Concerns of a 21st Century Black, Muslim Woman
The following words were spoken over me when I first entered the
world. “I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and Muhammad
(SAW) is His messenger.”
Bulaong Malika Ramiz they named me. Malika means “queen” in Arabic.
My name has
always been my most consistent connection with Islam. I never prayed
five times a day or wore hijab, but being raised Muslim has always been a
part of my identity that I’ve claimed, critiqued, honored, and
appreciated. In my growth as a social justice educator, I’ve become more
and more critical of organized religion—seeing the value in it while
also seeing how dangerously indoctrinating it can be. As I continue to
learn more about myself, my relationship with religion wavers.
Born to a
Catholic mother and a Muslim father, raised by my Muslim grandmother
while attending Catholic school, I tried my best to both fit in and
stand out during my formative years. I had confusing interactions and
deeply transformative experiences.
I’ve fluctuated between feeling pride, frustration, fear, and joyous
community around my Muslim identity. In elementary school I would lie
and pretend I was Catholic like everyone else. I would sneak rosary
beads under my uniform, tell stories about my baptism, pray the “Hail,
Mary” and the “Our Father” right along with my classmates. I was already
different enough because I was a Black/Puerto Rican girl in a
predominately White school, with kids I perceived to be wealthier than
I. But then, Ramadan would come around, and I saw the strength,
commitment, and spiritual journey my family’s community was undertaking,
and I would feel overwhelmingly proud. I’d skip lunch, announce that I
was fasting, pray during recess. I no longer needed to fit in.
And then, in
seventh grade September 11th happened. I’d never heard the term
“terrorist” and didn’t know who Osama Bin Laden was. I can’t even recall
if I had knowledge of the Middle East, at least not with any real
historical understanding. My grandmother and I went to the Mosque one
day following the attacks. Typically, I would put my hijab on in the
car, walk into the Mosque, and take if off once I got back in the car.
But after September 11th happened, I started wearing my hijab all the
way home, even if we made a few stops along the way. I was not afraid
for people to see I was Muslim. I knew what I was hearing on TV and in
school were lies, a narrow perspective, and not the whole truth. Those
“terrorists” were not a reflection of my religion or my community.
So while I’m
not currently a “practicing” Muslim in the traditional sense, I was
raised Muslim and it’s a deep part of my identity. It instilled in me a
sense of community, peace, strength, and resilience. I claim Islam the
same way I claim being a woman, being Black, and being a Latina.
For those who wish to better understand the Muslim community, here’s what I can offer.
Not All Muslims Are Terrorists and Not All Terrorists Are Muslim
As a Black
Muslim, if I were to do something, my actions would be deemed
representative of my whole community or communities, regardless of if I
was acting in the name of that community or not.
But if my
neighbor steals a loaf of bread, does that mean our entire neighborhood
community is made up of thieves and we should all be condemned for the
actions of one person?
You Cannot Tell Who Is Muslim and Who Is Not Simply by Appearance
Not all people
who wear scarves or turbans on their head are Muslim. The Sikh
community, which also wears turbans for religious reasons, has been
targeted immensely with anti-Muslim violence. Sikhism is the world’s
fifth-largest religion, a monotheistic faith founded in the Punjab
region of India about 500 years ago. Most of the world’s 25 million
Sikhs live in India, but more than 500,000 make the US their home. You
can read more about them
here, but the targeting of Sikhs is a direct result of generalizations, misinformation, and ignorance.
Muslims are
diverse, complex, and individually very different just like Christians,
Jews, and Atheists. Some celebrities who’re Muslim include Dave
Chappelle, Dr. Oz, Zayn Malik, and Iman. That’s already a very diverse
group of individuals. Islam is a religion that spans hundreds of nations
and is claimed by billions of people. This idea that we can ban an
entire religious group from a nation is not simply an idea. It’s been
done before with horrifying, disastrous results. We look back at those
moments in history with shame and disgust.
The Entire Muslim Community Is Not Accountable for the Actions of Individual Muslims
Time and time
again we see mass media and Internet trolls demanding that the entire
Muslim community speak out against terrorist acts committed by other
Muslims. Muslims don’t have annual or bimonthly meetings. There is not a
newsletter we all subscribe to. We don’t even all speak the same
language. If we are not going to hold all other religions to the same
standard—that they should speak out when other members of their
community commit acts of terrorism in movie theaters, churches, and
schools—then we shouldn’t expect that from anyone who identifies as
Muslim.
We are at a
very interesting crossroads at this time in our nation. What was once a
chuckle has turned into deep concern. We have racist, sexist,
homophobic, Islamophobic individuals running for the highest office of
this nation.
I urge you to
think about what it truly means to be in a community. And if you haven’t
read the Qur’an, understand much about Islam, or know a Muslim, I hope
the next time you hear a racist, sexist, Islamophobic remark you think
about me, my family, and this story. I’m a member of your community and
so are billions of others just like me. Let’s move forward from fear and
discomfort to a place of courage—together
