Writing Sample 4: I wrote the following blog post after attending a series of press events for the film CREED in Philadelphia. I was motivated to write about my experience as the only visible Muslim woman throughout the day, particularly because of the unspoken power dynamics I sensed around me.
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The Only Visible Muslim in the Room
Growing up in the Greater Philadelphia Area, Sylvester Stallone has always been a larger-than-life icon to me. Therefore, one can imagine my shock and awe when I quite literally ran into him at the Front Street Gym during a press event for the forthcoming film CREED. Earlier that day, I had the privilege of seeing Mr. Stallone speak atop the “Rocky” steps - truly a moment. I was fortunate enough to end the day by attending a cast & crew screening of the film, and meeting my #OTL (look it up) Michael B. Jordan. It was a day of restrained fan-girling, and good fun. Frankly, it felt like a fluke that I got to be there for any of it.
And yet, in the midst of the fun, I couldn’t shake my hyper-awareness at being the only visible Muslim in the room. I’ve struggled with impostor syndrome for as long as I can remember, therefore being amongst actors and producers at the top of the field was intimidating, to say the least. What made this experience different than other times I’ve occupied spaces as the only visible Muslim woman was the awareness that these were people with the power to influence narratives about Islam in popular culture through media — journalists, film directors, producers, actors and writers all occupied the room for the multiple press conferences throughout the day. It occurred to me that perhaps none of the many influencers in those rooms ever had an authentic conversation with, or shared space with a Muslim in personal or professional settings.
I was constantly aware of my body, and couldn’t shake the feeling that I was out of place in the sectioned-off press area. When no one looks like you, the underlying sense is, “I don’t belong here”. I was keenly attune to a sense that I was apart from it all, despite standing right at the center.
Roxane Gay, aptly addresses the topic of representation in media in the acclaimed book Bad Feminist, writing:
“Women of color come of age and have the same experiences Dunham depicts in her shows [Girls], but we rarely see those stories because they don’t fit the popular imagination’s rendering of Other girlhood, which is generally nonexistent in popular culture…What about other women of color? For Hispanic and Latina women, Indian women, Middle Eastern women, Asian women, their absence in popular culture is even more pronounced, their need for relief just as palpable and desperate” (p. 60).
She’s right.
I often wonder if my presence in the many spaces I occupy as the only visible Muslim woman impacts people’s view of Muslim-Americans. At one point in time, I believed it was my responsibility to change the views of “every-day white Americans”, most of whom - according to studies - don’t know any Muslims. Given my multi-hyphenated identity (Muslim-Arab-American), I felt compelled to validate the “American” part of me through this form of social-taxation as a means to buy my right into mainstream acceptance. An acceptance which never came. I learned the hard way that the only person who was ever going to give me that permission was me. As a result, I don’t carry the burden of responsibility anymore, because it is not mine to carry. And frankly, the weight itself feels like less of a choice and more of an inevitability. I know that my presence alone will affect the dynamics of spaces I move through, so rather than carry it as a responsibility, I see it as a form of activism. I show up for myself and for other young Muslim women trying to find space for themselves when they were never included during the “planning phase”. Most institutions weren’t built with me in mind. The places of employment I seek out typically aren’t thinking of me as their ideal candidate, even when they employ the language of diversity and inclusion in job postings.
In truth, I’m tired of explaining myself everywhere I go, yet I continue to make it a point to occupy a multitude of spaces, because people need to get used to the idea of Muslim women thriving in spaces typically reserved for…well, not us. Our existence shouldn’t be an act of resistance, it should be normalized. But it’s not, so we push on. It is hard work, but it is the kind of work - nay, radical resistance - that makes this world a better place; for all of us.