The Pursuit of Islam

Imagine deflecting hostile stares at the mall. Imagine steeling yourself against a stranger's angry words. Imagine knowing you will be judged for wearing a head scarf. Imagine feeling like an enemy in your own country.

Imagine life in America as a young Muslim.

Since Sept. 11, 2001, when Arab extremists crashed jumbo jets into the U.S. Pentagon and New York City's Twin Towers, people in this country have viewed adherents of Islam through a filtered lens.

As a corollary of the "war on terror," many Americans harbor mistrust and apprehension toward the Muslims in their midst. Their suspicion manifests itself in various forms, from avoidance to outright hostility.

"There's a national subculture of fear around Islam; anyone can say something at any time," observed Ghada Osman, associate professor at San Diego State University and director of the Center for Arabic and Islamic Studies.

Most Americans may interact cordially with Muslim neighbors and co-workers, but the intolerance is prevalent enough that Muslims living in this country face almost daily challenges to their religious beliefs and customs.

The immigrant story

Seven years after the attack on New York's Twin Towers, non-Muslim Americans still have no more than a rudimentary understanding of the religion practiced by 1.3 billion people throughout the world and 6 million in their own country. Muslims in the U.S. are, at best, tolerated as outsiders and, at worst, attacked as anti-American.

On the flip side, Americans are now more conscious of (though not necessarily more informed about) the Middle East, ancestral home to a high percentage of U.S. Muslims. The heightened awareness of Muslims in American society has generated dialogue among those open to learning about the tenets of Islam and the impediments to living a devout life in this secular society.

Many of the SDSU students interviewed for this article are the children of immigrants hailing from nations within a broad swath of land that stretches from northwest Africa to Indonesia.

For the most part, they are typical college students­bright, sociable, tech-savvy and lost without their iPods. Their outlook on personal freedom is unmistakably American, and they seem to have a heightened awareness of its value.

Someone they know­ - their parents or maybe their friends' parents­ - came to this country seeking relief from political persecution. Once they arrived, religious freedom was supposed to be a given. And it is, but with strings attached.

Obliged to cope with suspicion and misunderstanding, these young people struggle with the daily rituals of observing Islam in secular America. Pride in their Islamic culture, tradition and history resides uneasily alongside anger at the handful of Muslim extremists who changed their lives forever.

Knee-jerk discrimination

"It has become a constant, this anti-Muslim feeling," said Homayra Yusufi, a 21-year-old political science graduate who recently completed the competitive summer program at the University of Michigan's Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy. "You have to prove your patriotism because it is questioned."

Yusufi was in high school on Sept. 11, 2001. That year, the neighbors skipped her home on Halloween. She heard classmates advocate the bombing of Islamic countries. She remembers a girl at school running up to a Muslim classmate and shouting, "This is for 9/11," before screaming in her ear.

The knee-jerk discrimination left Yusufi feeling helpless. She wanted to speak out and defend her religion, but didn't know how. So, she began working with the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), whose mission is to change public perception about Islam.

Last January, though her Afghan parents discouraged it, Yusufi decided to wear the head scarf. She had never imagined herself a poster child for Islam, but when her world changed, so did she.

"Sept. 11 happened at such a crucial time in my life," said Yusufi. "I think it deeply influenced my personality and my identity. Because people were attacking me, I had to stand up for my religion. I had to consider: was I a Muslim because my parents were Muslim or because I truly believed?"

A bin Laden person

As Yusufi spoke, her friend of 10 years, Sally Reda, nodded empathetically. Reda's skin is lighter than Yusufi's, and she eschews the head scarf. People often do not realize she is Muslim­a mixed blessing, to be sure.

Unlike Yusufi, Reda is not a magnet for the hostile sentiments of strangers. On the other hand, she hears harsh criticisms and anti-Muslim slurs not necessarily intended for her ears. On campus, she witnessed one student telling another that her dark hair made her look like a "bin Laden" person. Reda recalled her own exasperation at the remark.

"What was she talking about? What is a bin Laden person? Usually, when I overhear something like that, I will say, ‘Excuse me, I'm Muslim, and what you said is really rude.' Sometimes, I can't believe the things I hear."

Reda was vacationing with her family in Lebanon on Sept. 11, 2001. Her parents, both American citizens, postponed their return to the U.S. for a month afterwards, fearing repercussions for travelers from the Middle East. When they finally landed in San Diego, Reda felt anxious and uncomfortable.

At school, many Muslim friends faced harassment. Fear stopped Reda from going to the mosque, though it had been the center of her social life. She refused to let her mother leave the house alone lest her head scarf invite verbal or physical attack.

"I considered the terrorists stupid people for doing what they did, and I was angry with the media for printing untruths about Islam," Reda said. "I understand that the public response was typical because most people don't know any Muslims, but it still upset me. I almost wanted to give up. I didn't want to have to explain about Islam anymore."

So many misconceptions

Explaining Islam to an ill-informed public is both mission and bane for many American Muslims.

Almost daily, they face the irony of having to defend their beliefs in a country whose Bill of Rights guarantees freedom of religion.

Consider the controversy surrounding presidential candidate Barack Obama's religious identity.

Throughout the 2008 election campaign, rumors of his "secret" Islamic affiliation have insidiously implied that being Muslim is a political liability.

"Clearly there is a campaign to discredit Obama as a Muslim," said Dipak Gupta, SDSU's Fred J. Hansen professor of Peace Studies and the author of nearly a dozen books on terrorism, ethnic conflict and international policy. "If he were a Muslim­and he is not­does that mean he's unqualified to be president, that you shouldn't vote for him? These slurs are extremely hurtful to Muslim students."

