I Am A Proud American Muslim, and Hate Will Not Drive Me Into Hiding

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Ten days into a presidency I can hardly comprehend, I find myself feeling shattered and scared—not just for myself, but for millions of others. The fear I carry is not just personal; it extends to the world at large.

I proudly identify as an American Muslim.

I embraced Islam as my faith, a decision that has never made me feel inferior or less deserving. Yet, I now confront daily persecution. Alongside my own anxiety, I am acutely aware of those who yearn to be reunited with their loved ones from the seven countries now barred from entering our great nation.

Raised in a Christian household, I attended church every Sunday with my father. The golden rule shaped my upbringing: “Treat others as you wish to be treated.” My father, though not fanatically religious, instilled in me the importance of having faith in God.

As I grew up, I befriended individuals from diverse belief systems, including those who didn’t believe in God at all. I never once questioned how I would treat them; they were simply fellow humans deserving of kindness.

What many fail to grasp is that the blatant harassment currently plaguing our country is not confined to those who follow a specific religion. It extends to anyone who has ever believed in the right to worship freely.

Perhaps I was too trusting, thinking my friends and family would accept me as I am, especially when they saw me wearing a hijab for the first time. One afternoon, while shopping, my phone’s Adhan—the call to prayer—blared unexpectedly. As I fumbled to silence it, “Allahu Akbar” echoed through the store. I cringed, knowing the negative associations many hold with that phrase.

A woman behind me scoffed and muttered to her companion, “Isn’t that your cue to get on the ground to pray to your God?” I was taken aback, mouth agape. Time slowed as the other shoppers around us awkwardly diverted their gazes. I paid for my items while she smirked, a crucifix keychain dangling from her hand.

My God is the same one I’ve prayed to since childhood. Why does she think that calling Him Allah means I worship a different deity? All are names for the same divine presence.

Just a day before the election, my ex-partner threatened my life over his political beliefs, screaming, “If the new president doesn’t take care of you, then I will!” I’ve been told by those I thought cared for me that I haven’t been a minority long enough to be truly upset by the current state of affairs. Family members have texted and called to say that I brought this upon myself.

Yesterday, while cleaning my hotel room, a housekeeper noticed my Quran and joked, “You’re not making bombs in here, are you?” She never even looked at me. This kind of dismissal has become all too common, and it saddens me.

I often find myself frustrated that my fellow Americans have become so comfortable with stereotypes about those who are different. It’s crucial to remember these moments of intolerance, as they are more prevalent than ever. I believe much of it stems from ignorance and fear.

Yet, I cannot forget the people who have offered me support, nor will I overlook the friends who have stood by me repeatedly. To my fellow Muslim brothers and sisters: while many days are daunting—especially witnessing families torn apart or individuals being detained—we cannot lose hope. For every critic, there are ten who wish to show us love. Let’s continue to embrace what Islam represents—peace, love, and hope. Remember the teachings of the Quran, and do not turn away from fellow Muslims or anyone in need. This sense of community is what initially drew me to Islam, and I vow to uphold it.

As I conclude this reflection, the Adhan calls me to prayer. I will respond to that call for as long as I live, until my last breath. I refuse to let fear or shame dictate my life. Insha’Allah.