OPINION: When Muslim women face Islamophobia, an inner turmoil occurs. Do they stay silent as they are told to do. Or fight back, as they are also told to do. Writer, Amina Ali, unpacks the situation and asks, which is better?
As a Muslim woman, society sees me as a weak, meek, oppressed, violent, dangerous terrorist. But how can I be all those at once?
Growing up, I heard a lot of conflicting advice when it came to facing people who are ignorant of Islam.
Stay quiet, listen and speak kindly. Don’t get mad and fit the stereotype of an angry Muslim woman.
Be loud, get angry and stand up for yourself. Don’t be the quiet little oppressed woman they think you are.
It’s a catch-22 situation that many Muslim women, including myself, feel the need to battle with daily. When I step outside, I think: which one will I be today? And for good reason.
A recent report published by the UK Parliament finds that Islamophobic abuse disproportionately affects visibly Muslim women and girls. This alongside the rise of Islamophobia post October 7 makes the UK a very dangerous place to be a Muslim woman right now.
If you think I’m exaggerating, let me highlight just some of the Islamophobia I’ve experienced over the last few years.
I’ve been screamed at and harassed (more than once).
I’ve been called a terrorist and a dirty P*ki b*tch (both more than once).
I’ve had people tell me – at first glance – that they didn’t like ‘my kind.’ (I try and guess if they mean women, Asians or Muslims. It’s usually the latter).
I’ve also strangely been told that I’m ‘one of the good ones.’ (Whatever that means).
And that’s just in the last few years. I could fill a novella with stuff that’s been said to me before October 7.
Many polls make claims that more than 20% of British people hold a negative view of Muslims. If this is true, it means a fifth of the people I come across day-to-day already hate me – without me even doing anything.
The scarf on my head means I represent Islam everywhere I go. I’m fine with that. It’s a choice I made at a time when I felt safe to make it.
But it also means that I could justify someone’s Islamophobia with just one bad interaction.
Every forgotten thank you, bumped shoulder or raised word can be all it takes to fuel someone’s hatred.
It means that unlike my non-Muslim friends, I’m not granted the privilege of having bad days.
One glance at a social media comment sections says it all. To critique the country I was born in means I’m ‘ungrateful.’ It means I don’t ‘integrate.’ I should just ‘go back to where I came from.’
In the face of it all, is there really an answer to my question? How can I stand up for myself? Which stereotype do I fit into?
During such an unprecedented time, I want to try and live by my favourite Hadith*. It’s a lesson I think everyone – Muslim or non-Muslim – can learn from.
“Whosoever of you sees an evil, let him change it with his hand; and if he is not able to do so, then [let him change it] with his tongue; and if he is not able to do so, then with his heart.”
So, while it’s hard to see the rise in far-right rhetorics – whether it be Islamophobia, antisemitism, misogyny or homophobia – I know I’ll keep speaking up for myself and others.
I’ll try to choose kindness above all else, because that’s what my religion teaches me. But being kind doesn’t mean being silent or complicit. It means I can use my faith to spur me forward, not drag me down.
*A Hadith is a reported saying, action or permission of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him).
