I FIRST noticed things were changing after 9/11.
I was living in upstate New York at the time of the September 11 attacks, we were living in a town called Potsdam and we were one of the very few Muslim families living there.
At the time, my mother took me by the shoulders and said, “from this day forward you are an ambassador of Islam”.
I am half Syrian. My father is Syrian. My mother is half Syrian, half Danish. I’m an immigrant, living in the United States, and the eldest of 8 children.
I grew up really strongly believing in my Muslim identity, my parents instilled those values in me.
I grew up in New York after moving to the United States when I was six. We moved around a lot, but each of the places I’ve lived has had different sorts of backlash. We lived in New Hampshire for over seven years back in the mid-2000s and my family and I would go to local events where it was perfectly fine for men to be walking around with T-shirts that say, “Kill all the Muslims”. I had younger sisters who had just learned how to read and that T-shirt was in front of them. That’s intolerance.
I put on my first headscarf at 10 years old, my mum bet me I couldn’t do it and I wasn’t going to let her win, so I put it on, and after that it became an integral part of my identity.
People stare at me, I notice it. When I ride the bus or if I’m on a plane I’m usually the one who has the empty space next to me.
The meaning has shifted over the years, most recently the majority reason why I wear it is a political statement to show that I can be a functioning member of society and a Muslim. I kind of like to rub it in people’s faces at times because they get aggravated.
As a person who is human and wants to be accepted I’ve thought about taking the headscarf off, but that’s a thought that leaves my head pretty quickly because I like to piss people off. I don’t believe that intimidation should be a factor in why I take it off. I wear it in different styles to cope with the current climate. At times I’ll wear it as a turban.
It’s a very complex thing, to me it represents freedom, the American values of choice, of religious freedom, liberty, of independence, defiance. And it’s also a really stylish thing to wear on my head — and it matches my outfit.
Even if I’m terrified wearing it at times, I don’t look like I am. It can be terrifying to leave your house after a recent attack because the reality is you might not come home.
“I’ve thought about taking the headscarf off, but that’s a thought that leaves my head pretty quickly because I like to piss people off”.Source:Supplied
When I was younger I gave people more allowance to come up to me and say what they wanted to say to me — I didn’t understand I had the right to tell them to go away. They would come up to me and ask me intrusive questions, people are curious, but at times I don’t want to be subjected to verbal or physical harassment, that has happened before.
Girls my age would come up to me and say, “go back to Iraq” — and I’m not even from there. People would tell me, “you’re in America, let me free you, I can show you how to be free”. They’ve even asked me, “are you going to bomb us?”
It was a very interesting existence, I didn’t think I looked different to other people. I look white — but with my headscarf on it makes things a little different. I felt so alienated and isolated growing up, it was difficult to make friends.
These days I use headphones whenever I leave my house because if I don’t wear them, people will still tap me on the shoulder. They feel like I owe them an answer about whatever it is that’s on their mind. While I’m OK answering some questions, it gets to a point where it’s exhausting.
People have more courage saying things from afar, in a car driving by, or they’ll stare and give me side-eye, or move their children away if I’m near them.
Laila as a child. She moved to the US when she was six years old.Source:Supplied
I was home schooled in the second grade, I didn’t know it at the time but the reason I was pulled out is because the kids had found out my mother was Muslim. For the whole of second grade I was a pariah. I didn’t know this until I was 21, my whole life I simply thought people didn’t like me.
I was flying on the night that the Paris attacks happened. I was pretty scared getting on the plane and going through the airport. A lot of people were staring and looking uncomfortable that I was even there. It always makes you wonder if something is going to happen or someone will complain. I’m terrified for that day, I hope I’m never in that position, that would probably be extremely humiliating.
It hurts, I love riding aeroplanes but it’s not an enjoyable experience for me because I know I’m perceived as a threat. It’s always emotionally draining, sometimes I feel like crying, it feels crappy to be the one everyone’s staring at. I’ve never been on a flight where someone doesn’t look at me weird. I get the extra pat down every time.
Laila pictured with her family — she’s the oldest of eight kids.Source:Supplied
I have family members in Syria. They want to stay because they believe that they want to be there. They don’t want to get out of there because they believe in staying until Syria is free, they’re patriotic to the country they were born in. There was so much optimism when the revolution started, now ISIL has moved in it’s become increasingly difficult. In the few phone calls I’ve had, it’s heartbreaking, we no longer say “see you soon” at the end of the conversation. It’s a very hard situation, because my family feels helpless.
From what my family has told me here they’re safe, but you never know. Things change moment to moment. I’m praying, hoping that everything is going to be OK.
I know first hand just how difficult it is for refugees to be settled here in the United States, the amount of pain that they face knowing their fathers or husbands are being detained because of one issue or another
When you see how real it is, it’s a little bit more difficult to say they don’t deserve a place here. It’s been a fairly frustrating rollercoaster of emotions given the fact were a nation built on immigrants — something I’m sure Australian readers can identify with.
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