Attacks on Muslims have tripled since the Paris attacks of November 2015, with most victims being women. Tesneem Ayoub talks life as a Muslim in the capital in the aftermath of terrorist acts.
London is the first city I ever called home, and I am a part of its Muslim population that makes up around 12.4 per cent of the approximate 8.6 million people living there. Like many Muslim women, my religious identity is a fairly obvious one. I wear a headscarf, commonly referred to as a “hijab”, and a garment worn over clothes called a “jilbab”. A jilbab can be a one or two-piece garment. The one-piece version covers the entire body from the top of the head to the feet, with openings for the face and hands. The the two-piece garment can be constructed from a head cover with an opening for the face that drops down to the hips or even the knees; it can either be coupled with an ankle-length (or longer) long-sleeved, straight-cut dress, or a maxi-skirt. Although I have worn the headscarf for over a decade, I decided to wear the jilbab almost three years ago at the age of nineteen, after examining Islamic texts on the requirements for women’s attire. This decision was born out of a desire to be a better servant of God by doing this act of worship the way it was originally legislated. |
Sure, perks like being less judged for the shape of my body or how conventionally attractive I am, and being able to speak my mind without that baggage also came with the package. Being able to do the supermarket run while wearing my pyjamas was also a fantastic addition. But those were just the added benefits.
But with the flames of hatred towards Muslims that have been lit up since 9/11 being fanned each time a brainwashed lunatic commits an act of terrorism, it becomes harder to be this visibly Muslim.
While Muslim men sporting fully-grown beards and clothes that stop above the ankle can just about get away with being mistaken for fashion-forward hipsters in Brick Lane, I am not really afforded that narrow “escape”.
I am more susceptible to attack than ever. And this isn’t just the talk of a self-pitying nobody, as some would like to frame it, because the stats back it up. London Metropolitan Police data shows that Islamophobic hate crimes in London had risen by 70 per cent in the 12 months leading up to July 2015.
But with the flames of hatred towards Muslims that have been lit up since 9/11 being fanned each time a brainwashed lunatic commits an act of terrorism, it becomes harder to be this visibly Muslim.
While Muslim men sporting fully-grown beards and clothes that stop above the ankle can just about get away with being mistaken for fashion-forward hipsters in Brick Lane, I am not really afforded that narrow “escape”.
I am more susceptible to attack than ever. And this isn’t just the talk of a self-pitying nobody, as some would like to frame it, because the stats back it up. London Metropolitan Police data shows that Islamophobic hate crimes in London had risen by 70 per cent in the 12 months leading up to July 2015.
A government report seen by The Independent also cited that in the week following the Paris attacks on the 13 November 2015, Islamophobic hate crimes in Britain had risen by 300 per cent to 115. Most victims were women aged 14 to 45 who wore traditional Islamic attire, and most perpetrators were White males aged 15 to 35.
News and anecdotes about attacks on Muslims, coupled with this type of consequential data are the reasons why when hearing the news of terrorist attacks and potential suspects, Muslims all over the world, and more so, those living in the West, react by thinking “I really hope it wasn’t a Muslim.” |
The aftermath of such events always play out the same way for me. Day-to-day living is re-tainted with the stench of fearing for my own safety, with my parents spending an extra few seconds on the phone telling me to be cautious and to try my best to not be “vulnerable”. They also begin to stress how important it is for me to keep them on the loop on my whereabouts.
Feelings of anger and powerlessness at the fact that it’s become harder to just exist and that there’s nothing I could do about it normally follow along as well. It seems that it won’t be enough for me to condemn any of these crimes against humanity within, because my exterior has already been associated with acquiescence, making me an easy and, maybe, in the eyes of some, a justified target for Islamophobic crime.
After all, why am I on the receiving end of funny stares in the days that follow terrorist attacks? And why would my friends who wear face veils be spat on and called names, including “terrorist”?
I start to feel that even if I do decide to verbalise a condemnation, no matter how loud, it will just fall to the deaf ears of many of those who hate or intend to harm people like me.
Public figures such as Dr Shuja Shafi of the Muslim Council of Britain, and even the Senior Council of Saudi Scholars have voiced their condemnations of terrorist attacks in the West and have explained how they have no place in Islam. Yet, Muslim women are still on the receiving end of the repercussions that come from such events. So what difference can my voice make?
Just as how members of the general public may feel apprehensive when seeing a woman in traditional Islamic attire, I now increasingly feel the same when am in “public isolation”, such as an empty street, with a White, not-so-visibly-Muslim male – the now statistically likely perpetrator of Islamophobic crime on Muslim women.
The desires to openly practice my faith in peace without fearing that it could endanger me and to also positively co-exist with fellow Londoners do not contradict each other. “Allah does not forbid you from those who do not fight you because of religion and do not expel you from your homes - from being righteous toward them and acting justly toward them. Indeed, Allah loves those who act justly.” [The Noble Qur’an, Chapter 60, Verse 8]
Feelings of anger and powerlessness at the fact that it’s become harder to just exist and that there’s nothing I could do about it normally follow along as well. It seems that it won’t be enough for me to condemn any of these crimes against humanity within, because my exterior has already been associated with acquiescence, making me an easy and, maybe, in the eyes of some, a justified target for Islamophobic crime.
After all, why am I on the receiving end of funny stares in the days that follow terrorist attacks? And why would my friends who wear face veils be spat on and called names, including “terrorist”?
I start to feel that even if I do decide to verbalise a condemnation, no matter how loud, it will just fall to the deaf ears of many of those who hate or intend to harm people like me.
Public figures such as Dr Shuja Shafi of the Muslim Council of Britain, and even the Senior Council of Saudi Scholars have voiced their condemnations of terrorist attacks in the West and have explained how they have no place in Islam. Yet, Muslim women are still on the receiving end of the repercussions that come from such events. So what difference can my voice make?
Just as how members of the general public may feel apprehensive when seeing a woman in traditional Islamic attire, I now increasingly feel the same when am in “public isolation”, such as an empty street, with a White, not-so-visibly-Muslim male – the now statistically likely perpetrator of Islamophobic crime on Muslim women.
The desires to openly practice my faith in peace without fearing that it could endanger me and to also positively co-exist with fellow Londoners do not contradict each other. “Allah does not forbid you from those who do not fight you because of religion and do not expel you from your homes - from being righteous toward them and acting justly toward them. Indeed, Allah loves those who act justly.” [The Noble Qur’an, Chapter 60, Verse 8]
This is what I live by.
We Muslim women should not take suffer the consequences for the behaviours of terrorists. And I should not be made to fear young, White men. I just want to have just as much of a chance of being received as a standard, bubbly little weirdo who enjoys a bit too much chocolate and loves cheesy chips, as anyone else would have. I just want to be as good as any other peaceful stranger. |
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