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Puar coins the term "monster-terrorist-fag" to illustrate how non-normative identities, particularly queer and racialized ones, are constructed as threats to the state. This framing takes place post-9/11 , where queer South Asians were targeted as "terrorists" while being sidelined within queer movements that did not to account for their culture and identity.

The turban, in particular, rendered Sikh men especially vulnerable, embodying what Puar calls a "floating signifier" that could easily be weaponized because of its visibility (Puar, 2007, 172). Such racism conducted to the crime targeted towards the sikh Balbir Singh Sodhi after 9/11, who became a tragic emblem of this racist movement. Despite advocacy campaigns declaring, “The turban is not a hat,” fear operated on an affective, irrational level that no amount of rational explanation could counter. Puar writes, “The turban’s connotation as a marker of violence is not simply an effect of misunderstanding but an active re-inscription of the subject of terror” (Puar, 2007, 174). This suggests that the violence associated with the turban is not accidental but deeply embedded within systems of racialized state power.

Beyond misrecognition, the turban also destabilized normative ideals of nationalism and masculinity. Sikh men found themselves trapped in conflicting stereotypes: on one hand, hypermasculinized as dangerous and violent; on the other, feminized as “exotic” through a Western point of view rendering them outsiders.
The violent consequences of the misinformation concerning the turban reveal deeper truths about the mechanisms of state power, dominated by white people. The state’s racialized gaze effectively who "belongs" and who must be excluded. By situating the turban within this framework, Puar compels us to question not only the symbols that provoke fear but also the structures that promotes those fears as truths.

Dear France, you are a hypocrite.

After reading the article on the racialization of Muslim veils, I feel compelled to address the blatant hypocrisy surrounding the 2004 law that banned “conspicuous” religious symbols in public schools. Let me be clear: this law is as laughable as it is heartbreaking.
I attended a Catholic school where crosses adorned every wall, statues of Jesus stood prominently, and there was a church in the middle of campus. Teachers freely wore their crosses both inside and outside the school, and students wore items promoting Catholicism without a single comment from anyone. Yet, in public spaces, Muslim women wearing veils were routinely called out, stared at, or worse. The double standard is glaring. How unfair, how hypocritical, and how discriminatory such practices are.
The French government and much of its white majority apply laws based on their own worldview, enforcing what they consider “normal” while disregarding the lived realities of others. These laws do not represent neutrality. They represent exclusion.

Let me tell you about my experience in Singapore at a French school that followed this very same French law banning “conspicuous” religious symbols. It was 2019, a time when global awareness of cultural diversity should have been at its peak. One day, my good friend, who had recently decided to wear her hijab, came to school wearing it. As we walked in together, the principal ran toward her. First, she pretended not to recognize her. Then, she demanded that my friend remove her hijab immediately.
My friend, deeply ashamed and distressed, tried to explain that her hijab wasn’t a fashion accessory. But the principal wouldn’t listen. She didn’t care. The humiliation was too much for my friend to bear. She left school that day in tears. I left with her as she sobbed uncontrollably. This principle is still working there as of today.

This incident unfolded in a supposedly multicultural environment, a school in a country with five official languages and countless nationalities represented. And yet, even there, my friend’s faith and identity were dismissed so casually, as though her beliefs were invalid, as though she didn’t belong.

Dear France, your laws and attitudes are steeped in hypocrisy. You claim to stand for liberté, égalité, fraternité, but these values vanish the moment someone challenges your narrow definition of what it means to belong.

Signed,
Someone who has seen the harm you refuse to acknowledge.

In her work, Thobani argues that Canadian multiculturalism paradoxically governs cultural difference. The government has the tendency to consider ethnic communities as distinct while maintaining the dominance of the bicultural Anglophone-Francophone model. This structure positions white Canadians as tolerant and cosmopolitan, while non-white communities are portrayed as outsiders (Thobani, 145).
One of the key ways multiculturalism achieves this is by assimilating race with culture. The issue is that the government is focusing on cultural tolerance instead of addressing systemic racism. Non-white groups are often labeled as “culturally deficient,” and their traditions are treated as outdated, in contrast to the progressive and modern image of white Canadians (Thobani,147-149). This shift allows Canada to appear inclusive while maintaining white supremacy in a subtle way.
Furthemore, Thobani exposes the problems linked with categorizing cultural communities as “neatly distinguishable.” This framing erases the diversity within these groups, simplifies governance but marginalizes voices (158). For example, as Linda Carty and Dionne Brand observed, state funding for multicultural initiatives often shifted attention away from the struggles to cultural celebration, undermining solidarity among anti-racist movements (Thobani, 159-160).
Another key critique is the use of the term “visible minorities,” which reduces the diverse histories and experiences of racialized communities to a unique category. This label helps sustain white privilege by shifting the focus from systemic inequalities to cultural differences. It also undermines solidarity among marginalized groups by emphasizing identity over shared struggles for justice (Thobani, 159-160).
Finally, the idea of “cultural enrichment” positions immigrants as sources of exoticism for white Canadians. Multiculturalism commodifies immigrant cultures, presenting them as resources for the nation’s enrichment while ignoring the socio-economic challenges these communities face. This reinforces unequal power dynamics by allowing white Canadians to consume and celebrate other cultures without addressing the injustices (Thobani, 170).

