The following article ran in the Metro Weekly on
Septmber 20, 2001.
Copyright: Metro Weekly
"The religion that taught me to feed my fellow
human beings even if I go hungry and to protect
the rights of minorities is the same faith that
is so often equated with violence, terrorism, and
injustice." - Faisal Alam
Not in My Name
By Faisal Alam
On the morning of September 11, I stood in sheer
silence and shock like many of my loved ones,
friends, and co-workers, wondering what had gone
wrong and -- worst of all -- what would happen
next. But while my colleagues at work worried
about their families, relatives, and others who
might have been injured or killed in the attacks,
my heart and mind were set in one place -- the
thought that the terrorists would turn out to be
Muslim.
I quickly called my mother, who lives in Northern
Virginia, to see if she was all right. Sadness
and fear overtook my heart as we spoke. She
reassured me that she was okay, but warned me
that we should not talk about the attacks on the
phone. She feared that her line was now tapped
and that conversations between us might be
recorded.
As someone who has lived in the United States for
more than thirteen years and for the most part
identifies as an “American,” every time a tragedy
strikes the United States and the media churns
out images of “Islamic fundamentalists,” and
“Muslim extremists,” my mind and my soul begin to
question every identity I hold so closely to my
heart.
Why does western media still associate the name
of Islam, a religion of peace and justice, with
the actions of madmen? The same religion that
taught me to feed my fellow human beings who are
poor even if I go hungry, and the same religion
that teaches us to protect the rights of
minorities, is the same faith that is so often
equated with violence, terrorism, and injustice.
I remember clearly the Oklahoma City bombing.
Once again, as America stood shocked by the fact
that such a violent attack had taken place on our
own soil, the suspects became clear. Within hours
of the bombing the U.S. media machine had already
blamed “Islamic fundamentalists” for the attack.
And within days the American Muslim community saw
the first signs of a vengeful United States which
sought to blame someone for the attacks.
My mother was a victim of harassment after the
Oklahoma City Bombing, long before it had become
clear that it wasn’t a Muslim who had committed
this heinous attack. It was a Friday afternoon
and my mother had just come back from the mosque
still wearing her hijaab (head scarf). It was
also the day that our house mortgage was due, so
she took a detour to the local bank to make a
deposit. She came home in tears. I rushed to
console her and all she could say was “I don’t
understand, I don’t understand.” She tried to
calm herself and then told us what had happened.
As she went into the bank wearing her hijaab, she
was immediately surrounded by four security
officers who demanded to know why she was in the
bank. After trying to make them understand that
she was simply making a deposit, she was let go
and allowed to make her transaction.
In the last few days, mosques around the United
States have been vandalized and many have
remained closed under heavy security for fear of
further attacks. Hundreds of reports are coming
in about Muslims and Arabs around the United
States who are being verbally and physically
harassed. There have already been two reported
killings in Dallas and Phoenix. And the hate
crimes continue around the country.
During the time that I have lived in the U.S., I
have fought hard to make a difference. I continue
to fight the stereotypes of Islam within the LGBT
community while battling to keep my LGBT identity
within my Muslim community. But today, I find
myself questioning everything I believe in. I’m
scared because in the next few weeks I have to
travel and will have to deal with ethnic
profiling. I’m upset that so many lives were lost
in last week’s tragedy. I’m shocked at the
hundreds of hate crimes that are being reported
against Muslims, Arabs, and other religious
minorities around the United States. And I’m
worried about my relatives in Pakistan who will
be at the center of a potential war against
Afghanistan.
In the wake of last week’s tragedy, I have
received dozens of emails and phone calls from my
friends and colleagues from around the world.
Even strangers that I have never met before have
written in to send their love and support to the
LGBT Muslim community. Many are worried about my
personal safety as a visible leader in the LGBT
Muslim community. I am grateful for such an
outpouring of love and support.
But still, my relatives in Pakistan are
frightened as that country braces itself for
possible attacks from Afghanistan. And Muslims in
the United States are afraid to step out of their
homes or open up their businesses in fear of
being attacked.
The emotions I feel today are the same as those I
had after the Oklahoma City bombing:
helplessness, shock, fear, and paranoia. And once
again I must tell the world that the attacks on
our nation were “not in my name.”
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Faisal Alam, a 24-year-old queer-identified
Muslim of Pakistani descent, has worked in the
LGBT movement, faith-based organizing, and LGBT
youth work for over five years. He currently
resides in Washington, D.C., and works in the
field of HIV/AIDS.
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