Having recently moved alone to an area of little ethnic diversity in the country, and looking so visibly ”Muslim”, I am becoming increasingly conscious of people’s perceptions towards me. I’m not trying to paint my new neighbours, colleagues, and new friends with the same brush (trust me, being Muslim I know exactly how that feels), but I am struck by the large number of people who speak of Islam so differently to my own relationship with it. The stares I receive to and from work daily is something I have never encountered so intensely before. From my colleagues at work to the people that walk past me on the street, I can’t help but feel different.

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And who am I kidding? I am different. We are all different. From the different shades of skin colour, to the way we dress, to the way we compose ourselves. Growing up in 21st century Britain, I believed this to be a cause for celebration. This world is filled with such diversity that allows different backgrounds, skills, attitudes and experiences to enrich our lives and I, my teachers and the people I grew up with all embraced the philosophy that it is okay to be different.

But fast-forward to current day, and I realise that the difference I thought was a cause for celebration, is actually a cause for concern amongst those I live with.

Now for the very first time, as I socialise with my colleagues or talk to my neighbours, I feel like I am constantly battling this particular stereotype of Muslim women. That we all fall into this category of covering up head-to-toe and are inferior to our male counterparts. Questions would be asked like  why I didn’t celebrate Christmas, or why I covered my hair (is it to stop men from looking at you?) or that they can’t shake my hand as it will go against my ‘culture’, or even why I’m working when I should be at home having babies. Maybe it’s these conversations repeated again and again, that make me feel so very exhausted when I hear something ignorant being said to me. I inevitably find my throat withholding a scream, which I so willingly want to express.  

I wonder whether the individual asking me the question sees the sadness, rage and tediousness warping my face as the emotions war with each other somewhere in my chest.

How is it that they have the confidence to judge me, and assume so much of my belief that they were able to tell me what I can and can’t do?

I want to tell my community that we Muslim women are not oppressed. Our immigrant mothers and grandmothers are phoenixes arisen from ashes, and our sisters contribute to society regardless of the discrimination they face. It has taken me longer than it should have to realise why this new community feel they know more about me without even knowing me. After much deliberation, I personally believe that the cause to this baffling issue is the media playing their leading role.

The media acts as an accelerant in concreting a particular stereotype of how different types of people behave. In doing so they become an omniscient body, inferring onto society how we already think and consequently how we should think about others. This increases the sense of alienation and stigma amongst Muslims living in the west, as one type of person will see how monumentally different they are from another person. The problem is that rather than helping to bring people together, people focus on the things that set them apart even further.

I honestly don’t blame the people in my community for thinking this way.

Their exposure to real, living Muslim women is non-existential. I am probably the first one they’ve seen, and so naturally I must fit into the mould that the media has made for me. Why shouldn’t we place our trust in the UK’s most influential papers?

I aim to not come across as meticulous in finding fault in others, but it happens so often where I am placed so far in relation to these individuals. Where, whenever a conversation is started, a line is being drawn between themselves and me. And in accordance with the actions I’ve carried out these past few months, I attempt to etch over this line. To erase this barrier that the media has spent so hard manipulating. That every individual I speak to, no matter how reasonable they appear, are still tainted by this narrowly skewered image of Muslim women, and quickly become suspicious of me.  The funny thing is, is that I probably know more about the ‘British’ way of life than they know about my ‘apparently different’ way of life.

After all, my parents were born in this country, I went to the same schools as them and attended the same socials as them. However, it is the supposed differences that people focus on.

In my experience, this is a constant battle I try and overcome with every new individual I speak to. I try and minimise the differences. But it seems my community is so cemented in this way of thinking. It’s almost as if they don’t want to change. With the overwhelming support received for Brexit, that statement doesn’t seem so outrageous.

But it’s not all doom and gloom in my new community. I have made friends that are accepting and willing to have their view of Muslims challenged. And I most definitely don’t expect these social labels to further exclude me from society, when there are no reasons to.