Gendered Islamophobia: The Impact of Politicizing Faith & Identity

Last year I wrote a piece in the WiFP Newsletter marking Islamophobia Awareness Month. I explained the term “Gendered Islamophobia” - the combined discrimination of  misogyny, xenophobia and racism. I discussed structural inequality such as Muslim women being three times more likely to be unemployed than non-Muslim women, verbal and physical hate crimes such as having veils ripped off and acid attacks, and headline grabbing attacks such as Muslim women being kicked in the stomach whilst pregnant, or being set on fire. I also explored the colonial legacies of Gendered Islamophobia and how it has manifested in recent foreign policy decisions. One thing I did not discuss however, are my own personal experiences of Gendered Islamophobia. The reality is that much of my experience cannot be captured in alarming statistics, academic research and headlines. Micro-aggressions, stereotypes, (un)safety and imposter syndrome - whilst sounding far less sensational, have shaped my life and created boundaries for how I exist in education, work and public spaces.

I first began wearing the hijab when I was 18 years old, following months of consideration and overcoming fear of potential discrimination that I would face. After taking a leap of faith (literally) and putting it on during my first week of university, I felt empowered by my choice and relieved that I had finally taken this next step in my relationship with God and my religion. Just two months later the 2015 November Paris attacks occurred. Although I was living and studying in the UK (in the very exciting region of the Midlands), and was both geographically and physically far from the incident, I remember immediately receiving a phone call from my parents as the news came out. They were shocked just like everyone else, but they also feared the inevitable spike in hate crimes that would follow. Their suspicions proved right - across the UK, there were 115 Islamophobic attacks in the first week alone after the incident. In the months and years since, I’ve received many similar phone calls - after terrorist attacks, political referendums and elections in the UK and abroad. I am always subconsciously taking precautions. Standing as far back as I can on platforms on the London Underground out of fear of being pushed in front of or out of public transport and similarly worrying about being pushed into busy roads when walking too close to the edge of crowded sidewalks. I am careful to avoid speaking too loudly when using my native language Urdu, or any Arabic when I’m on the phone in public. In the days after an incident - I am conscious of smiling or laughing in public, walking anywhere on my own and avoid wearing all black so as not to appear threatening or intimidating. It is difficult to articulate the heaviness of knowing you cannot feel safe in broad daylight, in busy, crowded public spaces, like main roads, or public transport - and not only from sexual harassment, or racial slurs -  but additionally from the fear of physical, and potentially fatal violence. At times it really does feel like I am a walking target and unwillingly, my faith and identity has become politicized. 

One of the more subtle impacts that I experienced after I began wearing the hijab was the host of stereotypes that I immediately felt confined by. Rooted in unfamiliarity, distrust, misinformation and misconceptions - I quickly noticed the obvious and frustrating change in the way that people would interact with me. From the hesitancy and often visible discomfort in initiating a conversation, to looks of surprise or relief when I turned out to be ‘normal’. In university seminars, when I was quiet, listening or reserved (or just hadn’t done that week’s reading), I felt guilty for falling into the stereotype of the passive, un-opinionated, oppressed, veiled Muslim woman. When I was outspoken or voicing ‘progressive’ or ‘liberal’ views - I wanted to be just that, without breaking a stereotype or feeling like I was proving something. I became a PR machine for Islam - pressured to condemn every extremist incident and expected to be a spokesperson for all Muslim women, whilst defending and explaining my faith-based choices. I grappled with how much of myself I could be, whilst a critical (and very visible) part of my identity was an uncomfortable topic for so many.

In my first job post graduation, the number one thought running through my head on my first day was whether I was offered the role to compensate for the lack of diversity in my workplace. I am hyper-aware of the fact that I am often the only ‘diversity’ in the room or video call, and feel both overtly visible because of it, whilst simultaneously feeling invisible because of the power dynamics at play. I am weary of being associated or remembered for just my work on diversity & inclusion, but struggle to reconcile this with the complicity I would feel for staying silent on issues that I care about. I wonder what scope there is for long-term success in my field, when there are so few women who look like me in positions of power and leadership.

When I speak about these experiences with other Muslim women I feel validated. I have realised that even the smallest of micro-aggressions are shared experiences. In the past, I have advocated for structural and institutional change to tackle Islamophobia, xenophobia and hate crimes. In truth, I am not entirely certain of what that means anymore or how, in most fields and roles, we would translate that to practical, meaningful action. Instead, this Islamophobia Awareness Month I would encourage you all to challenge and unlearn your own conscious and unconscious biases, recognise and pay attention to the experiences of your Muslim friends and colleagues and take an active role in D&I activism in your schools, workplaces and communities. There isn’t a set handbook on what defines a good ally, but the one golden rule I would ask everyone to follow is to take a loud and vocal opposition to prejudice and discrimination wherever it manifests.

Sara Sajjad is WiFP’s Newsletter Manager.