One sad but undeniable fact about the generation of Bangladeshis who arrived in Silicon Valley, CA, in the 1980's is that they are vocal and strident in their opinions about, say, what ails America's foreign policy or the glaring injustice spawned by Islamophobia, but only in the confines of their living rooms, particularly when pilaf, chicken biryani, mutton rezala, samosas and spicy tea are available in generous servings, as inevitably they always are, thanks to the unfailing hospitality of the hosts.
That's as far as it goes, though.
And so no one hears about how much we deplore the ISIS fanatics who kill in the name of Islam, or how outraged we are when Sunnis butcher Shias, or how aggrieved we are when our fellow-Americans lump us all under the same banner of "those extremist Muslims."
We forget that when we don't write our own stories, others will write it for us.
Fortunately, the younger generation of Bangladeshi-Americans are not bound by such timidity or fear.
One such inspiring and articulate second-generation Bangladeshi-American is Saqib Rahim.
Saqib Rahim is a journalist and writer in Brooklyn, NY. His work has variously appeared in The New York Times, Scientific American, E&E News, and the San Jose Mercury News. Raised in San Jose, California, he studied at the University of California before completing a master's in international relations at The Johns Hopkins University's School of Advanced International Studies in Washington, D.C.
Here is a thoughtful and challenging article on the subject by Saqib that appeared in The Huffington Post on September 29, 2014.
The Silent Reason You're Not
Hearing More From American Muslims
Reporter, writer, contemplater,
inveterate asker of questions
Posted: 09/29/2014
The weekend before last, my parents
and a few old friends met for
after-dinner tea.
after-dinner tea.
This is their tradition, something
they've done innumerable times since moving to the U.S. from Bangladesh in the
'70s and '80s. And as usual, the conversation ranged freely from the hilarious
to the serious.
So the topic arrived at their
religion, Islam, and its relationship to the so-called "Islamic
State".
Déjà vu, they said. Here, again, was
a sinister group prowling the Middle East. As usual, it had seized the mantle
of Islam for its PR. And as usual, the response from American Muslims was
effectively a cavernous silence.
They lamented this repeating state
of affairs. But the evening wound down, and they parted ways. No one in the
broader American public would ever hear what they said.
That, in my view, is the silent
reason American Muslims have yet to make themselves truly heard in America.
No one hears the quiet, immigrant
folks who have hustled in this country for decades, who love it and call it
their home, but who shrink from the light of public affairs -- and always have.
I wish it were otherwise. The
buildup to this new war against IS has brought a burst of anti-Muslim
sentiment. It started in the deep annals of the Internet -- hardly a bastion of
enlightenment -- but quickly expanded into the mass media and has even seeped
into my personal circles.
In August, there was the savage
murder of James Foley. As anyone who saw the images knows, it was chilling,
medieval, not of this era.
It
never crossed my mind that anyone would hold Muslims, like my parents or
myself, accountable. Then I saw this, retweeted by an otherwise respectable
writer:
A South
Carolina Republican voter, asked for his top national-policy concerns, named Muslims: "They're all over the country right
now, they're infiltrating." He wants the U.S. to turn Muslims away at the
border.
These are fringe voices, not
representative of the American mainstream. What concerns me, however, is how
publicly these sentiments are being aired.
Prejudice is often whispered, with a
sense of shame; there are certain slurs, today, for instance, that no one would
be caught saying. But if people are OK being associated with broad
condemnations of Muslim-Americans, then relations are in a grim state indeed.
Not that it's a surprise. Americans
are exhausted from over a decade of war in the Middle East. We're sick of the
gruesome headlines in Nigeria, Syria, Israel, and other hotspots. But some
think they see a common thread: Muslims.
In this golden age of misinformation
about all things, Islam included, it's essential to say something to that -- to
occupy the narrative space that Al Qaeda, IS, and others have occupied for too
long.
So where is the Muslim-American
pushback?
My guess: it's in a no-man's land,
between my parents' generation and mine.
More
than 60 percent of Muslim-American adults were born abroad, according to a 2011 survey by
the Pew Research Center for the People & the Press.
Muslims, like many other groups that
have come to America, are in their immigrant infancy. They have yet to grow the
deep roots -- in politics, in the media, in neighborhoods -- that would
demystify them to the wider American culture.
Take my dad, who left Bangladesh in
the late '70s to pursue an engineering career in the US. Dad loves a spirited
political debate, preferably in the living room, with friends, over tea. He
also treasures his faith, although he'd prefer to practice it quietly, in a
side room.
You see what I'm driving at. This is
not someone who, seeing Muslims' good names tarnished on TV, would scramble to
call a radio station or write a letter to the editor. (It doesn't help, I'm
sure, that he's conscious of his accent, or that he's a Ph.D. engineer who can
be clumsy with words. Sorry, Dad.)
It's one
example. But it's typical of the adults I grew up around. Muslims, to me, are
people who mow their lawns and pay their bills, quietly shaking their heads at
the impersonators ruining their good name the world around. They're not the people running a PTA meeting or
taking the lectern at City Hall.
Fortunately, there are signs of
change. Muslim groups are getting active in American civics, in the hopes of
crafting a new narrative.
There are the immigrants' kids --
people like myself and my peer group -- who have degrees and careers and will
enter the political arena at some point. We grew up here. Many of us aren't
"by the book" Muslims compared to our parents. But we know, respect,
and revere our rights.
What are we up against?
Islamophobia, coming as it does in these occasional flares, seems to me a small
part of it. It is disheartening, especially considered against America's grim
history of prejudice toward Jews, the Irish, Japanese, and African-Americans,
for a partial list. But I doubt it can last. Americans' unshakable sense of
equality will shine through.
The bigger challenge, to my mind,
falls to my generation. Will we speak up and participate in a way that our
parents never could? If so, American Islam's roots will deepen. We won't be
seen as some foreign conspiracy, but as the contributing members of society we
are.
What if we stay in our living rooms,
hoping to ride out the occasional fear-wave? This, I submit, is asking for déjà
vu. When our countrymen ask who we are, we'll have no reply.
Others will. That means our story
will be written, but not by us.
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