For many people, Malcolm X represents defiance, a bold challenge to systemic racism, and a call for justice. Others see him through the prism of his spiritual development, which culminated in his acceptance of orthodox Islam. These disparate pictures coexist, reflecting his diverse legacy as a revolutionary and a seeker of the truth.
Malcolm X's decision to join Islam appears to have stemmed from a profound inner metamorphosis driven by his search for identity and significance. His memoirs eloquently portrays his contact with the Nation of Islam's beliefs while in prison, when he was ready to change. Malcolm, free of worldly distractions, immersed himself in reading and contemplation, discovering in Islam a framework for understanding Black Americans' persecution. The concept
The idea that "the black man is the original man" provided a sense of pride and belonging that contrasted with the inferiority narrative propagated by white supremacy.
Islam's greater appeal to Black Americans in the 1950s and 1960s arose from its emphasis on justice, dignity, and resistance against injustice. The Nation of Islam, led by Elijah Muhammad, reframed Christianity as a weapon of subjugation, presenting Islam as a liberating alternative. Malcolm's individual metamorphosis matched the broader need for a spiritual and cultural home outside of white-dominated institutions. His ultimate visit to Mecca, however, broadened his perspective by introducing him to a global Islam that crossed racial lines.
Malcolm X’s journey reminds me of James Baldwin’s reflection in The Fire Next Time, where Baldwin writes about the power of religion to both liberate and confine. Malcolm, like Baldwin, saw how faith might be weaponised for control, but he also recognised its ability to inspire resistance and togetherness.

A superposition of longing, estrangement, memory and erasure shapes Namazie’s emotional and paradoxical view of homeland. Homeland is described as an ever-shifting entity in A Place Called Persia, and it is seen as “alive and unknowable and intangible.”

This perspective challenges the conventional understanding of homeland not only as a physical space but also as something that includes emotional and ethnic ties. Instead, we are invited by Namazie to imagine the homeland as a repository of feeling and a vessel for identity that persists even in displacement.

Reading Namazie reminds me of Edward Said’s thoughts about exile where he says it is “strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience” and like Said, Namazie shows the bittersweet duality of exile with a deep yearning for a place changed by time and distance and the realization that true return is impossible. It is taught by both authors that the homeland is not simply a destination but also a creation and an act of remembering and reimagining. She reminds us that our relationship to homeland is shaped as much by what we remember as by what we forget.

Moving to Montreal was a mix of aspiration and reality for the Maghrebi Europeans interviewed by Mandin. Many of them describe their reasons for coming as rooted in a feeling of being stuck in Europe, what Hage calls “existential stuckedness.” For example, Sonia and Leila, who left France for Montreal, talk about “la galère” they experienced back home. Sonia couldn’t find stable work despite her efforts, while Leila felt betrayed by a system that didn’t reward her five years of university education with a secure job or the possibility of owning a home. This sense of stagnation and injustice where playing by the rules didn’t lead to progress pushed them to look for opportunities elsewhere.
When they compare Montreal to Europe, the differences are stark. Montreal is often seen as a place where identity isn’t constantly under scrutiny. Nadir put it bluntly: “The day I arrived , I understood that I was not an Arab, but an individual who was among other things, Arab.” This contrasts sharply with their experience in places like France or Belgium, where being identified as Maghrebi or Muslim often limited their opportunities and subjected them to racial and cultural stereotyping. Montreal’s multiculturalism seemed to offer what Fernando called “indifference to difference,” a relief from the hyper-recognition they endured in Europe.
Yet, their feelings about Quebec don’t always align with its reality. For example, while they initially celebrated Montreal’s openness, many noticed similarities to Europe’s rising Islamophobia over time. Sana felt that Quebec was becoming “a French province again,” as debates over identity and religion began to mirror the divisive discourse she had left behind in France. Others, like Redouane, recounted moments of casual racism that reminded them of their past experiences in Europe, such as his daughter being told by classmates that “people like you” were responsible for terrorist attacks in France.
Finally, the interviewees noticed significant shifts in Quebec’s political climate since their arrival. Many justly felt that Quebec had given way to more restrictive debates about identity. The 2013 Charter of Quebec Values, which sought to ban public employees from wearing religious symbols, became a flashpoint. Although the charter was abandoned, it left a lasting impression, revealing underlying tensions in a society they had hoped would be more accepting.

