We are driving to school on the first day of Grade 3, when my mother abruptly breaks the silence with a sharp, “Every time you step out of this house, you are representing Black people. Muslims. And Women.”

I vividly remember rolling my eyes, and thinking, “Ugh, not another lecture”. I tried to argue with my mom and rebutted with something along the lines of “lol, it’s not that deep”. She was not impressed with this rebuttal. 

To her, it did not matter that I was only eight years old and that we were on our way to an Islamic school with other Muslims, a place where we would be separated based on our gender. Little did I know that it was because, she knew, that to the rest of the world, it did not matter that I was only eight years old. It did not matter that I was in an Islamic school with other Muslims because I am Black. It did not matter that I would be in a class where we were separated by our gender, because that separation did not exist outside the four walls of the classroom.

Author Ganiyat Sadiq

People are often shocked when I tell them that my first experience with discrimination was in an Islamic school, approximately two weeks after my mom’s… advice? Proclamation? Forecast? It was after the moment that the Muslim boy called me the n-word that I realized I was not only perceived differently, but I was going to be treated differently both within and beyond the Muslim community. That illuminating moment, at eight years young , was my first and still most vivid memory of intersectional violence and 

However, in the 13 years that have passed since that defining moment, Islamophobia and anti-black racism continued to permeate our communities, cities, nation, and globe. Since December 2020, there have been at least 14 attacks against Muslim women in Alberta, 10 of them being Black Muslim Women[1]. While the number alone may not seem statistically significant, the disproportionality of Black Muslim Women being attacked is distressingly jarring. At this point, the heightened violence towards us is largely known. However, in the same token way, Black Muslim Women experience 70% of gendered islamophobia, and therefore we carry the weight of the advocacy that comes along with it. 

We are constantly told: Black women are so strong. Black women are so resilient. Black women are so powerful. 

Yes, we are. 

But we are also tired. 

There is an immense and inherent injustice in not only experiencing brutal forms of violence but also being one of the only voices speaking up about such violence. When we speak of community self-care, as a Muslim it is instinctual to turn to the Muslim community for support. However, that support proves tenuous when one identifies as a  Black Muslim.  My greetings of “Salam Alikum” are still largely ignored by non-Black Muslims. Therefore, as a Black Muslim Woman, when support is strained within the Muslim community, and nonexistent and or combative outside of it, where can we turn? 

 As a result we take on the responsibility of speaking up. We endure the gaslighting of our experiences and we accept the tokenism of those who pretend to be listening and learning. We relive our trauma over and over in exchange for a semblance of sympathy from society. This is not to say that change is impossible. It is to say that change, in the laggard form it steeps in , is painful. Because, when I look around, I see other Black Muslim Women fighting and advocating for conditions that are foundational to their inherent right to exist and to live. live. 

To be a Black Muslim Woman in Canada is scary. It goes beyond just a  fear of being assaulted. The fear emerges from the realization that the place most of us call home, rejects our existence and there is very little effort  to disrupt the ever-growing cycle of violence we face.  

Sometimes, I think back to that initially quiet day in the car. The day my mom began warning me about the dangers of the perceptions of my identity. I can’t help but wonder if at this rate, that warning will be passed down to my daughter. While others work to accumulate generational wealth, we toil to minimize generational trauma. 

[1] Dean Bennett and Fakiha Baig, “Alberta Creates Grant Program for Security Measures to Deter Hate Crimes | CBC News,” CBC news 
(CBC/Radio Canada, June 11, 2021), https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/edmonton/grant-program-alberta-hate-crimes-security-1.6062499.