In a world that feels increasingly uncertain, especially in the wake of the recent presidential election, I find myself grappling with fear—not just for my own safety, but for countless individuals who share my experiences. I am a proud American Muslim.
Having converted to Islam, I embraced this faith wholeheartedly, never once feeling inferior due to my beliefs. Yet, in this climate of hostility, I confront daily prejudices. My heart aches for families torn apart by travel bans from seven nations, yearning to reunite and find safety in our great country.
Growing up in a Christian household, I attended church with my father every Sunday. The golden rule, “Treat others as you wish to be treated,” was instilled in me, shaping my understanding of compassion and faith in God. Throughout my life, I forged friendships with individuals from diverse backgrounds, never questioning their beliefs or my duty to treat them with respect.
What many fail to recognize is that the current wave of harassment extends beyond religious lines. It targets anyone who believes in the fundamental right to worship freely. Perhaps I was too trusting in assuming that my friends and family would accept my journey and my choice to wear a hijab without judgment.
One day while shopping, my phone’s call to prayer, the Adhan, echoed in the store. My hands were full, and I rushed to silence it, fearing the reactions of those around me. The woman behind me sneered and muttered a cruel remark, “Isn’t that your cue to get on the ground to pray to your God?” For a moment, time seemed to freeze as I processed her words. The others in the store looked away, embarrassed yet unwilling to speak out. I finished my transaction as she smirked, clutching a crucifix keychain, and I wondered why she believed my prayers to Allah were somehow different from her own.
The day before the election, my ex-husband’s rage over politics turned violent. He screamed, “If the president doesn’t take care of you, then I will!” I’ve been told by those I once considered close that I haven’t experienced enough hardship to warrant my feelings about this situation. Family members have reached out to accuse me of inviting this hostility upon myself.
In another instance, while tidying my hotel room, a housekeeper spotted my Quran and jokingly asked, “You’re not making bombs in here, are you?” This casual cruelty has become alarmingly commonplace.
I often feel anger at how some Americans have grown comfortable with stereotypes that dehumanize those who differ from them. However, I must also remember those who have stood by me, the friends who have defended me against intolerance. To my Muslim brothers and sisters, I want to convey this message: Despite the fear we face—watching families separated, friends detained, and communities ostracized—hope must prevail. For every critic, there are many more who extend love and support. Let us hold tightly to the essence of Islam—peace, love, and hope. We must remember the teachings of the Quran and extend our hands to those in need, as this is what drew me to Islam in the first place.
As I conclude this piece, the Adhan calls me to prayer—a reminder to answer that call as long as I draw breath. I refuse to allow shame or fear to dictate my life. Insha’Allah.
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In summary, I will not be silenced by hatred. I stand proud in my identity as an American Muslim and will continue to advocate for love, understanding, and unity within our diverse society.