As the Ottoman Empire srtated to prerish, Syrians faced a range of pressures that pushed them to seek new opportunities abroad. Contrary to the romanticized notion that Syrians were driven by a "Phoenician" spirit of adventure, Gualtieri argues that this migration was more about survival in the face of economic hardship and overpopulation.Indeed, the late 19th-century migration marked a shift from traditional internal movements to international journeys across the Atlantic, a response to “increased pressures on the land and an uncertain future” (Gualtieri, p. 22). In a similar vein, Asal captures the restlessness in Greater Syria, quoting an American missionary who described emigration as a “powerful yeast” that stirred whole communities to action, encouraging them to “travel by land to Rio de Janeiro, Montreal and Quebec” (Asal, p. 20).

These moves were extremely difficult. While events like the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair introduced Americans to Syrian fabrics and crafts, these displays often reduced them to exotic curiosities. As Gualtieri points out, American fascination with “the first Phoenician” and Syrian goods may have brought economic benefits but also cast Syrians as figures from a distant, mysterious past, not as modern individuals (Gualtieri, p. 25). Despite this, Syrians made the most of the opportunities they found, and their skills in trade and peddling became crucial survival strategies. Syrian women, in particular, carved out new roles for themselves, often working alongside men to support their families. Gualtieri notes that they “occupied spaces of autonomy” that helped redefine economic roles for women in their communities, while Asal observes that Syrian women’s labor “contributed to household economies as much as men” (Gualtieri, p. 28; Asal, p. 17). This redefined their identity in the diaspora, giving Syrian women a form of economic and social agency that defied the expectations they had back home.

Like many migrants, Syrians tended to gravitate toward urban areas where economic prospects were better. These city centers, with their social networks and job opportunities, allowed Syrians to adapt more smoothly, even if the adjustment came with its own emotional toll. Gualtieri hints at a “Syrian melancholia” within the mahjar (the diaspora), where migrants were caught between the opportunities of their new life and the deep losses they felt from leaving home (Gualtieri, p. 30).

In Canada, the Syrian community faced the added challenge of fitting into a society whose immigration policies favored certain profiles. Syrians had to face complex identity politics, choosing whether to embrace labels like "Arab" or "Syrian." This was not only a personal choice but a strategic one, especially as different identities could either help or hinder their social standing. As Asal explains, choosing “Arab” as a label carried “strong ideological and political significance,” offering both potential solidarity and risks, depending on the context (Asal, p. 15). Syrian organizations played a vital role, advocating for their communities and challenging restrictive policies. These groups became crucial platforms for resisting the discriminatory categorization imposed on them, as Asal describes how Syrians “mobilized resources and lobbied against discriminatory legislation,” underscoring their determination to forge a place for themselves in Canada (Asal, p. 18).

In Liverpool, the white British individuals who converted to Islam during the late Victorian era were largely drawn from the working and lower-middle classes, often motivated by a fascination with the exotic and a desire to find alternatives to mainstream Christianity. William Quilliam’s Liverpool Muslim Institute (LMI) played a pivotal role in these conversions, offering British Christians a blend of religious instruction, cultural events, and community activities that framed Islam as compatible with British identity. Quilliam’s approach was strategic; he designed the Institute’s offerings to appeal to the local population by incorporating familiar elements, such as “weekly social evenings” and “Sunday morning and evening public ‘services,’” which attracted a steady stream of locals seeking new forms of spiritual and communal life (Gilham, p. 90). For Quilliam, converting British Christians was a means to “bridge the cultural and ideological gulf between Christians/Christianity and Muslims/Islam” (p. 88) and to establish Islam on secure footing in Britain. This approach resonated with individuals disillusioned with traditional religious institutions and seeking belonging in Liverpool’s cosmopolitan setting.

Atiya Husain’s study on racial markers in American Muslim communities shows how Islamic symbols like hijabs and beards impact racial perceptions, particularly for white Muslims. White Muslims who adopt these markers may experience a “compromised or complicated” whiteness, as wearing Islamic attire can lead to perceptions of foreignness, positioning them as culturally “other”(Husain, p. 595). For Black Muslims, on the other hand, Muslim identity interacts differently with race; while it can sometimes shield them from stereotypes associated with their skin color, it subjects them to Islamophobic profiling. Black Muslim critiques highlight that “Muslim whiteness” can obscure racial privileges that white Muslims retain despite facing religious discrimination (p. 597). This critique underscores how racial and religious identities intersect in ways that uphold a racial hierarchy within Muslim communities, privileging some while marginalizing others.

