Navigating Cultural Identity as a Muslim Woman
In this day and age, navigating cultural identity as a second-generation American is overwhelmingly burdensome, especially with an Asian, Muslim American background—one with which we sometimes find ourselves having to pick a single race or culture. We learn one culture at home but are taught another growing up in our American communities.
The United States Census Bureau defines "second-generation" as those with at least one foreign-born parent; yet the question that taunts us each time we meet someone new or visit a country outside of our own: "Where are you from?" I am from America
"America," is my usual response to this question. Although technically correct, the realities of this answer are much more complex.
Like many of our parents, my parents came to America to make sure their kids will have better opportunities than they did. At home, our family is Pakistani and so is everything that comes along with it. Sunday mornings would be filled with the aromas of Spices and Naan, Halwa (sweet carrots) and Paratha (fried dough). The smell of Chai (tea) seeps through the walls and into our clothes.
However, I grew up far more fortunate than most second-generation Americans. My father moved to America from Pakistan when he was 15 and worked his way up the social and economic ladder, and my mom moved here from Norway when she 26 and married my father. Together they started a business of which my mother was the manager, allowing her to navigate through the English language. By the time I was born my parents were so well-acquainted with the American system that I never had to face the struggles of many first and second generation Americans.
While I may not have been met with any economic or language barrier but if there is one struggle I did face growing up it was religion. I am a Muslim woman, a proud one too. And for those of you who have never met a Muslim, it's great to meet you. Let me tell you who I am. I'm a student, a coffee lover -- flat whites, iced or hot. I'm an Extrovert. I'm a wannabe fitness fanatic. And I'm a Pakistani-American Muslim.
However, the problem is that being Muslim in America means being identified by only one aspect of my identity. It means being told what "Islam really is" and having very little control over my own narrative. And honestly, if some perceptions about Islam are negative, I don't blame you. That's just how the media has been portraying people who look like me. One study found that 80 percent of news coverage about Islam and Muslims is negative.
As a Muslim American woman who chooses to wear a headscarf, it's easy for our society to decide what "my people" stand for. As Peter Beinart writes "Because in public conversation in America today, 'Islam' is a racial term. Being Muslim doesn't just mean not being Christian or Jewish. It means not being white. And as history has shown us, not being white in America can lead to certain complications."
Growing up, when I'd tell other kids that my religion didn't allow me to eat pork, I was usually met with a look of perplexity and floods of questions. Sure, the Bible also prohibits consumption of pork, but most of my Christian friends growing up were reformed, which meant they ate bacon and pepperoni pizza guilt-free.
And then there was that one time where after I told an adult well into his 50s that I was Muslim, he asked me if I spoke Islamic. Yeah, you read that correctly. Not only was he an adult but I'm pretty sure he broke just about every grammatical rule in the English language. I am Muslim and Islam is my religion. I speak English and much to my families disdain that is the only language I am fluent in.
However, questions of ignorance such as the two I have just mentioned, are a thing of the past. Today, instead of being asked if I speak Islamic, being Muslim means being halted at the airport; it means that I am subjected to extra security checks; or being told that my religion is violent and that hijabis are apparently super oppressed. And my favorite accusation was probably when someone told me that if Islam were to take over, all women would be silenced and men would take over the world. I mean come on people, says the society that still hasn't had a female president and is struggling with an onslaught of cases where men abuse women by abusing their power. If you don't believe me, check out the #MeToo Movement. We already live in a world where women are being silenced and men are abusing power and it has less to do with Islam and other minorities and more to do with the lack of unity. We have seen the benefits of embracing all of our differences and joining forces, take November 6th. The 116th Congress will feature the first two Native American women, the first Muslim women and the youngest woman ever elected to Congress.
I often think about all my parents went through, the compromises they made while holding fast to their faith, traditions, and values to raise us as practicing Muslims and proud, assimilated Americans. Interfaiths on Sundays, swimming lessons on Friday afternoons, soccer practice, volunteering at soup kitchens on Saturdays and also: praying together as a family, reading the Quran and teaching us about our faith.
Being female, Pakistani, and Muslim in the United States today has been ― in a word ― intense. At times my experiences are something straight out of a horror movie. Despite being stereotyped, the Muslim community won't just sit there and sulk. We Muslim-Americans are equally as American as the rest of you. We love this country just as much.
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