It sucks to be Muslim. Those were the words uttered by my fifteen-year-old son as we sat glued to the television, watching coverage of the unspeakable crime committed against our country a few days before on September 11, 2001. I pushed the “off” button on the TV remote and looked straight at him. My mind scrambled through the jumble of ready platitudes and half-formed abstractions about ethnic pride and what it means to be an American. As I fought the urge for another sigh-inducing (and by most counts, largely ineffective) lecture, my sixteen years in the United States, as they say, flashed before my eyes.

When my husband and I arrived here from Pakistan in 1985, we experienced the same heady sense of awe and exhilaration that most new immigrants feel when first introduced to America’s unparalleled bounty and endless opportunity. A year or two of this “honeymooning” was followed by a few years of intense

pining for and romanticizing of our homeland. However, excitement and heartache gradually gave way to a more clear-headed pragmatism, a desire to plan for a meaningful future, and a serious consideration of what was best for our two American-born children, all things considered. And there was much to consider.

The material benefits of life in the United States over one in a poor, developing country like Pakistan are obvious and need no iteration. But there are other intangible privileges too that so many of us take for granted: the freedom of thought and choice, the fostering of artistic and creative expression, the overall atmosphere of open-mindedness; the list is delightfully long and wonderfully complex. What were we willing to give up or at least

see diminished in exchange for these liberties? But more importantly, what could we, what must we wholeheartedly embrace if we were to call this country our own? We did not take these questions lightly, as we faced the ideological, intellectual, and in some ways, moral challenge presented by the prospect of

changing loyalties.

First generation American children, especially those born to non-white, non-Christian parents are by definition in a predicament, often caught between clashing cultures and value systems. Many of these children find themselves in the very stressful and confusing situation of having to sustain two very

different frames of mind: one at home for the appeasement of parents who can’t seem to let go of the good old days back in the home country, and another out in the world to gain acceptance from their American peers. It is nothing less than unfortunate that so many of these young people do not feel wholly integrated into either existence; they are neither here nor there, so to speak. In extreme cases, we see just such youths, clad in Calvin Klein jeans, piled in shiny Mustangs, driving around downtown USA cheering the “success” of the World Trade Center suicide mission. A dark cloud descends upon my heart at the very thought.

I can’t think of another minority group as diverse in its views, attitudes, and extent of assimilation as American Muslims of Middle- and Southeast origin. I risk overgeneralization by lumping together a good number of countries with quite distinct cultures, but I do so in response to the hostile and provocative

atmosphere evoked by Muslim leaders like Saddam Hussein, Ayatollah Khomeini, Zia-ul-Haq, and of course, Osama bin Laden. These men may speak (or have spoken) different languages, but their fanatic zealotry, oppressive tactics, and antagonism toward the West – all in the name of God – have blended them

together into one big monstrous whole and rendered any differences irrelevant. And to ordinary citizens of most of the rest of the world, to regular Americans, the “evil” born from the melding of these symbolic figures is the gestalt called Islam.

Living in this environment, so laden with hostile or at the very least, understandably suspicious feelings towards Muslims can be quite a struggle for those of us who want to be regular, patriotic Americans without having to renounce our faith or change our names. And for the many non-Muslim Americans who care to look, there are many of us around. I am one of many Muslim

Americans on this side of the very wide spectrum, one who is passionate about the ideals this democracy espouses, and who laments (and is able to freely express) its failures to uphold them along the way. And we are the free-thinking, introspective, sometimes self-doubting naturalized Americans who chose to burden our consciences with a rigorous examination of what was

being asked of us before we ran to take our oaths and pick up our blue passports.

When my husband and I talked about the prospect of American citizenship, we knew there was much to gain from a life in the United States, but we also wanted to explore how emotionally ready we were to let go of certain things. Our concern was twofold: being loyal to this country and raising well-adjusted,

well-assimilated children who recognized their roots and accepted their religious background nonetheless. We envisioned a happy co-existence between our heritage – our language, our cuisine, our emphasis on family ties – and a blending into the American fabric of freedom, democracy, and rock and roll. We

would have to reconcile with the poignant eventuality of seeing our customs, our language, and even the ritualistic aspect of our religion diminished through our future generations. For us, it was either that or trying to keep our children “pure” by taking pains to isolate them from the American mainstream, as so many Pakistani and other Muslim parents we know have striven to do. But we couldn’t bear the idea of our children being made to

feel like pariahs on their own soil.

And thus began our meditative years, through the course of which we sought to understand this country more fully; venture past its obvious charms and enticements; gain perspective of its goods and ills; peer within its heart of

hearts, and fall in love completely. And though our journey may not have ended, we are on solid footing and always looking ahead. We are becoming more and more convinced that with all its imperfections – the high crime rate, racial tensions, political disingenuousness, brutal capitalism, and faltering family values – it is still a nation which, like no other, is most willing to at least openly acknowledge its problems. It offers an intellectual environment most accepting of conflicting views and diverse thought processes.

I stand by these statements in the face of the recent backlash against Muslims in response to the terrorist activities of September 11. Mosques have been vandalized, Eastern-looking men have had to suffer the indignity of being asked to get off airplanes, we have been harassed on the streets, and by God,

Sikh men, mistakenly identified as Arabs, have been shot to death in revenge. My own son has had to sit through blanket verbal assaults on Islam and all its followers. To a fifteen-year-old high school sophomore, it really must suck to

be Muslim.

However, my faith in the intrinsic strength and basic essence of this country tells me that these are and will remain isolated incidents. My hope is that even if we do see a large-scale outpouring of anti-Muslim sentiment, there will be enough social and political resistance to counter it, and we will be fine in the end – or at least as fine as we were before September 11. Because – and this may sound hokey and simplistic – we really are a nation of civilized people. George Bush’s visit to Washington, DC’s Islamic Center on September 17 may not have been purely altruistic, but it contributed a great deal

towards setting a tone of tolerance and inclusion throughout the nation. All of his speeches in connection with recent events have included some thoughts on the importance of recognizing Muslim Americans as rightful citizens of this country, because “They love America just as much as I do.”

It is moving to see the many non-Muslim Americans coming together for the cause of protecting the civil liberties of a group best known by many for its violent tendencies and anti-American rhetoric. Be it in the form of appeals by our

leaders or non-Muslims banding together to protect a mosque in Seattle, these acts, to me, symbolize the real soul of America. And it is this America that we want to stand for and be a part of. There are many naturalized Muslim Americans like us who are struggling to maintain a balance between our heritage and our

new homeland, treading gingerly at times, in an effort to keep the “Americanness” of our children whole. It is our hope that our children will not succumb to the pressures of being singled out as others and will feel as American as their Christian or Jewish neighbors. This society still leaves much to be desired in the way of ethnic and race relations. Before us is a long

arduous road, but this country is hardly one to shy away from

the difficult.

I didn’t have a worthwhile response for my son when he told me it sucked to be Muslim. But I think I’ll have him read this essay and hope that he will come away with a better sense of his place as a Muslim in a complicated world, and his rights, privileges, and responsibilities as an American.

Author's Note: I wrote this a few weeks after the September 11 incident and submitted it to the New Jersey Wordsmith essay competition. It won and was included in a reading performed by the VSA Arts actors.