Immigration was blamed for the perceived crimes of British Asians, many of whom were born in the UK, as part of a broader political strategy rooted in the discourse of integrationism. This argument emerged prominently in the early 2000s following a series of riots in northern English towns like Bradford and Oldham, as well as after the terrorist attacks of 9/11. Kundnani explains that rather than recognizing the socio-economic and institutional factors that led to social unrest, integrationists, across both the political right and center-left, attributed the problem to multicultural policies that, they claimed, had allowed immigrants and their descendants to live in cultural enclaves resistant to British norms​.

The logic behind this blame involved constructing British Asians, particularly Muslims, as outsiders who failed to assimilate into British society. Even when the individuals involved were second or third-generation immigrants, politicians like David Blunkett and media commentators argued that these communities harbored “alien” cultural values passed down through generations. For instance, the White Paper Secure Borders, Safe Haven (2002) linked issues like forced marriages, implying that these cultural practices were imported threats to national identity. This shift made young British Asians, despite being British-born, targets of demands for assimilation, such as language requirements and citizenship tests​.

Underlying this blame was a refusal to acknowledge institutional racism and socio-economic disenfranchisement. Kundnani argues that the political establishment inverted causality: instead of understanding racism as a structural force that marginalized Asian communities and led to ghettoization, integrationists depicted Asian self-segregation as the cause of social conflict. Thus, immigration was blamed not because of actual migrant behavior, but because the rules required a scapegoat to legitimize nationalistic measures aimed at controlling and assimilating non-white populations, reinforcing the idea that Britishness was under threat from unassimilated cultures.

Today, Britain has a plethora of Indian restaurants, a result of its increasing popularity and presence in the British culture since the 1950s. At first glance, British people seem to appreciate this cuisine so much that, according to historian Buettner, the majority of customers at these establishments are white. Some even consider some dishes as traditional in Britain. However, this form of "appreciation", celebrated through food, has its pitfalls. On closer look, it feels less like cultural celebration and more like a surface-level acceptance with underlying issues. For instance, while British patrons seem to enjoy Indian food, they still often criticize it, finding fault with the authenticity of the menu, the variety of options, or even dismissing these restaurants as “second-class establishments” (Buettner, 157). This contradiction feels a lot like neocolonialism: appreciating another culture’s in this case, through food on one hand, while demeaning or trying to reshape it on the other. They’re quick to critique and even suggest ways to "improve" these Indian restaurants to make them more appealing, essentially attempting to appropriate and restructure them to fit a British standard, not unlike practices from the colonial era. There isn’t a genuine respect for something that wasn’t born from British roots, nor an effort to appreciate Indian food for what it is without imposing changes.

Bald’s Bengali Harlem offers a reassessment of how Indian immigrants, particularly those from Bengal, were able to navigate and integrate into the diverse social fabric of early 20th-century America. His work reveals that food was not only a source of sustenance, but a key cultural tool that immigrants used to recreate and preserve their identities in foreign lands. In this view, food functioned as a potent symbol of continuity, a tangible link to their homeland, and a medium through which these communities could negotiate their sense of belonging in an alien environment. Food became a ritual of memory, a shared experience that binds individuals across time and space. In this way, food becomes a vehicle for cultural transmission, helping immigrants integrate into the host culture while maintaining ties to their own heritage. The establishment of Indian restaurants in the 1940s in Harlem serves as a deeper reflection of the ways migrant communities create spaces of cultural hybridity. These restaurants were more than just businesses; they were sort of cultural centers. Here, South Asians could gather, share meals reminiscent of home, practice their native languages, and engage in discussions about religion, politics, and the cultural practices that anchored them in their identity. Harlem itself, as a historically multiethnic and vibrant neighbourhood, provided fertile ground for this cultural exchange. Bald’s work prompts us to reconsider the complexities of immigrant integration, highlighting how cultural practices like food become both a bridge and a boundary in the immigrant experience. In an increasingly globalized world, where cities host a plethora of restaurants from numerous cultures, the Indian restaurants in Harlem serves as an early symbol of how food can facilitate cross-cultural interactions, yet also underscores the difficulty to let ones culture and education behind.

