Muslim Women in America and Visibility
Representations in American media and minds have typically reimagined Muslim women covered up, trailing obediently behind male guardians, voiceless and lacking agency. Your average Joe’s (or Joanne’s) base ideas about Muslim women might’ve been limited to driving bans, girls getting shot at on their way to school, female genital mutilation and/or honor killings. After the November election, we braced ourselves for a decline from passive ignorance to overt aggression. Yet, an unexpected thing happened: our new government turned up the Islamophobia and the public responded by embracing Muslim women.
Liberal media wasted no time publicizing a newfound sisterhood. Right away, mainstream pop culture of the ‘woke’ persuasion began highlighting compelling figures that counter the docile-yet-dangerous Muslim woman narrative. Linda Sarsour, activist and organizer of the Women’s March, Ibtihaj Muhammad- Olympian fencer, and Ilhan Omar- the first Somali American congresswoman were depicted as pioneers and activists speaking out for a cause everyone just decided was worthy. This fresh sense of solidarity suggested that Muslims were welcome for the first time to sit at the good guys’ table, so to speak.
In Europe, the debate around outlawing burkas continues, while in the US, videos of women in hijab being verbally and physically attacked in public go viral. Look what our country has become, they suggest. Despite the fact that none of this is new, collective realization that Muslim immigrants have been targets of unchecked discrimination for some time signifies progress. Discourse in the US around the topic of Muslims as a minority group didn’t really take place until 9/11, and even then, Muslim men were essentially viewed as agents of oppression and terror with Muslim women as their powerless and oppressed victims.
This narrative persisted undisputed until recently, when the current administration explicitly declared all Muslims enemy of the state. The backlash ensued swiftly. Ten months after the first Muslim travel ban was issued, the image of Munira Ahmed’s face is still prevalent at resistance demonstrations across the country. The Muslim woman, defiant and clad in her hijab, has somehow come to symbolize much of what the far right fears and hopes to control: Islam, immigrants and women. Progressives have maintained their readiness to stand by any oppressed Muslim- the new sentiment doubling as a prominent middle finger to the xenophobes they’re engaged in a losing war with.
Muslim organizations have also made attempts at undoing the demonization of Islam. Heart warming stories about Muslims collecting funds to pay for vandalized synagogues, or coming out to pray for victims of the Orlando nightclub massacre mean to remind the public not to label them all dangerous. In March, ‘Meet a Muslim Day’ took place across fifty U.S. cities, essentially a meet & greet opportunity to interact with a Muslim in the flesh. Similarly, a widely circulated video titled ‘If You’re Scared of Islam, Meet a Muslim’ featured friendly-faced Muslim Americans reassuring viewers that they’re just like them. A pair of siblings playfully shove each other, a young hipster proclaims himself a foodie, and one participant feels the need to state, ‘I am a human. I am a man’- the goal being to gently coax people into overcoming fear and prejudice-a fluffy, non-threatening take on ‘Black Lives Matter’ messaging too contrived to ring true.
Muslim Culture & Self-Censorship
Beyond characterizations serving a political purpose, the concept of a Muslim American hasn’t made much of a mark on popular culture. Despite there being over three million Muslims living in America today, many people fail to realize that Muslims are, in fact, diverse. Islam, as Muslims must constantly reiterate, is a religion, not a monolithic culture, and people who identify as such transcend nationality, race, language and region. That being said, the identity of a person who grew up in a Muslim household tends to be influenced by Islam, and not necessarily defined by it. Generally speaking, and in my experience, the idea of being culturally Muslim suggests that one may have been raised to respect certain norms and values that veer on conservative, while heavily stressing tradition, family and community standing. As with adherence to any culture, it goes without saying that everyone experiences theirs differently.
Nostalgia for an environment that systematically reinforces one’s value system is why many foreign-born Muslim immigrants place serious emphasis on maintaining ties to the homeland. Unlike the immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island over a century ago, more recent immigrants are logistically better able to remain connected to the places they emigrated from by staying in close contact with the people they left behind and (except in the case of political refugees) by visiting regularly. This sense of nationalism doesn’t neatly corroborate the familiar tale of the grateful immigrant idealizing America as the end all be all land of freedom and opportunity, or even as a final destination. For xenophobic or ill-informed Westerners, this may reinforce the frightening stereotype of the intolerant Muslim who’s come to America in order to destroy it- and that Muslims aren’t invested in establishing lives in their new homes nor assimilating to any degree.
The dominant narrative is that by virtue of their religion, heritage and transnational perspective, Muslim immigrants are decidedly ‘un-American’. To counter this, they must negotiate a place, on their own terms, within the dominant cultural sphere by following the lead of other more established marginalized communities and telling their own stories.
First generation immigrants have commonly faced the obstacle of reconciling their parents’ homeland culture with their own American-born experience. For many Muslims born in the US, this is exacerbated by having to contend with conservative values practiced by their parents, often in contrast with American norms. Aziz Ansari depicted this perfectly in an episode of his Netflix series ‘Master of None’. In it, his protagonist Dev is pressured by his foreign-born immigrant parents into pretending to be a pious and practicing Muslim in attempts to impress their friends. When he decides to put an end to the charade because as his friend points out, he’s ‘a grown ass man’, his mother is devastated. The issue is resolved when he comes to understand that in her eyes, following protocol in her presence is a sign of respect, an indication she hasn’t failed him as a parent. This emphasizes the common perception among younger generations that operating outside of the Muslim framework will cause their family trauma and lead ultimately to their being shunned.
