Are you sure its not because I am Brown?
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Growing up, I went to Islamic school where most, if not all, of my classmates were people of color. My interactions with white people were limited to the six white teachers (that I can remember) from pre-K through 7th grade and people in grocery stores, malls, etc. My understanding of normality was skewed. Like white people's information about Black people and other people of color, my information about white people came from the news—"On this episode of Morning Edition from NPR News, a white man shot seven children at a high school... a white cop shot a Black man in his car." Going to the mall and to stores, seeing so many white people, always came with some sort of anxiety. I believed that my perceptions about the white people I knew were despite the fact that they were white. As a young, brown, Muslim girl, I truly believed that people of color held the power in society, that I was the norm and they were the Other.
In grades eight and nine, I transferred from Islamic school to public school and then to private Christian school. For the first time in my life, I felt like the Other. I was a brown girl in a sea of white 13- and 14-year-olds. Like the young boy in Fanon's story who pointed at him saying, "Look, a Negro!" these teenagers, whose only understanding of brown people and Muslims came from their parents, peers, and the media in a post-9/11 world, asked, "Are you a terrorist?" Looking back, these questions came with a sort of innocence. As Baldwin says in his letter, "For these innocent people have no other hope. They are, in effect, still trapped in a history which they do not understand; and until they understand it, they cannot be released from it. They have had to believe for many years, and for innumerable reasons, that Black men [people of color] are inferior to white men" (Baldwin 22). These white children did not understand the biases that led them to ask me this question.
Over the course of high school, teachers, administrators, and peers alike felt like they could comment on whatever they wanted about me because I was a brown, Muslim girl. "You are annoying." "You are loud." "Guys won't like you because you are too intimidating." "I can't tell the difference between Muslims and terrorists." "Her last name is Anus." When I would ask why they made such comments, they would reassure me that it was not because I was Muslim or brown, but because they just felt like it. As Fanon, quoted by Yancy, said, "When [white] people like me, they tell me it is in spite of my color. When they dislike me, they point out that it is not because of my color. Either way, I am locked into the infernal circle" (Yancy 4).
To make a home in a whitened space, I had to understand white people. I had to understand why they felt superior to people of color and why they felt they could treat me this way. I had to understand that they feared my outspokenness and strength in my identity. They were not used to seeing a young, brown, Muslim girl who stood up for her beliefs—but for young Aleena, this is all she knew. Once I understood these facts, I felt like I could navigate a whitened space and make my own home within it.
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I would also like to add that the scene in "4 White Guys" where they were in the Halal meat store looking around at all of the different Allah decor and standing by the butcher's station gave me vivid flashbacks to hanging out at the meat store while my mom did groceries. I loved it!