Community members pay respects to the six victims in the mass shooting at the Sikh Temple of Wisconsin at the Oak Creek High School Aug. 10, 2012 in Oak Creek, Wis. (GETTY IMAGES) In the aftermath of the mass shooting in a Sikh gurdwara in Oak Creek, Wis., a sea of reporters have asked many Sikh leaders and activists to quantify how many Sikhs had been targeted in hate crimes and murders since Sept. 11, 2001. Although I have helped chronicle hate crimes against the Sikh American community for more than a decade, I could not tell them.

Even as the White House, U.S. Department of Justice and Federal Bureau of Investigation express their commitment to protecting Sikh Americans in response to the massacre, there is one glaring problem with how the federal government monitors hate crimes against Sikhs in America: It doesn’t.

The FBI tracks all hate crimes on Form 1-699, the Hate Crime Incident Report. Statistics collected on this form allow law enforcement officials to analyze trends in hate crimes and allocate resources appropriately. But under the FBI’s current tracking system, there is no category for anti-Sikh hate crimes. The religious identity of the eight people shot in Oak Creek will not appear as a statistic in the FBI’s data collection. As a Sikh American who hears the rising fear and concerns in my community, I join the Sikh Coalition and Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund (SALDEF) in calling for the FBI to change its policy and track hate crimes against Sikhs.

It seems like a simple enough step.  However, the FBI has not changed its policy, because it assumes that all hate crimes against Sikhs are motivated by anti-Muslim bias: this is both wrong and dangerous. It seems like a simple enough step. Contrary to popular framing, hate crimes against Sikhs are not a case of “mistaken identity.”

Republican U.S. presidential candidate Mitt Romney and U.S. Congressman Paul Ryan (R-Wis.) wave after Romney introduced Ryan as his vice-presidential running mate during a campaign event at the battleship USS Wisconsin in Norfolk. (REUTERS) On Saturday, Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney announced at a Virginia rally that his running mate is seven-term congressman from Wisconsin Paul Ryan.Rabbi David Wolpe of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles penned the following poem about the the process to select one.

Writes Wolpe:

Vetting valentines to share our lives
We don’t call out the FBI;
But then, we need not ask our mates
“Can you lead the free world if I die?”

Vetting veeps, like counting sheeps
Proves a soporific task
But are there closet skeletons?
You won’t know if you do not ask.

At last it’s done; we’ve got our teams
Now comes the onrushing attack
On Medicare and Medicaid.
And for the losers -- Medavac.

Local and federal investigators work to gather evidence after a security guard was shot in the arm at the headquarters of the Family Research Council Aug. 15, 2012 in Washington, D.C. (GETTY IMAGES) Shortly after news spread about the Wednesday morning shooting of a security guard at the Family Research Council’s (FRC) headquarters by a gunman , Truth Wins Out, a non-profit organization that fights anti-gay religious extremism, posted the following press release:

This is an awful tragedy and our thoughts and hearts go out to the victim, his family, and his colleagues at the Family Research Council,” said Truth Wins Out Executive Director Wayne Besen. “In America we settle political differences through robust debate in the public square, not with violence. If the shooting is found to be politically motivated, it is a detestable act of cruelty and cowardice and the perpetrator should be punished to the fullest extent of the law. We stand squarely with the Family Research Council today and offer them our full support and prayers.

Authorities identified the shooter as Floyd Lee Corkins II, of Herndon. The security guard, Leonardo R. Johnson, was called a hero by D.C. Police Chief Cathy Lanier for his role in helping to prevent further injury at the conservative group’s D.C. office Wednesday..

Before September, 2001, I knew no Sikhs. Although I’m Jewish, I’ve become close friends with Sikh families, including the family of the first person murdered in the violent backlash following 9/11.

Balbir Singh Sodhi's murder on Sept. 15, 2001, drew me into an ongoing vortex of concern for such attacks, which deepens each time I hear pundits, politicians and others foment fear and hate of people I'm quite certain they've rarely, if ever, personally known.

In my compulsion to promote cross-cultural understanding, I strive to prevent such tragedies as the one that occurred in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, earlier this month.

Last Friday I attended the funeral ceremony in Oak Creek, grieving the massacre there among thousands of other attendants. I was shepherded by Sukhdev Ghuman, the president of the Palatine Gurdwara, who took me under her wing as an ally to the community.

I entered the high school gymnasium where the memorial was held before I realized I was about to file past open caskets of the six victims. They looked peaceful. I was in shock even though I've worried about such an act, in light of how effectively fear-mongers peddle their wares, seemingly careless for any collateral damage they cause.

I was introduced to Jagjit Kaleka, the brother of the heroic president of the Oak Creek temple who died struggling to stave off the murderer. He greeted me with the warmest handshake and smile and told me his brother "did what he was meant to do” and was at peace. I felt like collapsing in grief but he and all the Sikhs around me seemed almost serene. They, apparently, had already transcended grief.

There was not one murmur of anger, hate or even a sense of victimization. Instead, I felt their communal commitment to remain peaceful even in the face of violence. The community would not let that force win by pulling them into bitterness or vengefulness. There was no sense of inner struggle, whatsoever.  

There was grace, peace and sweetness. In their commitment to hospitality, Sikh ushers handed water bottles and wrapped vegetarian sandwiches down the rows.  