Women and girls tend to feel this type of pressure more intensely than their male counterparts, and this plays out most acutely in stricter Muslim households. In many Muslim majority countries, women are especially discouraged from having open discussions around relationships, sex, and sexuality, conversations around which are deemed immoral. In communities where an individual’s behavior reflects directly on families, the stakes are high for a woman who dares to push boundaries. The ensuing shame culture effectively hinders women from expressing themselves freely and from engaging in honest storytelling.
Some Muslim women who refuse to self-censor have faced criminalization. Rajaa Alsanea, for example, was targeted by the Saudi government and staunch Islamists after publishing her first novel ‘The Girls of Riyadh’ in 2007, which was coined, ‘the Saudi Sex and the City’ and immediately banned. Taslima Nasrin, a Bangladeshi author who wrote about politics, sex and love eventually had to flee her country in fear of her life. Although persecution for publishing work in the US wouldn’t be an issue, Muslim-American women may remain reluctant to write the type of revelatory stories their families and communities might disapprove of.
This combined with the isolation that many Muslims feel in the West if they happen to be the only, or one of a few Muslim individuals or families in their towns fosters an unsafe space for free expression. Growing up without opportunities to interact with peers who share particular feeling of otherness further impedes the process of ascertaining identity at a critical time in life. Despite these unique obstacles, Muslim American women creatives are emerging into the mainstream.
Muslim Women on the Scene
In order to establish a sense of community, online platforms are providing a haven for Muslim girls who might otherwise feel unsupported. Amani Al-Khatatbeh launched www.muslimgirl.com in 2009 as a forum for young Muslim girls. Al-Khatatbeh, a first generation American Muslim cites longing for belonging as a teenager as her inspiration to create the magazine, which features articles ranging from current events and politics to celebrity gossip and fashion. A public figure at this point, Al-Khatatbeh is aware of the pressure of conforming in order to be accepted. On wearing the hijab, she commented in NYMag, “..the Muslim community can more easily see you as a woman leader if you satisfy the requirement.”
MissMuslim.nyc launched in 2016, is another online magazine, co-created by four women, that has caused some controversy for its edgy content, such as an article titled ‘Muslims Get Stoned: Happy 4/20’ and ‘’Ordering This Shot at a Bar Could Save Your Life’ about how to avoid danger while on a date. Co-founder Jenan Matari told Allure Magazine that the criticism they’ve received consisted mainly of shaming attempts by some Muslim readers who felt the material was inappropriate. This included name-calling, threats to sue and numerous warnings they ‘would never get married’.
Muslim women are also utilizing comedy as a form of storytelling, in part for its accessibility and potential to reach wider audiences. Negin Farsad, a first generation Iranian American self-proclaimed social justice comedian performs stand-up, has written a book, ‘How to Make White People Laugh’ and has filmed a comedic documentary about reaching out to conservative white audiences in small town America. On achieving freedom to express herself, she shared on the ‘Maeve in America’ podcast “As much as Americans need to embrace otherness, so do ethnic groups. Sometimes that means, your own people are not your biggest fans.” highlighting the struggle that is putting yourself out there to challenge dangerous stereotypes while being rejected by your very own people for doing so.
In the film ‘Appropriate Behavior’ writer and actor Desiree Akhavan, daughter of Iranian immigrants, tells the story of a twenty-something year old woman living and dating in Brooklyn while hiding her sexuality from her family (Akhavan’s own parents initially disowned her for coming out). She reflects in an interview with the Guardian,“ I think all of us are motivated by wanting to do well by our parents — that’s like the universal truth, but especially so for the children of immigrants. I was so driven by it for so long that it literally made me sick at times, and when I let go of that desire my work became twenty times better.”
Muslim girls are also making moves on the small screen. ‘Brown Girls’, a web series, set in a trendy Chicago neighborhood is based on the life of co-creator and writer Fatimah Asghar, and features a Pakistani Muslim woman as a principle character. The series, which features no white characters, centers around the friendships and romantic relationships of a group of women of color. Asghar shares in a Time interview the importance of showing characters experiencing joy, “I just want to add to the narrative that shows they get to be happy”.
Author Randa Jarrar, of Egyptian and Palestinian descent, has published two best-selling books: ‘A Map of Home’, a novel, and ‘Him, Me, Muhammad Ali’ , a collection of short stories. Jarrar’s family lived in Egypt and Kuwait before moving to the US when she was a teenager, and she described herself to the Los Angeles Review of Books as a mover. “I pride myself in that because I have never had the luxury or privilege to feel safe or secure or rooted and I still am able to create homes for myself”. Jarrar captures a variety of Muslim female characters that reside in both Eastern and Western settings. On Jarrar’s frank and forthright writing style, Lorraine Ali of the LA Times writes, “This collection is not flowery or sentimental like many personal stories about the immigrant experience…It’s instead sharp and irreverent, sometimes even unapologetically crude.”
The growing and increasingly visible platform for Muslim-American women will embolden more writers, comedians and artists to tell their stories, carving out space in the American narrative to include them, on their own terms. Let’s see less reporting on Muslim women enduring abuse and more narratives about adventures, growing up, and navigating complicated relationships. Diverse and unabashed Muslim female voices will convey what Muslim Americans have in common with other Americans but more importantly, reveal a distinct set of experiences within the complex and unprecedented landscape they exist in.
