A Triple Threat: The Story of a First-Generation Black Muslim Young Woman
I like to think of myself as a triple threat, as I identify as a Black, Muslim young woman. Others, however, simply see me as a threat. They see my chocolate-colored complexion and my monochromatic hijab and automatically assume the worst. Of course, these people making assumptions about me know nothing about my character, my dreams, or my aspirations. To the world I am merely a doll still in mint condition, resting in my box, and by simply looking at me, one can tell if they like me, or if they’d rather exchange me for someone or something else.
For a while, I too wanted to exchange myself for someone else. Someone with lighter skin, softer hair, and who never got sent back because of their appearance. Maybe that’s because I grew up in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Being a Black American in the streets of Minneapolis is already difficult, but being a Black woman with modest clothing and a long scarf only amplified the strife. The sad reality is, though, being a Black woman with modest clothing and a long scarf is difficult almost everywhere. It’s as though wherever I go--my identity precedes me.
My identity has preceded me my entire life. The fateful day of September 11, 2001 changed my life forever-- and I hadn’t even been born yet. In fact, my mother was only thirteen years old still in our home country of Somalia when those unspeakable acts were committed. However, after a few years, my mother immigrated to the United States and never looked back. A Xanadu of incomparable success and opportunity is what my mother thought she was coming into. Unfortunately, she quickly realized that wasn't the case. Upon her arrival, my mother had to change her name to something easier for the American public to pronounce, completely erasing part of her cultural identity. For years, I thanked my mother for giving me the gift of an “American” sounding name. I was supposed to be named after my grandmother, whom I’ve never met, but something compelled my teenage single mother to name her only child something seen as an anomaly back home. I’ve come to appreciate and respect my mother’s sage decision because it shows such strength, but also because I’ve been called much worse.
My first experience with overt hate was when I was in the 7th grade on the day that changed my life forever: September 11. The first bell of the day rang and as I was walking to my class, a student said sheepishly, but with enough confidence to be heard, “terrorist.” Now, it was obvious the student was referring to me as I was the only Muslim in my entire school, but seeing as I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me, how could they call me such a reprehensible slur? How could one even believe for a second that a 7th-grade girl could deserve to be called such an unpleasant word? How could I be called a “terrorist” when I had never hurt anything in my entire life? I asked myself these questions again and again, but I knew the answer was clear: it was because I was Muslim. My religion, which I practice and am proud of every day, was used against me in such a horrible way. This incident wasn’t the last time someone called me a “terrorist” or locked their car doors as I merely walked by, but it was the first and last time that I let someone else’s bigoted and hateful views negatively affect my life.
Being a first-generation Black Muslim young woman is not only a mouthful to say, but it is also a burden to carry that makes me a target of hate. More importantly, though, I love every part of identity, which is constantly evolving, equally. I wouldn’t be the person that I am today if I didn’t experience the good and the bad that comes with being a minority within a minority in the United States. I am currently a Muslim young woman living in Sin City (that is, Las Vegas, Nevada), which as one can imagine, has its own obstacles, but I am grateful. I am grateful to tell my story, which is not unique, in the hopes of creating a more diverse and accepting society in which we all tell our stories unapologetically. I no longer think of myself as a doll in a mint-condition box, but rather a prospering young woman who will use her experiences to change the world for the better.
Sabrina Ali is a rising Junior in high school, a Summer 2021 Next Gen Civic Fellow, and a staff writer for the Next Generation Politics Blog. She is passionate about diverse representation in politics as well as journalism. When she is not reading or writing, you can expect Sabrina to be watching shows and movies.