Looking at pictures of the funeral, you might assume from the many people wearing head-coverings that most people present were Sikh. But multitudes of attendants were either respectfully wearing their own hats or scarves or square bandanas provided at the service. But it was the turbans that most riveted me.  I noticed for the first time the apparently infinite variations of how to create them.  They seemed like intricate works of art, as individual as each wearer.

I have used art since 9/11 to grapple with my concern for innocent people who suffer as a result of Islamophobic and xenophobic agitating by people who parlay stereotyping into votes, money and notoriety.

I painted the twin towers with two men superimposed; instead of airplanes, guns were aimed. Destruction reverberated. My caption: "If hate is the problem, How can hate be the solution?" I wanted to evoke the innocent Sikh, Muslim, Hindu, Arab Christian and other innocent men murdered in America in the days and weeks following 9/11. 

I also sculpted a plaster figure of a man with a white turban holding a giant rose.  It was surprisingly difficult to wind the turban. I wanted to understand the sweetness and ease I now associate with Sikhs, and somehow I thought that wrapping a band of cloth on a sculpted head could help me. I've read that turbans touch pressure points that promote calmness and clarity. Catholics, Jews and Muslims also utilize head coverings to impact consciousness. Yet it is turbans that have literally drawn fire upon Sikhs by those who denigrate them as "towels" or "rags.”

Sikhs feed all who enter their house of worship and they would have happily fed the man who shattered their lives in Oak Creek. Rather than partake of their communion, he wrought destruction. While he created tragic, horrific loss and heartache in the Sikh community, he utterly failed in destroying that community. Almost immediately, they were calmly and resolutely restoring their peaceful sanctuary, which they also carry within.

Anya Cordell is a speaker, writer, recipient of a 2010 Spirit of Anne Frank Award, and author of RACE: An OPEN & SHUT Case.

There’s a famous line in a 1970s film that’s commonly accepted as fact: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

While I am not one who makes a habit of quibbling with pop culture aphorisms, when it comes to the subject of forgiveness, I would submit that not hearing the words “I’m sorry” is perhaps one of the hardest things for the human psyche to bear.

As a pastor with more than 35 years of ministry under my belt, I receive literally thousands of tweets and Facebook posts decrying one heart breaking situation after another with explicit details – tales of hit-and-run offenders plowing through the “stop” signs of life, swerving uncontrollably into oncoming traffic, and littering the highways with the debris of their wanton, reckless behavior.

Unwitting victims are left to pick up the pieces, file the claims and after an acceptable period of bereavement they are expected to “move on.”

Such tidy endings are the fodder of the 30-minute sitcoms that I loved as a child. But in real life, emotions run deep, feelings remain hurt and anger burns unabated at the slap of injustice.

So what do you do if you never hear those magic words, “I’m sorry?”

Do you make wine from sour grapes or are you merely supposed to forget about it?

When asked if it were possible to truly forget, psychologists provide a simple answer: No. Only by repressing a painful memory can a person experience the illusion of forgetting, but never the reality.  Our brains are just not built that way. 

In my book, “Let It Go,” I tell a story of lending a significant amount of money to a prominent association in a dire financial situation.  Despite fervent promises to repay, the man who ran the association never made a single attempt toward reparation. Every time I encountered him publicly, my blood boiled.  The more effusive my demands for recompense, the more obstinate and elusive he became.

Finally, my mentor, who was like a father to me, told me that I was never going to see my money again and that I might as well forgive the debt.  In my mind, I could not I reconcile the moral turpitude. Nor could I understand how to forgive someone who wouldn’t even give me the dignity of a real apology!

Forgiving felt like letting him off too easy

Unfortunately, most adults are not taught how to manage disappointment when expected outcomes don’t match up with reality.

The situation is particularly pernicious when the indignity comes courtesy of a person or institution once believed to be trustworthy. 

While extending forgiveness seems to let the offender off scot-free, I liken withholding forgiveness to drinking poison and expecting the enemy to die. 

Had I waited for an apology, I would have consigned my emotional well being to my wrong doer!  And like the main characters in “Waiting for Godot,” I would have waited in vain for someone who ultimately never shows.

Since it is not impossible to control from whence the winds of offense will blow, or how they land on your doorstep, you can only control how you will respond.

In “The Lord’s Prayer” we are given a clear model for forgiveness.  The biblical text tells us that we forgive so that we may be forgiven.

“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” 

Forgiveness is a gift that you give yourself.  It never exonerates the wrong doer.  Rather, it allows you the freedom to get on with life whether or not you ever hear those magic words, “I am sorry.” 

I have learned that there are just some things that you must forgive without the benefit of an apology for your own emotional survival.  You must accept that there are some people in this world who will not give you your due. 

Life is too precious to be defined by the shortcomings of others

It’s up to you to write it off or remain bound to their point of failure.I offer a caveat to those in the midst of seemingly unforgivable situations:  You can’t move toward forgiveness until anger has run its course. 

The Bible says, “Be angry, but sin not.” Anger triggers actions toward resolution.  In its absence, depression blooms, dooming the “victim” to a state of unresolved sadness.

In my estimation, love means being willing to let go of the debris of offense and allowing the heart to be open to new possibilities.