by guest contributor Shawna, originally published at Islam On My Side

A Letter to My Sons on the Eve of a Nation’s Great Change

November 5, 2008

My Dear Sons,

If I can indicate to you the significance of Barack Obama’s election as President of the United States of America in even the smallest way, I will have succeeded with this letter. You’ve seen that I’ve spent much of this day in silence and tears. Most likely you won’t remember, but if you do, forgive my silence. I don’t know what to say. There is a great wheel of thought turning in my head. The ideas fly past before I can grasp them, to take a moment and investigate what it is I’m feeling; to grapple with the full import of what has happened in our great country. As for the tears, they are tears of joy. Never stem tears of happiness. They are like the rain that replenishes the earth.

I admit that with the curious circumstances surrounding President George W. Bush’s election into office in 2000, I lost faith in the effectiveness of U.S. democracy. In 2004, there was a repeat of 2000’s debacle, and with W’s claims of “political capital” at his fingertips, it seemed to me that our democracy may have crumbled. Hope was a match in my fingertips, it’s flame whipped out by a quick wind. But today, my beautiful and wonderful boys, my faith in our country has been restored. I once again believe that my voice, a voice that generations before me fought to assign a value to, has not only been heard and valued, it has become tenable twice over. My voice is not only that of a woman, it is that of a woman of color.

I’m certain you will grow up with the knowledge of your own ethnic roots if in no other capacity than in relation to your faith. What speaks to my heart today is that you may not struggle to find your own place in society the way I did for much of my life. The adversity I (and the rest of your extended family) faced during my years in Oklahoma,Texas and Arkansas may be something forever foreign to you. In those pre-9/11 days, there was certainly undisguised hatred for us as Muslims, but the main disgust we encountered was race-based. Years of hatred culminated, for us, in repudiation based on the darker tones of our skin in a White, Presbyterian-dominated area. Last night, around 11PM, it became clear to me that there is a chance you may grow up without facing, witnessing or being pressured to take part in this type of adversity. While this hope is certainly incredible in its scope, and perhaps unfounded, there are reasons that my heart is opened to your freedom from racial stigma.

Certainly, Obama’s election would not have happened at this time in America’s life if not for the many incredible failures of George W. Bush as America’s 43rd president. Had Bush not abused his position of power by pursuing war on unfounded reasons and overspending the “political capital” he claimed to have earned, America could not have reached a point of such openness to and even desire for change. I am greatly aware of Obama’s weaknesses as a candidate for this office. The polarity of the campaign period shed light on the many failings of each candidate searching for nomination, but I believe Obama was the best of the lot we were granted despite his lack of experience in governance, and it is my hope that he will be a capable leader–one who continues on in the traditions of his campaign; to stay focused on the issues and to work for an America truly united by refusing to engage the propaganda and slander of naysayers and ne’er-do-wells.

You were both born into a time of misunderstanding with regards to Islam. After my move to Indiana from Arkansas, I saw the race-driven hatred fall away to be replaced with a subversive reinforcement of anti-Islam sentiment. In high school, I did not yet know myself as a Muslim. That identity had always been secondary. I’m sure the discrimination I faced based on my skin color aided me in defining myself as “Other” when it came to race. With our move from Arkansas to Indiana, I saw that fade away. Instead of being characterized as Arab and Muslim by default, I was characterized as Muslim and Arab by default. Looking back, I can say the consequences of this inversion was an increased interest in faith. With your father by my side, I clung to my new Muslim identity to find that it came with its own challenges.

Yes, there was harassment, but I was not generally subjected to it. I had female friends whose faith was visible due to the cloth on their heads. They were treated with derision. “Is there a bomb in your backpack?” was a question one of my friends regularly faced as she tried to pass through a particular hallway on her way to class. A group of boys, three or four of them, would yank her bag, tug her scarf, stand in her way or simply stare her down. It hurt her, but she kept walking. For many of us at that time, there was no recourse for the overt and sometimes physical aggression we experienced in places that should have been safe. This was pre-9/11.

I will say one thing for the horrid events of September 11, 2001. Had they not happened, we as Americans would not have had the chance to plumb the depths of the hatred for and fear of the “other” that we hide within. Before 9/11, harassment was tolerated, allowed to happen with merely the shake of a head or a click of the tongue. “What a shame,” we subjects of discrimination were told. “Some people just don’t understand.” We were then laden with the responsibility to understand for them, to forgive them for their ignorance. We were expected not to educate.

9/11 ended the “do nothing” period for Muslims in America and around the world. Suddenly, we were targets due to the crimes of those who perpetuated terror in the name of our faith. Our majority was forced to stand up and shout until we were blue in the face that we do not tolerate, accept or condone this type of violence. That we, the Muslim masses, believe in democracy, in the freedom of religion the Constitution promises.

We could no longer sit idly by. Our friends and family were being whisked away to detention centers, fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers detained, tortured, murdered in response to the acts of unilateral thinkers whose views we did not share. We had to speak up, to claim in voices rough with tears that we are people too. Like those minorities before us, we will not be denied our civil rights in a country we love because of its promised equality. Perhaps the writers of the Constitution were not so forward thinking when they promised freedom of religion–perhaps it only applied to those who worship in churches–but we would not let our mosques be riddled with bullets or burned to the ground.

My precious boys, neither of you is old enough to understand why the tears keep falling from my eyes yet I cannot stop smiling. My silent treatment of you will likely be forgiven by its omission from your memories. I am writing this because I want you to understand the incredible blessings of the world you have been born into. There is adversity at every corner, but with adversity comes hope. Barack Obama’s election proves this. He is a man of color elected as president in a country built from the blood of minorities. He is not a Muslim. He did not make a strong standing for Muslims in his campaign, but unlike his contemporaries, he has not incited hatred against us, derided us for our beliefs or used our differences of faith as cause to exclude us from our rightful category of American.

Here is what Obama’s election means to me: Yes, you will still grow up in a minority. You, like all humans, will face challenges day by day. But you are starting your lives in a world much different than that one I grew up in–in a world that has wildly changed. It may be that you will have more doors open to you based on your diversity. You are starting your lives in an America embracing a new reflection in the world’s mirror. I hope you help to keep that reflection crisp and clean. I hope your journey toward self-identification is filled with opportunity. You are the newest generation of American Muslims. Today I am able to believe that perhaps once another half a century has passed, you will be leaders for this great country. Perhaps, now that we are moving past race-based limitations, faith-based limitations will also begin to fail. Perhaps, one day, you will inspire hope for those both like and unlike you, your heads held high, your voices lifted as you say it: Yes we can.

I pray that you’ll find these words some day and that they will illuminate a history that seems to you fashioned of fiction. May you grow up knowing only the equality our constitution promises and the beauty of democracy at its best. May you grow up free from the hate that has plagued this country for far too long. May you grow up free. May you grow up Muslim Americans.

All my love,

Your Mother