Source: NPR
By Beenish Ahmed

Beenish Ahmed is a reporter and writer. She covers international affairs forThinkProgress and is the founder of THE ALIGNIST, a new media platform that connects literature to current events.

Editor’s note: In the wake of terrorist attacks around the world, many Muslims feel called upon to publicly defend their faith, a faith many say is not accurately reflected in the stated or assumed motivations behind such attacks. Writer Beenish Ahmed has struggled with this responsibility all her life and shared her thoughts in this essay published by Code Switch as news was unfolding of the attacks in Brussels.

“Last week,” says Ahmed, “I messaged my cousins to make sure they were OK after a car-bombing in Peshawar. This week, I woke to news about a bombing in Brussels where my brother lives and immediately, frantically, contacted him.” Her brother was unharmed, but Ahmed’s essay has gained new poignancy as the conversation about the burdens of representation for Muslims around the globe continues. — Tasneem Raja, senior digital editor, NPR’s Code Switch

I remember attending Sunday school class one morning at my hometown mosque, sitting at a tiny school desk in a little yellow chair. The teacher said we were ambassadors for Islam, and to behave in a way that made others look favorably upon our faith and upon Muslims everywhere. But I was just 10 years old, 12 at the most. How could I be an ambassador for anything? I shifted in the hard plastic seat that I would soon outgrow.

It’s decades later, and the top Republican contender for president has declared, “Islam hates us.” Those of “us” who are Americans and also Muslim feel trapped. Even so, we can’t help but wonder what we can say or do to make the madness stop. The message is clear: Islam doesn’t belong in America, though one out 100 people living in the U.S. is Muslim, according to the Pew Research Center.

If some version of Trump’s plans to block on Muslims entering the U.S. were to somehow gain ground, or his willingness to consider placing us in internment camps were to prove contagious, where would we go?

As we wait, anxious and bewildered, to see how all this plays out on the political stage, for many, being Muslim-American now means looking over both shoulders at all times. Those of us with recent immigrant roots fear attacks on loved ones “back home” in places like Syria or Libya or Indonesia, or Pakistan, where my parents are from, while also worrying for loved ones in places like North Carolina,Louisiana, New York, or Ohio, where my parents have at this point lived longer than anywhere else in the world.

We wonder why more Americans don’t seem to realize — or care — that while a few Muslims in America have carried out horrific attacks from Boston to San Bernardino, right-wing extremists account for more deaths in the U.S. than Islamist extremists do, and the vast majority of those killed by Muslim extremists around the world are other Muslims. In the meantime, many Muslims have worked to thwart such crimes by notifying American law enforcement.

But regardless of these realities, Muslims in America — or even those mistaken for Muslims — continue to suffer vitriolic condemnation alongside outsized surveillance, and we sigh over the sad knowledge that hateful explosions will always ring louder the work of peacemakers.

As for those who say Muslims should “go back where they came from,” they don’t seem to realize — or care — that Muslims have lived in this part of the world for centuries. Up to 15 percent of the men, women, and children brought to the “New World” as slaves were Muslim. And while the majority of Muslims in America are recent immigrants, that dynamic is shifting. Nearly a quarter of Muslims in Americaconverted to Islam, and by 2040, Islam is projected to become the second-most popular religion in the country after Christianity. Despite these deep and growing roots in this country, we have long been portrayed as an invasive species.

At best, we’re viewed as a welcome bloom on the diverse garden of America (but hardly ever part of the original landscape). At worst, we’re seen as malevolent weed programmed to ravage everything around us.

And so, we put on our prettiest-petal faces to try to secure our place for another year, another election cycle. To save ourselves, we try to be our best selves.

I’ve lived most of my life trying to be equal parts unassuming and bright. If you never see me, you won’t tear me up and toss me aside. If you do see me, you’ll forgive me my tresspasses.

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