I am a Muslim. I am an American.
I am not a Muslim-American because my religion does not
qualify my citizenship.
I was born in Connecticut to two doctors who legally entered
the country to further their education and career, with the bonus of being able
to openly practice their faith. My parents taught me to be proud of my
religion, Pakistani heritage, and American citizenship.
Beginning at a young age, I was told that as a Muslim—in a
predominantly Christian community—the burden fell on me to exemplify all that
is good within Islam. I was constantly reminded that I could be the first
Muslim someone might meet, so the way I presented myself would follow a person
throughout their life.
I was in kindergarten when the 9/11 attacks occurred and
parents told their children not to play with me. I was frustrated and felt like
a failure. If I was a better Muslim, would the towers still be standing? If I
worked harder, would I still have friends? Only two years later, on a school
trip to New York, did I realize that the act of violence impacted me more as an
American than as a Muslim. I remember my father standing solemnly next to me as
we looked on to Ground Zero. He explained to me, for the hundredth time, that
the loss of life was a huge blow to the country and could not be blamed on the
religion of Islam. Since that day, I and countless other Muslims around the
world have had to come to the defense of Islam after attacks, rather than be able
to mourn the loss of life of our fellow citizens.
As you prepare for the upcoming election, please remember
that the hate-filled rhetoric surrounding people of different colors, races,
and religions does not describe those people. Go out into the world and
introduce yourself to people you wouldn’t typically approach. Ask people for
their stories and share your own. As Americans, we have a responsibility to
understand and protect our fellow citizens.