Punjabi workers in British Columbia and California faced numerous challenges from white workers, business owners and governments during the early 20th century, which made their integration into society extremely difficult. One major obstacle was the widespread racial discrimination and hostility they encountered. As Ward notes, at the beginning of the 20th century, East Asians "comprised less than half of one percent of the provincial population" (p. 2). This small presence was met with resistance, as many Canadians and Americans at the time refused to believe that Punjabis could ever truly integrate into their societies. The mindset of the time, as expressed in the statement "It is impossible to make Canadians out of immigrants whose customs, traditions, and habits form an insurmountable barrier between them and the Canadianization" (p. 12), clearly illustrates the prevailing attitude. This deeply entrenched view created a formidable barrier that prevented many Indians from being accepted into mainstream Canadian and American culture. Another significant challenge was the economic exploitation of Punjabi workers, who were often paid considerably less than their white counterparts. They earned only "half or two-thirds" of what white workers made for the same job, which placed them in precarious financial situations. Their willingness to accept any available work, even under harsh and low-paying conditions, was driven by the need to send money back to their families in India. This led to their being hired for intermittent, hard, and poorly compensated jobs, which further impeded their ability to establish stable lives in their new countries. The work they found was typically menial, contributing to their social and economic marginalization. The public perception of Punjabi workers was further reinforced by negative stereotypes. In 1906, when a large group of Indian immigrants arrived, they were depicted as "villains" and as "a lesser breed of man." This stigmatization led to further hostility and discrimination, exacerbating the difficulties they faced in finding employment or being treated fairly in their workplaces. This view of Punjabis as "other" was also supported by influential figures like W.D. Scott, who argued that it would be "charitable" to send East Asians back to their homeland because the "shock" of adapting to a new climate and customs would be too overwhelming for them. This type of rhetoric reinforced the notion that Punjabis were incapable of fully integrating into North American society and contributed to the systemic exclusion they experienced. Furthermore, this exclusion is further illustrated in Leonards work, who depicts how punjabis faced a racial environment in California that was characterized by exclusion, such as not being able to marry a white person, stereotyping, and economic exploitation. These challenges significantly affected their ability to integrate into the broader society, limiting their opportunities for upward mobility and contributing to their social isolation.In summary, Punjabi workers in both British Columbia and California were subject to racial hostility, economic exploitation, and widespread social exclusion. They faced discriminatory attitudes that undermined their ability to integrate and thrive in their new environment. As a result, many were trapped in low-wage jobs and struggled to overcome the barriers created by both institutionalized and social racism. The combination of these factors made it incredibly difficult for them to establish themselves or be treated as equals in their countries.

Samia Khatun's work "Australianama" discusses the establishment of "White Australia" in 1901. The development of the White Australia policy and the reactions to it can be examined through the lenses of colonial power relations, racialisation, and the construction of the "other." The policy reflected white settlers' concern of being overwhelmed by non-white labour, and was comparable to racial practices in other settler colonies such as the United States and South Africa. It served as both a legal and cultural structure, upholding the imperial project's basic notions of racial purity and superiority. This policy developed at a time when Australia was cementing its national identity post-federation, and it attempted to preserve the white labour force from commercial competition from non-white workers, mainly Asian workers and merchants who had migrated to Australia during the nineteenth century's gold rushes and commercial boom. By imposing immigration limits, the Australian government institutionalised the settler population's racial fears, formalising whiteness as an integral criterion of national identity. The policy was not just about race; it was also about securing economic protectionism for white workers, many of whom felt threatened by the presence of Asian labourers, who were frequently portrayed as undercutting salaries and working for lower pay in industries such as mining, agriculture, and transportation.The experience of South Asians, including Afghans, was extremely humiliating and inhumane. They had been living and working in Australia for years prior to the policy's implementation. Afghans played a critical part in opening up Australia's interior, allowing commodities to be transported over long distances in locations inaccessible to horses or carriages. Despite their contribution to the economy, they were marginalised when the new rules' racial limitations went into place. Medical examinations were frequently used to control the immigration of non-European migrants, justifying their exclusion on the basis of public health. However, for South Asians like Shamsulnissa, the refusal to submit to such examinations can be seen as a rejection of the colonial authority that sought to dehumanize and control them. Furthermore, after the restrictions of the camel importations to Australia, Shamsulnissa’s brother sued and won the case against the Australian government. Non-white communities used numerous ways to challenge the system, through legal challenges and cultural resistance.

