About 100 fans turned up at the Toronto Reference Library on Thursday to hear the creator of Little Mosque on the Prairie, the CBC comedy that drew a record audience of 2.1 million for its premier show in 2007, ran for six seasons, was sold in 60 foreign markets and has been studied at universities for its social and political significance in the post-Sept. 11 world.

Zarqa Nawaz of FUNdamentalist Films — “comedy is the most effective way of breaking barriers” — has also made documentaries, Me and the Mosque (on gender equality), BBQ Muslims (two brothers accused of terrorism after their backyard barbecue explodes), and Death Threat (a novelist tries hard to get a fatwa of death for publicity).

Nawaz, 46, has just written Laughing All the Way to the Mosque, an irreverent account of her many intra- and inter-cultural challenges as a hijab-wearing observant Muslim. Ironically, she took on the hijab as a teenage rebellion against her parents, immigrants from Pakistan. Her mother did not wear one, but for the daughter it became “the weapon of choice to break my parents’ heart.”

Nawaz kept it, though, exercising her individual autonomy as an “Islamic feminist.”

“One of my daughters wears a hijab, the other doesn’t. I told them, ‘it’s your freedom of choice.’ But the one who doesn’t is the more active in our mosque” in Regina.

“Little Mosque changed the face of TV in Canada,” said Linda Barnard, the Star’s film critic, who interviewed Nawaz on stage as part of the Star Talks at the library.

Little Mosque was attacked by both conservative Muslims (who thought it made fun of things holy) and right-wing conservatives (who were upset that it humanized Muslims they were demonizing).

“Islam was a very volatile topic” in the U.S. and Europe but not so much in Canada, Nawaz recalled. “The show could not have been made in any other country. I have benefited by being Canadian.”

Still, Muslims remain subject to relentless scrutiny and collective guilt. They are grilled for the wrongs of Muslims the world over, “which makes you paranoid. If I see the grass growing at our mosque, I tell the imam, ‘cut it, please, otherwise people will think we are terrorists.’

“You are dealing with a community that has been dehumanized by the media. In fact, Muslims are a boring people going about their suburban lives. When Canadians meet real Muslims, they find that’s not the Muslims they see on television.”

“The beard that’s feared” — that has been the marketing slogan of the English county, Worcestershire, where he has played cricket since 2006. But suddenly, his long flowing black beard is the topic of national conversation following his emergence last week as a hero in a dramatic game against Sri Lanka that went to the penultimate ball on the fifth day of the match (the god of test cricket demands much patience from both players and spectators — and rewards them amply).

Yet days earlier, Moeen Ali, 26, had been taunted by a spectator that his beard suggested he was a terrorist blowing up buildings. And there had been a nasty column in the conservative Telegraph berating Ali for being too Muslim.

On the field, Ali let his bat do the talking. He scored a century, 107 runs. He could not save the game for his team but won universal acclaim for his poise and sportsmanship under intense pressure. He did not bite anyone’s shoulder, threw no tantrum and, unlike one of his own teammates, wasted no time in an effort to run out the clock.

“Out of the gloom, a shaft of light,” chimed the Times of London. “Ali looked the coolest man in the furnace.”

David Hopps of ESPNcricinfo, the best cricket website, spoke of the wider social impact of the Birmingham lad born to immigrants from Pakistan. “He has a role to play in building bridges between communities that have sometimes lacked trust in one another.

“He has a role to play in encouraging involvement from young players in communities that have not always felt included among the ‘stakeholders’ of English cricket and he has a role to play in helping the England side reflect the society it is meant to represent, not just part of it.

“This is a society that is not just white and middle-class and privately educated; it is not just a society where cricket is played on the village green by the church. It is also a society that lives in the inner cities, where cricket is also played in the streets and parks near the mosque.”

For his part, Ali said he has seen some racism and much ignorance about Islam but no bigotry from fellow players. “There are differences, of course. After a win, the boys might go to a nightclub to celebrate,” which he doesn’t. His Worcestershire club, sponsored by a beer company, lets him wear an unbranded shirt. In the dressing room, mates clear out space for him to pray.

Ali is following “the bearded wonder,” Hashim Amla, recently named captain of the South African cricket team.

He, too, is a devout Muslim who prays regularly and fasts during Ramadan (which starts this weekend). His request to have the sponsoring beer company’s logo removed from his shirt and equipment has been respected.

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It didn’t start out that way. In 2006, a commentator, Dean Jones, referred to him as “terrorist.” Widely condemned, Jones was removed by his TV station and apologized.

Amla, 31, has since put his stamp on the game, breaking several records. The grandson of immigrants from India, he is widely respected not only as a great cricketer but also for his Zen-like calm. “That provides comfort and security to those close to him,” according to Firdose Moonda of Cricinfo and author of The Bearded Wonder.