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In the 1950s and 1960s, Islam gained prominence among Black Americans as a response to systemic racism and the failure of Christianity to address racial inequality. The Nation of Islam offered an empowering message of self-reliance, racial pride, and resistance to oppression. Elijah Muhammad’s teachings reframed Black identity as central to a divine purpose, providing hope and dignity for those marginalized by white supremacist systems. The racialized mythology of the NOI, such as the story of “Yacub’s History,” portrayed white people as inherently evil and Black people as God’s chosen people. This worldview divereged significantly from mainstream Islam but resonated with Black Americans seeking to confront the historical and ongoing injustices of racism, as it offered a counter-narrative that affirmed their worth and collective destiny.

I'm requesting a pass on this module as I attended the Australianama seminar.

Islamophobia is a form of racism because it goes beyond mere religious prejudice, where individuals are targeted based on cultural, racial, and ethnic markers.

The racialization of Islam began historically with the Spanish Inquisition, where Muslims (referred to as Moors) were associated with darker skin, despite no real difference in appearance from Catholics. Over time, Islam became racialized through cultural traits like language, dress, and customs, even when physical characteristics were not distinct.

This process of racialization extended well into the 20th century, which can be seen clearly in cases dealing with citizenship rights. The United States struggled with issues of racial identity and citizenship for Syrians and South Asians. In one case, Faras Shahid, an Arab Christian, was denied naturalization based on his "Arab" identity, which was wrongly conflated with Islamic practices. This demonstrates how religious affiliation was used to racialize individuals. In fact, Rana points out that "Arab Christians who, paradoxically, were racialized as the religious other of white European Christianity" were treated as outsiders because their ethnic and cultural practices were inherently seen to be Muslim by nature.

For a long time, scholarship on race largely ignored the relationship between religion and race, until the 1990s. This silence, Rana argues, was shaped by a shift in academic thought that emphasized culture and ethnicity over race and biology. During this period, "concessionary multiculturalism" sought to acknowledge cultural diversity while downplaying the role of race, as the concept of race was often dismissed as "outdated" or rooted in "biological determinism.” This shift, she claims, left little room for understanding how religious and cultural differences were historically racialized. Ironically, this led to a failure to recognize how Islamophobia is not a matter of religious prejudice but racialized discrimination.

In light of this, the Conservative objections to Bill M-103, which sought to address Islamophobia in Canada, can be better understood. Some MPs criticized the bill for "singling out" Islamophobia and argued that it would inhibit free speech and criticism of Islam. However, this argument fails to distinguish between legitimate theological debate and the racialized, prejudiced attacks Muslims face as a group. Critics who argue that addressing Islamophobia could limit free speech are misunderstanding (or intentionally misconstruing) the issue, ultimately conflating free speech with racialized bigotry.

Baldwin’s letter is a warning to his nephew, James. He explains that Black children grow up in a society that often devalues them, implicitly or explicitly teaching them that they are less capable, less deserving, and less human than their white peers. He wants James to understand that the world will not change easily, and that many of the people who oppress him will be "innocent and well-meaning." He writes, "Most of them do not yet really know that you exist." This ignorance, however, is not an excuse for the harm they cause, he asserts. Their ignorance is the crime they are committing. It is a willful blindness to the realities of Black suffering and the systems that sustain it. By refusing to confront the truth about racism, white Americans protect their own sense of innocence and righteousness, allowing them to continue benefiting from a system that marginalizes Black people while maintaining the illusion that they are "good" or "just" people.

The task for James, then, Baldwin writes, is not only to survive in the world but to understand the complexity of white innocence and find a way to move beyond it. Baldwin’s call to accept white people "with love" is not a plea for submission or hyperbole. It is for understanding the deep flaws in a system that continues to perpetuate itself.

George Yancy, in his examination of Fanon notes that the white child’s finger, though seemingly innocent, is an expression of a deep, historic fear and misrecognition of Black bodies. It is by no means benign, Yancy asserts; “it takes its phenomenological or lived toll on the black body.” Baldwin’s white countrymen are similar to this child: "innocent" in their ignorance, but still complicit in the damage they cause. This innocence is part of the larger structure of racial oppression that they refuse to see.

