Islamophobia alla Italiana
I’ve always had a particular relationship with islamophobia, in the sense that I experienced a lot of it.
It started before I was even born: the day my mom went to the hospital to get her embryo implanted to have me was 9/11 (I know. Hilarious) and the nurse who did her procedure called her a Taliban.
I wasn’t conscious of the rise of islamophobia during that period because I spent my early years busy picking my nose and playing with dolls. Still, sometimes I can remember looking at my mom’s sad face while she watched some random TV show where the guests were spewing anti-Islam rhetoric at each other. I’d say I was pretty sheltered during most of it, my mom never made me feel different or disconnected from my peers. However, 2015 happened.
I was in my third year of middle school, and I was already being bullied. I had a meek personality but a tall body, and I guess that made me look extremely goofy to the underdeveloped pre-teens I had around. I could handle the ostracization and the being made fun of, but I suddenly found myself in a room where everyone hated my existence. I was one of three Muslims in my class. Still, since they weren’t already the target of bullies, they were spared from the imitating of bomb sounds, the screaming ALLAHU AKBAR whenever I passed nearby, and the accusations of being a terrorist. And if that wasn’t enough, my teachers were also complicit: they thought of me differently of course, because they knew my parents and knew they were moderate and kind people, but I could still feel the hatred burning from their eyes. One particular event I remember so absolutely clearly because of how shocking it was, was when my French teacher started saying a bunch of nonsense about Sharia law. I was still young, I didn’t know much about that, but I knew what my religion was; and that stuff was so far-fetched that I corrected her: “No Mrs, actually that’s not true! Women don’t get stoned if they don’t wear the hijab, for example my cousins in Egypt don’t and they never got beaten!”. She looked at me dead in the eyes and said: “But sweetie, you are a Christian, how would you know?”. Now, I knew that woman met my very obviously hijabi mother, so to this day, I’m still convinced she was trying to brainwash me into becoming a Christian or some the sort. She was a weirdo anyway so I never really took her words to heart, I only found it funny (my parents, not that much).
I lived like that for a while and as much as I’m ashamed to admit it, it made me hate my religion. I would go back home and ask my mom if it was true that Muslims kill civilians because the Quran tells us to kill disbelievers, and my mom would reassure me that no, it’s not true, our religion is one of peace and calm. But if that was the truth, why were those attacks happening? That’s all my 13-year-old brain could think about.
From then on I shunned anything that was related to Islam: I stopped praying completely, I only did Ramadan out of habit, and I even began doubting God’s existence. It didn’t help that I also started struggling with my mental health and an eating disorder, that completely ate me up alive, and all I could think of was: “Why do I have to suffer? If Allah is real then why am I always in pain?”. I didn’t think I deserved it, and I didn’t, but for some reason, I believed I was being punished for something I did.
Thankfully I have parents who are kind of understanding: they definitely wouldn’t be happy with me leaving Islam, but they also never pushed it down my throat. I was never forced to wear the hijab, never forced to pray. My mom would always mention 2:256: “There is no compulsion in religion. The right direction is henceforth distinct from error. And he who rejecteth false deities and believeth in Allah hath grasped a firm handhold which will never break. Allah is Hearer, Knower.”
I do realize however that if someone didn’t have that kind of support from their family, it would be easy to completely reject Islam. And I know because I did with far less.
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The hatred towards Muslims in the media scared me: I saw how my hijabi mom was treated by Italians and how she was discriminated against in public settings. She was walking around with a huge target on her back, and I didn’t want that for myself either.
So I just didn’t mention my religion, I tried homologating with Westerners in the hope of being accepted. I did things that I now regret because I wanted to be accepted: I was such a complete slave to the approval of white people around me that I completely stepped on my dignity and my heritage. And all of that was for nothing: no matter how much I tried to appease people around me, I was still a Muslim, because I never directly said I wasn’t a Muslim anymore, because I would always correct people that spewed some Islamophobic bullshit, and because at the end of the day, deep down, I still believed in God.
However, things settled down. I finished high school, started surrounding myself with people who weren’t judgemental of my identity and also got a healthier mindset. But that still wasn’t enough for me: I looked at my university colleagues and envied the freedom they had. The kind of freedom where you can go to house parties, dance all night, hook up, and drink a load of alcohol. I envied that. I didn’t like it, I didn’t enjoy loud music, and I despised most men who interacted with me but somehow I was jealous of the possibility of choice until I realized it wasn’t really a choice. No one was free to actually do whatever they wanted, everything had to fit societal norms, so people who didn’t like partying were almost forced to attend university nights and if they didn’t they were no fun. If you hooked up with people you were a slut but if you didn’t you were frigid or your looks were the cause. That was also a moment of reflection and realization: what was I jealous of? The absolute homologation of society? The individualism and consumerism that ate my peers alive? Was it really worth it?
I’d say that during my current cycle of studies, I never really encountered any kind of Islamophobia, except for a couple of ignorant takes from some university colleagues that I confidently corrected. And even though Italian TV still hosted the same shows my mom watched with a hand on her heart, I never expected to see the same amount of poorly masked islamophobia again.
However, October 7th happened. And in a second, any kind of progress society seemed to make fell down the drain. Online posts calling for the death of all Muslims, the killing of a 6-year-old child whose crime was being Palestinian and Muslim, and the attacks and murders of many other people of my faith, made me feel weak. The day that child died my mother cried and said it was like being thrown into 2001 again.
If you are reading this and you are Muslim, never let anyone trample over you. Don’t let people try to dictate how you should and shouldn’t live your life. And if you are young, hold onto your heritage, don’t let it go like I did. It does get better, and even if right now it feels like the whole world hates you, you will always be better than them.
In loving memory of Wadea Al Fayoume, in Heaven Insha’allah.
