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Navigating Islamophobia – My journey as a millennial Muslim in Canada

Posted in : Blog
Posted on : October 22, 2024

By an anonymous contributor

Growing up in East Scarborough, I always felt a sense of community and belonging, especially during religious holidays. Remember those school days when we all came together to celebrate each other's holidays? We embraced our diversity with festive foods and traditions, bringing us closer as we faced the challenges of life in a marginalized community. But everything changed in September 2001, when my Muslim identity became a target rather than a source of pride.

September 11 holds a deep and painful significance for me. It wasn’t just the tragic loss of lives that shook me; it was also the loss of a sense of security for myself and my family. Overnight, my identity as a Muslim began to fade into the background, those precious memories became overshadowed by the fear and confusion that crept in after 9/11.

Feeling the shift

Before 2001, life wasn’t perfect, and yes, racism and religious discrimination existed, but they felt like shadows – always there, but not in the spotlight for me. My lived experience as a child born to immigrant parents in Canada is just one narrative among many worldwide, as Muslims encompass a variety of identities and heritages. My family, like many immigrants, believed Canada was a place of inclusivity and warmth. We had not yet learned about the country’s darker history as a colonial settler society, and we didn’t anticipate the long steps backward that were yet to come.

After 9/11, Islamophobia became a stark reality in our daily lives. My parents came home from work with stories of colleagues suddenly expecting them to speak on behalf of people who had nothing to do with us, our identity, or our faith. Bonds that had taken years to form at work were now strained, even broken, as anti-Muslim sentiments grew.

I was just nine years old, too young to understand the weight of what was happening, but old enough to feel the shift. This new reality began to feel so normal to me that I did not recognize it as Islamophobia until years later. The way people looked at us changed, and so did the way I saw myself.

Understanding Islamophobia: More than just a word

So, what exactly is Islamophobia? As defined in Canada’s Anti-Racism Strategy, Islamophobia includes racism, stereotypes, prejudice, fear, or acts of hostility directed toward Muslims. It goes beyond individual acts of intolerance—it’s a systemic issue that unfairly casts Muslims as a security threat at institutional and societal levels. What is often overlooked is that Islamophobia does not only affect Muslims. My childhood friend, a Christian, often faced the same hateful insults as I did because we were both “from those terrorist countries”.

Years after 9/11, when I entered the workforce, Islamophobia had taken on a new, more insidious form. Colleagues would ask me if the latest movie depicting the capture of a terrorist in (what seemed to be) Afghanistan was an accurate portrayal of “my people”. These Orientalist tropes, embedded in popular culture, conditioned me to hide my Muslim identity. I stopped caring about my faith—I just wanted it to go away. The fear of being isolated or even attacked for my beliefs kept me from openly identifying as a Muslim.

The faces of Islamophobia

Islamophobia has multiple faces and manifests in ways that could create another five blog posts. For now, I’ll touch on just a few examples, some of which I’ve witnessed with close loved ones.

The effects of Islamophobia are profound, especially when they intersect with other identities. For visibly Muslim women, the stakes can be even higher. Gendered Islamophobia can lead to violent attacks, such as forcibly removing a hijab, and to horrific hate crimes that have cost innocent lives. Beyond physical violence, the pressure of Islamophobia may force some Muslim women to consider removing their hijabs to improve their job prospects.

The ban on hijabs in French sport was recently thrust onto the world stage as French Muslim athletes who wear a hijab, were denied the right to compete and represent France in the Olympic and Paralympic games. At home, we see the devasting impact Quebec’s Bill 21 has had on Muslim women and other religious minorities. These laws imply that the choice to wear a hijab is not a personal or spiritual choice, but rather a political one. This is a significant blow to human rights and contributes to fear, trauma, indignity, and discrimination faced by an already marginalized group.

Fighting hate and embracing our identities

I eventually reached a point where I had to confront the tough questions I had been avoiding for years. This led me to reconcile with my younger self and shed the ignorance I had carried with me for so long. During my research last year, I came across Jasmine Zine’s book Under Siege: Islamophobia and the 9/11 Generation, which partly inspired this blog post. For the first time, I fully understood the burden I had been carrying since 2001. And I realized I wasn’t alone.

We cannot and will not normalize the trauma and pain inflicted by Islamophobia in our communities and around the world.

How we can fight back

So, how do we combat the hate and dehumanization of Muslims in our communities? How do we address the systemic issues that perpetuate Islamophobia and anti-Muslim racism? Here are a few steps we can take:

• Examine your biases: Start by considering the biases you hold and the stories or media about Muslims that you’ve consumed and internalized. Begin the process of unlearning by seeking out knowledge and resources. Don’t rely on your Muslim colleagues or friends to do this work for you.
• Create safe spaces: Understand that many of us may still be hiding our identities or refraining from reporting Islamophobic acts because we don’t feel safe. Create environments of meaningful inclusion and listen to the stories of diverse Muslims living at the intersections of race, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, age, class, and more.
• Support anti-racism work: Invest in and support the people and communities who are doing anti-racism work. Let these communities define what support looks like for them—whether it’s through advocacy, providing safe spaces, or amplifying their stories.

Finally, I want to acknowledge the sharp rise in hate towards Muslim, Jewish, Arab, and Palestinian communities since October 7, 2023. But it is important to recognize that these forms of hate and racism have existed long before this date. As I’ve shared, Islamophobia has been a pervasive aspect of my life since childhood. Right now, the Muslim community is grappling with grief and fear as innocent lives continue to be lost in Palestine and targeted right here at home.

We all have a role to play in building a more inclusive and understanding society. It starts with introspection and leads to action. Let’s not wait for another tragedy to remind us of our shared humanity.

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Blog references (click here to review the sources)

Tags CDNdiversity CCDI Diversity Equity Inclusion Accessibility Islamophobia DEI DEIA Canadian Centre for Diversity and Inclusion