Areena Reflect

If you were asked to pick one word to describe who you are, what would you choose?

Pakistani? American? Muslim? Something else?

Many of us have never really reflected on that question, let alone made a conscious decision.

But I believe it is important to decide who I am and who I want to become—for each one of us.

Because it is only when we know who we are and who we want to become that we can thoughtfully decide which ideas and beliefs we will accept and which we will reject.

For me, I am a Muslim.

My Muslim identity makes me a better American and a better Pakistani.

Whether it is obeying the laws of the land, or simply removing something harmful from someone’s path when no one is watching and no one will applaud me for it—these are teachings of Islam.

My presence as a Muslim should shine a light on every path I walk.

Those of us who have never decided who we really are can end up living in a kind of limbo—undecided, unclear, and without a consistent framework for determining which thoughts and beliefs to accept or reject.

And this becomes especially important when we confront the prejudices we have inherited from our cultures.

For example:

Do we accept the Indian/Pakistani post-colonial belief that lighter skin is somehow better than darker skin?

Or do we reject it because Islam teaches us that human beings are equal, and that the only measure by which one person is better than another is taqwa—something ultimately known only to Allah?

Let’s be honest.

Our Muslim Asian community, in general, has a problem with racism toward Black American Muslims.

Sometimes it appears in obvious ways. Other times it is much more subtle.

It may look like a Sunday Islamic school teacher assuming, before even getting to know a child, that the Black American Muslim kid in her class is going to be a “problem.”

Or it may look like choosing not to give our business to a Black American Muslim brother, even when we know he is better at what he does than the Desi brother.

The racism is there—even when we don’t want to acknowledge it, because we know how terrible it sounds for a Muslim to speak or act that way.

But before we can address racism within our Muslim community, we need to sit with ourselves individually and ask:

WHO AM I?

Because this problem will not be solved simply by having more discussions about Black Americans.

It begins by having difficult conversations about ourselves.

If someone identifies as Pakistani or Indian before identifying as Muslim, a conversation about racism may look very different from a conversation with someone who identifies as Muslim first.

One may require a debate to convince them that Black people are equally worthy of dignity and respect.

The other may simply require a reminder from the Qur’an and Sunnah to help them recognize that a particular cultural belief contradicts their Islamic worldview.

And perhaps that is where the real work begins.

Not with asking, “Why are they like this?”

But with asking ourselves:

“Who am I?”

“What do I believe?”

“Where did those beliefs come from?”

“And when my culture conflicts with my Islam, which one am I going to follow?”

Identity is not merely a label.

It is a decision.