In the mid 19th century, Lascars referred to the forced labor of people recruited from Somalia, Yemen and India, who worked for the British navy. At first, they came to England willingly for a short period of time but ended up settling in the littoral of Britain. During this period of transition of energy usage, the lascars were completing the jobs that British people discarded. According to Sydney Collins, Lascars were considered a “manageable and amenable” workforce, valued by British capitalists for their reliability and low wage demands. However, their status was shaped by entrenched racist stereotypes and assumptions which made it impossible for them to get rid of. European sailors, for instance, believed that Lascars were only effective under the control of a British leader, reinforcing the existing power imbalances. One stereotype that particularly struck me was the belief that, due to their origins, Lascars were more capable of working in extreme heat. This misconception subjected them to inhuman working conditions, such as being sent to work in ship engine rooms where temperatures often exceeded 45 degrees Celsius. The language barrier further exacerbated their suffering, as they were unable to express their fears or pain, allowing the inhumane treatment to continue unchecked. These harsh working conditions, combined with racial stereotypes and systemic exploitation, left scars as of today, which are depicted in Asian Dub Foundation’s (ADF) song. Indeed, Debris highlights the long-term impact of British colonialism, specifically how it has influenced how people of colour are treated in Britain today. The lyrics imply that South Asians are considered as remnants of a colonial past, a population transported over as part of Britain's imperial conquest and now forced to navigate a system that still regards them as outsiders. The statement "We're only here 'cos you were there, consequences of your global pillage" emphasizes the irony of South Asians' presence in the UK. By defining colonialism as "global pillage," ADF opposes the sanitized historical narratives commonly taught in Britain, reminding audiences of the empire's brutal and exploitative underpinnings.

Religion is more than just adherence; it reflects shared values, often traces your personal history, and creates bonds with your family and community. Diouf rightly points out that non-Muslim Africans might be more open to conversion than Muslims due to several factors, with two standing out in particular. First, while Islam and Christianity share many values, their creeds beliefs differ. Once someone has internalized the doctrines of their faith, the creeds of another feels alien. For example, a Muslim who holds the principle of Tawhid; the belief in the absolute oneness of God would find it difficult to accept the Christian doctrine of the Trinity, where God is understood as one being in three persons: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The contrast in beliefs goes deeper, and the point here is that forced conversion dismantles a person’s pillars and foundational beliefs. Forcing someone to convert from any religion involves a brutal shift, uprooting deeply held convictions, making it incredibly challenging to abandon everything they once believed in. This is why it was common to have pseudo conversions among slaves or “Liminal Figures” as Ghanea Bassiri describes them, occupying a unique space between external Christianity and internal Islam. For many African Muslim slaves, maintaining their religious and cultural identity required careful navigation of this in-between world. They outwardly adopted the appearance of Christian converts, yet methodically upheld the core practices of their faith. In contrast, for an atheist, the shift to a new belief system, while still impactful, may feel less shattering, since they don’t have the same pillars of faith being destroyed. The transition is more about adhering to something new rather than letting go of a deeply ingrained belief in a higher power. The second point is just as important: the years of struggle that have been endured to preserve Islam. The men who fought in the name of their religion find it even harder to let it go. Losing brothers and comrades in religious battles makes changing faith feel like betraying not only the cause but also the sacrifices of those who died defending it.

Moriscos and Moriscas were Muslims in Spain who converted to Christianity as Christian nations progressively suppressed the Iberian Peninsula from Muslim rule. For decades, Spain attempted to remove Muslim rulers from the region, instilling a profound animosity against Islam. This led to a series of stigmatization and identity suppression for Moriscos, who’s culture was seen as a serious threat. Indeed, on a political level, Moriscos were accused of being allies of Spain’s Muslim enemies and of providing “aid to the Ottoman sultan in invading Spain.” Spanish authorities viewed Moriscos as a “threat to the creation of a model Catholic community.” They feared that Moriscos might bring Islamic beliefs or practices to the colonies, potentially undermining the Catholic religious orthodoxy that Spain sought to impose on its territories.
Moriscos, who had survived the Spanish Inquisition and forced conversions, brought with them not just their past but also the complications of cultural dualism. Far from having a consistent identity, Moriscos represented some of their faith, anchored in Islam, some tried to adapt to and others even accepted Catholicism: many of them were falling somewhere in between. The colonial landscape of New Spain became a place where religious ambiguity was suppressed. María Ruiz's experience, as described by Cook, is surely a depiction of what it must have been like for so many Moriscos who left Spain for New Spain. Through her story, we see how displacement involved an ongoing negotiation of identity. The external pressures from colonial authorities and the demand for religious conformity made it increasingly difficult for them to maintain any connection to their Islamic roots.

"I can't taste, I can't feel, I can't hear you” introduces a central theme: the feeling of losing touch with one's heritage. This sentiment reveals a sense of disorientation, the singer seems disconnected from the past and incertain about the future. Furthermore, the melancholic yet beautiful almost unreal instrumentals enhances the lyrics and emotions of being uprooted from one's cultural identity while living in a foreign environment, almost to the point of losing a sense of self. This nostalgia also reflects a deeper desire to reconnect with his true identity, which feels fragmented and faded. Indeed, although Nitin appears resilient, he claims to lacks a grounded connection to his roots, almost feeling like a passerby. Despite the emotional weight, the singer chooses to keep moving forward, quietly determined to succeed in life while carrying the baggage of nostalgia. His parents, while they endured significant hardships, they seem to carry a sense of quiet pride or resilience. Indeed, his father seems relieved to have overcome this struggle, although it is surely a nostalgia that follows someone during a lifetime. His mother embraces her culture and country which she hopes to show to her kids one day.