Widespread misconceptions about Islam also trouble Saad Eldegwy. The SDSU master's candidate is a spiritual leader of Islam, known as an imam. His intensive study of the religion earned him a bachelor's degree from the University of Cairo, where he also studied Islamic law at the graduate level.

Imams like Eldegwy are esteemed as true examples of Islam and spiritual advisers to other Muslims. The title connotes a profound knowledge of the Qur'an, the central religious text of Islam.
Eldegwy frequently speaks to local groups about his religion. He explains that Islam condemns the terrorist tactics of al Qaeda and other extremist groups. He also cautions his audiences against painting all Muslims with the same broad brush.

Certain stereotypes, like the notion that Islam considers women inferior to men, try his patience. Eldegwy's wife is an engineer and he dreams that his infant daughter will someday pursue a Ph.D.

"Islamically, men and women are equal," Eldegwy said. "They have their own separate roles. Of course, women can seek education; Islam encourages it. They can work. My grandfather did not allow his daughters to attend school, but that was his decision. The determinations of individuals or even entire regimes do not always reflect Islam."

An ethnic identity

Though Islamic principles are universal, the observance of Islam differs from Turkey to Pakistan, from Iran to Indonesia. Historically, culture and tradition have shaped religious customs in Muslim and non-Muslim countries alike. But the events of Sept. 11 changed the dynamic, giving rise to a new Muslim ethnicity.

"I think the strength of Muslim students' religious affiliation changed after 9/11," said SDSU's Osman. "Since then, being Muslim in this country has in some ways become similar to being Jewish in this country.

"People may identify themselves as being ethnically Jewish even if they are not religiously Jewish," observed Osman, "and now Muslims who may not be religious are still somehow seen as being ‘ethnically' Muslim. Sept. 11 created an atmosphere in which that identity is foremost, even if a person is not religious."

In Islamic communities nationwide, the newfound identity and pride are strongest among youth.

Attendance at mosques is rising. More young women are wearing the head scarf, a simple piece of cloth that has become a lightning rod for misunderstanding between the Muslim and non-Muslim populations.

In 2004, the French parliament overwhelmingly approved a law banning Islamic head scarves in public schools. The action sparked street protests by Muslims throughout the country. Those who support the ban claim the head scarf is a conspicuous symbol of religious affiliation and has no place in a secular environment.

Difficult decision

Many Muslim women have a different perspective. For Ahlam Shalabi, pictured on the cover of this issue, the head scarf is a reminder of who she is and who she wants to be.

She once shared the archetypal Western view of the scarf as an emblem of oppression and sexism. Then she read that the prophet Muhammad and many devout Muslim men throughout history observed hijab (covering the body for the sake of modesty).

"After learning this, I knew I was ready to commit to wearing a head scarf as an act of faith and trust," Shalabi said.

There is another facet of wearing the scarf that non-Muslim's don't instinctively understand­ the heavy responsibility of being a symbol of Islam. Muslim women say those who cover their heads are automatically held to a higher standard. It takes courage to wear the scarf and some women struggle with the decision for years. Homayra Yusufi was one of them.

"My younger sister was the first of us three girls to wear it," she recalled. "Then my older sister, and finally, me. I always wantedto, but I wasn't sure if I could handle it. My main concern was being a good ambassador for my religion. For example, if I cut off another driver on the road, the person might think, that Muslim girl cut me off. You become a symbol of Islam."

The pursuit of Islam

Post 9/11, Yusufi and young Muslims like her have also become symbols of what is feared and misunderstood about the Arabic world. Many Americans have trouble reconciling their notions of patriotism with men in long robes and women in head scarves. They often infer conflict between a Muslim's religious and national identities when, most often, none exists.

Shaybah Abdullah, an SDSU biology major, is candid and engaging and a Black American Muslim. The designation fits him comfortably, but he understands that those three words can arouse suspicion in some minds.

"People see a Muslim on the trolley," Abdullah said, "and they think, ‘Is this guy going to blow us up?' As a minority, our voices are not heard, so people don't understand that we are Americans, too. We love San Diego and we enjoy life here."

Misunderstandings arise be-tween Muslim and non-Muslim Americans because the two groups rarely interact, Abdullah said. Americans read about Islam, but have little opportunity to hear what he calls "a pure voice of Islam" without the negative stereotypes.

Last year, as president of SDSU's Muslim Students Association, Abdullah worked to establish stronger connections between the disparate Muslim students on campus. Kamilah Albahri, a sophomore, will continue that work as incoming president.

"Islam is based on the concept of one ummah which means that we are all one community," she said. "People sometimes focus on our differences instead of our similarities.

"Islam does not support judging others," Albahri said. "It has nothing to do with rejecting non-Muslims. Islam is about building bonds and learning compassion. We are a community of believers."

Each of the young Muslims interviewed for this article is well aware of the constraints imposed on friends and families living in certain Islamic countries. They have heard their parents' and grandparents' stories. They have been raised with the immigrant's profound appreciation for America's opportunities and freedoms.

American Muslims who can express themselves freely "are in a unique position between Western and Muslim civilizations," wrote Akbar Ahmed, a former high commissioner from Pakistan to Great Britain and currently the Ibn Khaldun Chair of Islamic Studies at American University.

The pursuit of Islam is a journey of self-discovery­ and a rite of passage­ for young worshippers of Allah. As the largest ever generation of American-born Muslims, they will define the future of Islam in this country. They will be the bridge between America and the Muslim world as the 21st century unfolds.