Quebec's history with the Catholic Church has significantly shaped its current "crisis of accommodation." The Quiet Revolution marked a dramatic shift for Quebec, from a society deeply influenced by Catholicism to one embracing secularism and state welfare. Thus, the decline of Catholic authority left a vacuum in Québécois identity. This rapid secularization, Mahrouse proposes, created a sense of cultural vulnerability among Québécois and anxieties about cultural preservation amidst increasing immigration. A prevailing sentiment began then to equate religious expression with threats to the province's hard-won secular values.

Francophone Quebec's dual position as a minority within Canada and a majority within the province further informs its relationships with "others." Quebec has developed a defensive stance toward its cultural integrity in response to a historical struggle against Anglophone dominance. Interculturalism is championed by the province, as it places the integration of immigrants into Francophone culture and the preservation of the French language at the core of maintaining Québécois identity.

In this context, the hijab symbolizes an incompatible cultural and religious "other.” The French debate over the hijab began in 1989 with controversies around laïcité (secularism) in schools. Proponents of the 2004 law banning hijabs in schools argued for gender equality, framing the hijab as inherently oppressive to the Muslim woman. This framing rendered the hijabi hypervisible as a symbol of oppression, yet invisible as an autonomous subject, casting their decisions to veil as acts of “false consciousness”.

Al-Saji furthermore critiques translations like "veil" and "foulard," arguing that they simplify and distort the hijab's meaning. "Foulard" reduces the hijab a removable accessory and ignores its integral role in the wearer’s bodily and cultural identity. "Veil," on the other hand, carries Orientalist stereotypes, portraying Muslim women as oppressed and Islam as regressive. These reductions fuel misrepresentations in debates over the hijab.

Edward Said insists that the Orient is not merely imaginative because it is deeply entwined with Europe's material and cultural foundations. The Orient, in his view, is not just a fantasy or a product of imagination; it is a real geographical and cultural entity that shaped European colonial expansion, provided the origin of its richest colonies, and served as a foil for the West’s self-definition. Said draws from Vico’s idea that we can only know what we create, framing both the Orient and Occident as constructs born out of human imagination and power structures. The "Orient" helped define the "Occident" by offering a contrasting identity: the mystical, exotic, and passive East against the rational, progressive, and active West. This dynamic was never neutral; it was underpinned by European domination and hegemony.

While all cultures interpret reality, the problem with Orientalists’ interpretations lies in their power dynamics. Orientalism is not a mere cultural lens but a system of knowledge characterized by authority used to dominate and represent the East. It created a rigid framework that defined the Orient as an Other to the West—mysterious, regressive, and subordinate. This essentialism denied the Orient agency, leaving its narratives and histories shaped by Western perspectives and justifying colonialism.

Stereotypes described by Vivek Bald, such as the "Hindoo" peddler or the mystical Indian, reflect these Orientalist tropes. Black and brown individuals often appropriated these images to navigate racial and social barriers. African Americans, by adopting "Oriental" markers, could momentarily escape the rigid racial hierarchies of the Jim Crow era. They exploited the Western association of the East with wisdom and magic to gain access to spaces and opportunities otherwise denied to them. This phenomenon demonstrates how Orientalism has a very real impact on the lived experiences of individuals and communities, even those far removed from the geographical boundaries of the Orient itself. Orientalism, then, as a constructed system of knowledge, is not only a tool of domination but also a space that can be leveraged by those on the margins.

Even before substantial Iranian migration, U.S. courts racialized Iranians in ways that shaped others’ legal claims. In Halladjian v. US, Armenians were deemed white largely due to their Christian identity, which they contrasted with the "fire-worshipping" Iranians and Ottoman Muslims. Conversely, Indian Parsi claimants successfully argued their whiteness by linking themselves to their origins in Aryan Persia, the 'cradle of white civilization.'

In the Balsara case, the court accepted Parsis as white, viewing them as a “light-skinned” and “educated” group who had maintained their whiteness despite centuries in India. However, in Wadia v. US, this very continuity of Parsis in India was cited as evidence against their whiteness.

