She came from a very close-knit family and had four sisters. I know this because
I met every one of them when we moved my daughter into her dorm that freshman year. Her entire family came to help her move. They were so friendly to us and loving to each other, that I knew immediately (and as it turned out, correctly) that my daughter had chosen well.
With this backdrop of personal experience, I am compelled to believe that going to the American Embassy to report concerns about his radicalized son was the most difficult thing Umaru Abdul Mutallab had ever done. But he did just that, in hopes of averting a terrorist act against innocent people. It is inconceivable to me that the State Department didn't act more aggressively on the information he provided. At the very least, they could have checked to see if he had a
valid U.S. visa. He did. They could have added his name to the "exclusive" no-fly list. Who would have complained? Not his immediate (well-connected, wealthy, influential) family.
When a stranger, or a colleague, or an acquaintance lodges a global security concern about an individual, it is reasonable to question motive and substance. But when a loving father with an impeccable reputation initiates such a communication, we would be wise to pay heed.