by Nura Ahmed
I remember in my first grade class, two years after 9/11, only moments before the U.S. declared war on Iraq, feeling this uncomfortable glare and attention from my teacher as she looked at me when she called my name for roll call. This only continued on throughout the school year when everyone found out I had a Muslim family. Being one of the few Muslim families in my area during the post-9/11 era, with the language used around being an immigrant, Black, and Muslim impacting the discourse in my community and in America at large, it was increasingly difficult feeling like I truly mattered or that I deserved to be there.
Granted, my family had come from Somalia only a few months before, and I felt this discomfort every year before moving to a place where I went to a diverse school and community in fifth grade. Even if it wasn’t any better afterwards. All I know is throughout the whole time, I felt isolated, alone, and afraid. Afraid of what these people would do to me. And I always questioned why they constantly hated me when I didn’t do anything.Continue reading OPINON: The Terrifying Reality Behind the Black Muslim Experience in Amerikkka