In the mid twentieth century, Iranian students entered an America where their racial identity had already been constructed for them. Although legally classified as "caucasian", attitudes towards Iranians radically shifted, both publically and institutionally, in the aftermath of the Iranian revolution and the hostage crisis. Students faced institutional discrimination, a notable example being the conditional advancement of their academic programs on the release of American hostages. This highlights that Iranians' racial ambiguity—legally white but socially brown—meant they were scapegoated during times of crisis, which reflects a broader and very American tendency to racialize migrants in ways that serve political convenience.

The public perception of Iranians as racialized “others” was further entrenched after 9/11 as broader anti-Muslim and Middle Eastern stereotypes intensified. Iranians became racialized as perpetually foreign, and forever associated with terrorism, backwardness, and everything anti-American.

In the aftermath of 9/11, the 2002 "Secure Borders, Safe Haven" White Paper proposed a new model of “integration with diversity” that stressed “community cohesion” and a controlled, market-oriented approach to immigration. The paper directly implied that the cultural practices of minority communities, particularly their alleged “self-segregation,” were directly responsible for both violence and the risk of extremism. By portraying these communities as inherently separate, the emerging discourse blurred the lines between race and immigration policy, and it placed the burden of social harmony on the minority groups themselves. The message was clear: rather than the state adapting to accommodate racial diversity, it was the communities that needed to change to fit into British values.

An integral part of the discourse was that the acceptance of minorities in Britain became increasingly conditional, as evidenced in a very distilled manner by the 2006 Immigration Act. This act gave power to the state to strip individuals—some even UK-born—of their citizenship if deemed a threat to 'the public good' (ie. British values). This further reinforced the message that merely following the law was insufficient; minority groups, particularly Muslims, now had to demonstrate active alignment with British ideals. David Blunkett’s response to accusations of institutional racism further highlighted this shift in narrative. He dismissed institutional racism as “just a slogan,” and implied that the real issue lay in a lack of pride in British culture. His approach suggested that these anti-racist efforts (like the Macpherson report) could erode national unity.

Yet, as Kundnani points out, you simply cannot force integration, and these legislative efforts actually alienate more than unify. Genuine integration cannot be imposed unilaterally; it must emerge through a mutual and respectful exchange of values. For that to happen, minorities must have space to participate in the discourse on what “Britishness” means.

The anti-“Hindoo” sentiment in British Columbia (BC) and California was closely linked to broader racism against other Asian groups, particularly the Chinese and Japanese.

East Indians entered a landscape of heightened racial awareness and division, and like Asian immigrants, were seen as burdens that would disrupt the social and economic balance and obstruct the realization of white societal cohesion and progress.

White British Columbians’ long history of Sinophobia had already demonstrated their deep objection to racial pluralism. Asian immigrants were cast as economic threats, with labour leaders and nativists claiming that the influx of Asians would undermine white workers’ prospects and stability. East Indians, like the Chinese immigrants before them, were accused of being barriers to the progress and prosperity of the country, seen as labourers who would depress wages and opportunities for whites.

Cultural incompatibility also played a significant role in the attitudes towards East Indians. East Indians were depicted as unwilling and incapable of assimilating with white settlers and framed as a threat to the future development of “civilization” in Canada. Their mere presence was seen as undermining the hopes of building a cohesive white society on the west coast.

“After welcoming more than 12 million immigrants to our shores, Ellis Island is now a poetic symbol of the American Dream.” This statement from the website of Ellis Island (https://www.statueofliberty.org/ellis-island/), written alongside pictures of mostly white immigrants, is almost laughable when considered in the context of the experiences of Indian immigrants during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

The legal frameworks that shaped immigration policy during the late 19th and early 20th centuries created significant barriers for Indian immigrants seeking entry into the United States. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 marked the beginning of a wave of restrictive immigration laws that set a precedent for excluding Asian immigrants, effectively barring them from entering the country. This was followed by the Alien Contract Labor Law of 1885, which aimed to prevent the importation of foreign labourers under contract.