Sara Ahmed criticizes British utilitarian philosophy by emphasizing its restrictive definition of happiness and the repercussions socially and culturally. She contends that utilitarianism, with its emphasis on maximizing happiness as a political aim, frequently favors majority experiences while ignoring minority perspectives. This emphasis can lead to exclusionary practices, as the ideal of collective happiness tends to marginalize those who do not fit within normative norms. Ahmed also emphasizes the emotional labor necessary in attaining happiness, particularly for marginalized people. Sara's efforts are frequently overlooked and underestimated. This emotional load contributes to greater estrangement and demonstrates utilitarianism's reductionist character, which reduces complicated human experiences to happiness measures. By doing so, it fails to account for the various narratives that define individual and community identities, particularly in multicultural settings. Furthermore, Ahmed links utilitarianism to colonial history, implying that the philosophy might perpetuate colonial views by portraying particular cultures as "less happy" thereby perpetuating power relations and disparities. Her intersectional critique demonstrates how race and gender influence the discourse on happiness, saying that the quest of well-being is typically guided by privileged identities, systematically excluding others. Overall, Ahmed advocates for a more nuanced view of well-being that recognises the diversity of individual experiences and encourages inclusivity in defining happiness. By doing so, she calls into question the underlying assumptions of utilitarian philosophy and advocates for a more inclusive, fair approach to social and political discourse.

The racialisation of religion, particularly in Islam, resulted from historical processes that tied religious identities to larger social and political power systems. The racialisation of religious identities shows how communities define inclusion and exclusion, frequently using religion as a proxy for racial or ethnic distinction. This shift happened as religious identity, while not linked to biology, came to be regarded as an unchangeable sign of distinction.
In medieval and early modern Europe, religion was crucial in setting communal boundaries. Religious conflicts between Christian Europe and its non-Christian considered as "others," set the groundwork for these groups to be identified as distinct. During the Crusade, the Inquisition and the Reconquista in Spain, religious difference was increasingly viewed as an immutable characteristic. The forced conversion of Jews and Muslims to Christianity during Spanish control is a notable example. Even after conversion, they were regarded with mistrust since their religious backgrounds were recognised as biologically ingrained. This signified a change from religion as a collection of beliefs to something that could not be obliterated, similar to racial identity. During the growth of European colonization and the Enlightenment, the idea that religion is an unchanging feature became more formalized. As European empires spread into the Americas, Africa, and Asia, they faced people with drastically varied beliefs, cultures, and appearances. During this time, religion, particularly Islam, was racialised to legitimize their control over Muslim-majority territories in Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia as a “civilizing mission”. In the post-9/11 world, Muslims are frequently perceived as a racialized group, linked to violence, fanaticism, and backwardness. In 2017, the Trump administration's travel ban on citizens from several Muslim-majority countries was a clear example of racialization based on religion. This process can be regarded as a sort of "cultural essentialism," in which religion is viewed as an integral element of a person's identity that cannot be divorced from their culture or race. This is seen by how anti-Muslim attitudes are frequently directed at those considered to be Muslim based on their looks, even if they do not practise the religion.

Baldwin implicitly refers to the comfortable denial that white people find themselves in; a situation where denying history allows them to build an identity around the privileges of their skin tone.
I believe that white people fear acknowledging past wrongs such as slavery, segregation, and systemic oppression. Admitting to this history would involve risking their privileged status and confronting the fact that they benefit from an unjust system created by their ancestors. In Yancy’s work “Look, a Black!”, the analogy of the "mirror speaking back" is used to illustrate how, when confronted with the reality of their race and the privileges it entails, white people might feel shocked or unsettled. As a result, the ongoing, unequal system they contribute to daily helps them avoid facing this uncomfortable reality.
Another reason might be that white people, out of fear and cowardice, refuse to relinquish their ease of navigating space in “a world ‘ready’ for certain kinds of bodies, as a world that puts certain objects within their reach.” (Husserl) For some, their effortless navigation of space makes it unthinkable that others might not have the same privilege; The question doesn’t even arise for them. For others, the potential “disruption” of a long-standing societal and psychological structure, where whiteness is associated with superiority and dominance, discourages them from integrating black people.
Furthermore, white privilege is maintained through power dynamics. The integration of black people threatens the power structures that privilege white people, altering the political and societal order because “institutions are orientation devices.” (Fanon) Fanon’s concept of “orientational devices” suggests that institutions are designed to uphold the racial status quo and reinforce the privileges attached to whiteness. The integration of black people challenges the very foundation of these institutions, forcing them to recalibrate their “orientation” and destabilise the entrenched racial hierarchies. There is an unspoken fear that dismantling these structures would lead to a loss of not only identity but also the social, economic, and political advantages white people have long enjoyed
The fear of losing identity seems to be the core fear that Baldwin highlights by explaining how white people tend to associate their identity with their place in the hierarchy. In that sense, to lose that privileged status in the hierarchy would feel like a loss of self to many white people, as their sense of reality is tied to their position of dominance.

