Being an Ally for Muslims

Thu, 28 Apr 2016 16:47:02 -0400
acceptance, diversity, inclusion, islam, islamophobia, muslims, religion

As a follow-up to our recent pilot workshop series, How to be an Effective Ally?, we thought it would be good to continue the conversation online for those who couldn't join us at one or more of our workshops. These posts won't be in the same topical order, but we hope you'll still choose to read and comment anyway!

Our Mosaic spring intern, Martinez Fernandez found the following article from Everyday Feminism. Thanks Martinez! It connects to the last workshop topic on allyship to people from underrepresented or marginalized religions.

After reading the full article (click button at end of this post), feel free to share your answers to the following questions in the comments box. We look forward to hearing from you!

**Please note that our myUMBC group is moderated and all posts are subject to editing by Student Life staff.**

* What do you know about Islamophobia?

* How would you react after hearing negative statements or ideas towards

Muslims?

* What would be your strategies for speaking up as an ally for Muslims?

Here's an excerpt to get you started:

3 Reasons You Might Be Afraid To Speak Up For Muslims – And How To Do It Anyway

by Andrew Hernann

Source: http://everydayfeminism.com/2016/04/being-an-ally-for-muslims/

“…but seriously, you can’t trust Muslims,” a family friend told me a few weeks ago.

“Wait, what?” I asked, wondering how a seemingly innocent conversation about baseball had taken such a horrible turn.

“They’re all terrorists,” he said.

I paused….I’d been down this road before.

I imagined what would happen if I contradicted him again. He’d tell me how he’d read about the Qur’an on the Internet and that he “knows” that Islam is a “religion of violence.” He’d cite right wing news outlets and politicians who espouse Islamophobic perspectives.

And he’d dismiss my counter-arguments as symptomatic of the “political correctness” that has supposedly weakened American culture.

Did I have the energy to call him out for the umpteenth time?

I wish that I could say that it was some abstract sense of social justice that ultimately motivated me to speak up. But it wasn’t.

Instead, I imagined what kind of ally I was (not) being to the people I love and care about by staying silent.

I imagined some of my students. The fiancé of one of my best friends. Most of my interlocutors in West Africa.

How would the many Muslims in my life respond to this family friend’s dangerous rhetoric?

And what would they think if they knew that I had permitted it to continue unchecked? Especially because, as a non-Muslim in an Islamophobic society, I am in the privileged position to speak out without (for the most part) fearing for my safety.

So I took a deep breath, moved my gaze from my toes to his eyes, and started in.

Both before and after the recent terrorist attack in Brussels, presidential candidates, congresspersons and parliamentarians from the from all around the world have spread toxic Islamophobic messages, often while inciting violence against Muslims.

And irresponsible journalists the world over have broadcasted such hate speech, directly and indirectly validating both the politicians and their oppressive values. Perhaps even more problematically, because of the widespread circulation of these messages on traditional and social media, they have also permeated everyday discourses.

It’s not “just” bigoted, attention- and power-seeking politicians and pundits who spread ignorance and hate regarding Islam and Muslim communities. Now it’s also some of our friends, our family members, our neighbors, our teachers and our co-workers.

Fortunately, bluster aside, most social justice-minded folks recognize the dangers of such speech. We know that it inaccurately represents Islam and perpetuates the oppression of and sometimes even violence against Muslim individuals and communities. We know that we need to respond.

Yet, we are often reluctant to do so. Why?