Even though there is no real threat to US national security from the muslim community, the government has successfully reenergized centuries old stereotypes, asserting that Muslim Americans can never assimilate to the "American way" of life. (Photo: Joe Piette)NIMRA CHOWDHRY FOR BUZZFLASH AT TRUTHOUT
One day after celebrating the Muslim holiday of Eid-al-fitr with my family, I learned that the Supreme Court of the United States unanimously agreed to hear arguments on the Trump administration's Muslim travel ban. In granting review of two appellate injunctions, the Supreme Court allowed for an amended ban to go into effect.
This is what it's like to be a Muslim in the US today: living in a constant state of whiplash. One day you are with your family and friends, enjoy and celebrating each other, the next day you are assessing the effects of a new blow on the basis of your faith. Even though courts in this country have consistently found the administration's policy to be an attack on Muslims, those perceived to be Muslim and those from Muslim majority countries, the Supreme Court didn't address this issue in depth in granting its review. But what we do know is that this conversation will be front and center, when the case is heard in early October.
I am a Pakistani-Muslim American and a proud immigrant. I refuse to stand by as our nation denounces its own proclaimed values by targeting people who look like me.
My family and I came to this country, in part, because American values of fairness, equality and progress appealed to us, yet we learned quickly that those values don't translate to reality for many people. When we immigrated to a suburban town in Texas, pre-9/11, my school teachers were welcoming. I was lucky and able to experience the America I had hoped for when I entered school, unlike the America experienced by many communities of color -- particularly Black and Latinx communities. I was able, for a little while, to escape outward discrimination.
Then 9/11 happened, and everything changed. I -- along with members of my community -- began to feel the escalation of anti-Muslim hate. We saw the reports of anti-Muslim violence on the news, people attacked by those who considered a beard, head scarf or Brown skin to be evidence of guilt. I became the Brown girl in a nearly all-white middle school.
While post-9/11 anti-Muslim sentiment never went away, it's now emboldened and re-energized.
Today, the president of the United States claims he can differentiate between the Ku Klux Klan and white nationalist groups, but cannot differentiate between law abiding Muslims and terrorist organizations. Even though there is no real threat to US national security from my community, the government has successfully reenergized centuries old stereotypes, asserting that, in my case, Muslim Asian Americans can never assimilate to the "American way" of life. I feel as though we're regressing as a country, to a version of the US most would be embarrassed by.
Outwardly, the US prides itself on moral progress over time. To hear news and political rhetoric today, we're a different, much better country now than we used to be. The dark days of discrimination are behind us.
Yet today, Muslims are being banned from entering the US, we are facing unprecedented threats and violence, and the threat of having to sign onto a registry on the basis of our faith looms above us all. The US government is openly discriminating against ethnic, religious and sexual minorities -- including women.
These are not the American values that brought my family and I to the United States, or why many see the US as a symbol of hope and progress.
I am proud of the US that embraces difference and welcomes immigrants. A country where there is freedom of speech and everyone is free to practice their own faith or no faith at all, without discrimination.
I am proud of the Statue of Liberty, reading, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free." I am proud of the women's liberation movement, safe and legal abortion services, and of all the work we are doing to gain equity for all genders and sexual minorities, in our country.
I am not proud of the segments of society that view Muslim women as victims of our own culture. My community and I don't need to be liberated from the hijab or chador. What we need is the ability to live, love, pray and work without fear of being treated differently because of how we look or how we worship. We need more representation in government. We need more accounts of first-person narratives, television shows like "Master of None" and "Fresh off the Boat," that show the humanity and diversity of our communities.
We can't let Trump and those who've taken advantage of his rhetoric drag us backward. Americans must challenge anti-Muslim hate and xenophobia. We can support programs like the Muslim Youth Leadership Council at Advocates for Youth, South Asian Americans Leading Together and the Muslim Alliance for Sexual and Gender Diversity. We can turn out to vote. We can hold our elected officials accountable. We can change the narrative and make people feel accepted.
I refuse to become jaded. Part of me still holds fast to the hope that brought my family to this country, of the vision of a country that strives to make ourselves better in the name of justice and equality. Together, we can ensure that the US is indeed worthy of that hope.
Nimra Chowdhry is a law and policy fellow/analyst at Advocates for Youth.