After analyzing the reasons that perpetuates social inequalities, interpellating a white person by saying "Look, a white!" may be described as a "gift" as it forces the white person to recognize and feel responsible for their acts. It forces the white person to confront its own racial identity, something they have traditionally been able to ignore or treat as invisible. In this moment, whiteness, which goes unnoticed in white spaces, becomes visible and subject to scrutiny. Here, the "gift" lies in the opportunity given by black people for white people to face their racial privilege and the societal structures built around it, fostering an awareness that has the potential to bring about change. This idea relates to Baldwin's statement to his nephew about accepting white people "with love." By accepting them, Baldwin argues that black individuals can see white people not as enemies but as people who are themselves caught in a system that distorts their sense of reality and humanity. The act of acceptance Baldwin calls for is a step toward breaking down racial divisions and allowing for a deeper recognition of shared humanity. It is important to note that this love and recognition is not about condoning or excusing racism but about creating the conditions for self-awareness and change. By confronting whiteness and encouraging white people to recognize their role in a racialized system, these moments of recognition and love hold the possibility for breaking the cycle.

By showcasing these familiar yet clichéd images, the Swet Shop Boys offer an ironic critique of the Western fascination with exoticism. The video's use of over-the-top cultural references not only entertains but also serves as a commentary on the reductive way in which Western audiences often engage with non-Western cultures. For instance, it features the appearance of Aishwarya Rai, a prominent figure in Bollywood cinema, includes clips of qawwali singers as well as the ceremonial guard at the India/Pakistan border. By taking into account the historical and political context, this video clearly exemplifies the concept of "Orientalism", by showing pre-made ideas constructed by the West about the Orient. By presenting these symbols in a visually striking manner, the video is a clear representation on how cultural elements are often reduced to stereotypes and consumed as exotic novelty. This, combined with the meaningless "Arabic" subtitles that mimic the script without conveying real meaning, exposes a broader Western indifference to the complexities of Eastern cultures. This careless appropriation underscores the gap between genuine cultural appreciation and the consumption of cultural elements as a simple spectacle.

When Said says that Europe benefited from the Orient as a "surrogate and even underground self," he is arguing that Europe constructed a simplified, mostly pejorative image of the Orient to serve as a substitute identity, helping define itself and manage its internal contradictions. Indeed, the West used the East to shift the focus on the strangeness of this region rather than focusing on the western aspects that were at the end of the day, similar to those in these foreign countries. Indeed, by portraying the East as irrational, or mystical, the westerners actually projected qualities that were downplayed in Europe’s self-image but that nonetheless existed in European culture. By projecting these traits onto the Orient, Europe could distance itself from the "irrational" parts of its own culture, creating a clearer self-image. Moreover, by portraying the East as "other," the West could define itself as superior and rational. This process of "othering" helped legitimize colonialism and imperial rule. Europe’s portrayal of the East as backward or irrational was a justification for intervention and domination. The Orient became the contrasting image through which Europe developed its identity. Overall Said discusses how Europe projected onto the Orient both what it rejected in itself and what it feared or desired, using this external image to reinforce its own sense of superiority and coherence.

For both peddlers and African Americans passing as Indian, the stereotypes of exoticism and mysticism functioned as a tool within the racial law of Jim Crow. By adopting the stereotypes around the Hindoos, they accessed a social loophole that allowed them to temporarily live the life of an individual exempted from the Jim Crow law. Indeed, the identity of the "Oriental" was seen as more ambiguous, often fetishized for its supposed wisdom and mystery, which allowed individuals to enter the spheres of commerce that would otherwise have been closed off to them. Beyond its protective role, this adoption of "Oriental" identities also exploited Western fantasies about the East. Peddlers, through their self-orientalization, promoted consumer desire, playing with the white Americans' fascination with the mystique of the Orient. By doing so, they leveraged stereotypes to achieve a certain degree of financial success. At the same time, these stereotypes of harmlessness and subordination reinforced broader colonial narratives. Indeed, while these performances allowed for individual survival and economic gain, they also reproduced the very power dynamics that upheld racial hierarchies in the United States. In sum, the "Oriental" tropes served as a survival strategy but also as a mechanism for reinforcing the racialized structures of dominance, highlighting the complex interplay between resistance and complicity in a deeply segregated society.