Despite these barriers, Indian immigrants, including Bengali Muslim lascars, found ways to enter the U.S. East Coast by cleverly navigating immigration loopholes. Capitalizing on the "India craze" of the late 19th century, Bengali lascars sold goods that appealed to the Orientalist ideal, including exotic textiles, intricate handicrafts, and ornate jewelry. By aligning their products with these Orientalist fantasies, the lascars successfully positioned themselves as merchants of cultural allure. They evaded restrictive immigration laws while tapping into the desires of American consumers seeking a taste of the exotic. The immigrants' established networks, rooted in transnational trade and kinship, provided support systems that further facilitated their journeys and resettlement.

New York City, particularly neighbourhoods like East Harlem, were attractive to new Indian immigrants. By the mid-20th century, East Harlem was home to a variety of stablished immigrant communities, including Puerto Ricans, Italians, and African Americans. In a space of what historian Earl Lewis termed “overlapping diasporas,” Indians shared much in their pasts and present with the other groups around them. Barred from officially becoming part of the U.S. nation, Indians sought to disappear into the communities around them in East Harlem, aiming to pass or even gain new identities as Puerto Rican for the promise of the legal and social capital it would provide. The presence of an established African American muslim community in East Harlem provided additional grounds for an interaction between the two communities, and for the expansion and integration of Indian immigrants into the fabric of the neighbourhood.

In Nietzsche's critique of Mill's notion of happiness as the moral end, he argues that utilitarian happiness, defined as the happiness of the greatest number, serves as a technology for promoting a specific version of Englishness and justifies colonial rule. In this view, migrants are seen as needing redirection because they are perceived as incapable of achieving happiness, a perspective that implicitly demands the forgetting of experiences related to racism and trauma. As such, the process of individualization involves turning migrants toward the norms, values, and practices of the colonizer.

This process of grief, of leaving behind a history of trauma, can be approached in two ways according to Freud. Mourning is the healthy process of letting go, while melancholia is characterized by an inability to release attachment to a 'dead' object, or past experiences. Thus, the melancholic migrant can be read as someone who does not let go of their past, and bad feelings arise from their refusal to relinquish racism as a narrative that explains their suffering. Consequently, the melancholic migrant becomes like an 'open wound,' causing discomfort to the nation. Therefore, letting go of the past is essential for successful integration, which ultimately is the only pathway to achieving multicultural happiness.

In ‘Bend it like Beckham’, we see the ‘conversion’ of bad, melancholic feelings into good, healthy grief through the experience of Jess’s father. The shift from wanting Jess to avoid playing due to fear of her experiencing the same racism and suffering he did, to encouraging her to fight and win, symbolizes his transition toward acceptance and hope, ultimately reflecting a movement away from the pain of the past. By doing so he has let his daughter be free, and consequently happy, and has unburdened her from the wound that is his trauma. The film’s implicit stance is that letting go is good. Letting go leads to being brought back into the national fold. Letting go leads to happiness.

In Nitin Sawhney’s ‘Nostalgia’, his parents echo a similar sentiment of moving on. In the beginning of the song, we can hear Sawhney’s father expresses a desire to move on from the past, stating, “I think in the initial state that we had a lot of struggle / But with God’s grace and His kindness, we are okay now and our children are okay as well.” His words echo a yearning for integration and a hopeful future for himself and his family. However, unlike Jess from "Bend It Like Beckham", Sawhney grapples with complex emotions surrounding his parents' choices. The lyrics convey a profound sense of nostalgia, as Sawhney navigates the memories of his parents and their sacrifices. He finds himself in a transitional space, caught between the past his parents experienced and his present reality. The repetition of “I can’t hear you, I can’t see you” paint a deeply painful picture of his struggle to connect with his culture and fully understand his parents' experiences. The parents’ commitment to the ideal of happiness starkly contrasts with Sawhney's internal conflict; although his parents strive for a better life, his experience is marked by an awareness of the emotional costs associated with that pursuit and a deep struggle for belonging.

As Ahmed suggests in the text, and as is made clear by the nuances of Sawhney's experience, happiness should be understood not merely as a goal or ideal to strive for, but as a complex interplay of emotions that includes an acknowledgment of past injustices.