Pearls and Irritations

After having spent the last five weeks listening to Muslim representatives from across Australia, Special Envoy to Combat Islamophobia, Aftab Malik, exclusively and frankly shares his initial reflections.

My scope of work and first priority

I assumed the role of Australia’s first-ever Special Envoy to Combat Islamophobia on Monday 14 October.

It emerged against the tectonic rise in the number of domestic Islamophobic incidents that took place following the 7 October 2023 attacks by Hamas on Israel, which was was followed by an Israeli military response that has led to the deaths of more than 45,000 Palestinians in Gaza. The UN’s Human Rights Office has confirmed that “close to 70% of verified victims over a six-month period were women and children”.

The Islamophobia Register Australia, which has been logging Islamophobic incidents since 2014, recorded a 607% increase in the year following the attacks, from the year that preceded it. And these incidents do not show any sign of abating.

In this role, I will not be speaking on behalf of the government, nor will I represent the Government. Neither will I claim to represent all Muslim communities, who are culturally and linguistically diverse.

As the Special Envoy to Combat Islamophobia, some of the things I intend to do include:

• Engaging experts to utilise research and data to identify what drives Islamophobia;
• Listening to those who have experienced Islamophobia, and promote public awareness and understanding of its impacts;
• Combat stereotypes and misinformation about Australian Muslims and Islam;
• Work and collaborate with organisations that tackle discrimination and racism, and;
• Provide advice to the prime minister and the minister for home affairs to inform policy development and legislation that combat Islamophobia

While overcoming the usual logistics and challenges of transitioning into a new role, my priority has been to speak to Muslims of different practices, ethnicities, and cultures all across Australia.

During this time, I have also spoken to experts on Islamophobia, Muslim high school students, and representatives of different organisations representing youth, women, Imams, peak bodies and small community service organisations.

I did so to understand their experiences of Islamophobia, grasp a sense of its scale, understand how Muslims believe it can be challenged and, critically, to answer questions about my role. I even conducted some media interviews along the way, to share my insights.

The ordinariness of Islamophobia

Throughout these engagements, I learned, first-hand, how Islamophobia has impacted communities, degraded trust in government, and created a deep sense of pessimism.

I listened to Muslim women who had been spat at, told they were “terrorists”, and to go back to where they came from. How men were told that they and their “terror” faith were not welcome in Australia. I heard how parents had to relocate their families because of constant abuse, and how others could not find rental accommodation, because of their appearance.

I sat frozen as I learned that children did not tell their parents of Islamophobic taunts they endured at school, and parents who did not tell their children their own brushes with Islamophobic humiliation. The children didn’t want their parents to worry, and the parents didn’t want to make their children feel paranoid about their Muslim identity.

I understood just how ordinary Islamophobia has become for some, to the extent that Muslim women from all over Australia told me they simply shrugged off being called “terrorist,” because “it happened all the time.”

I listened why so many simply did not report their experiences of anti-Muslim hatred, and many reasons were given.

I visited the Baitul Masroor Mosque in Brisbane that, among other things, had a pig’s head placed at its gates.

There is no doubt that anti-Muslim hatred exists. It is ugly and real. I described it as a “hidden cancer that eats away at social cohesion”.

It is crucial not to underestimate the debilitating impacts it has for its targets, their family, and the wider community. It often leads to “anger, frustration, and fear” as one Muslim youth social worker from Adelaide informed me.

Knowing this, and having listened to first-hand experiences of Islamophobia, it was easy then for me to respond to Senator Dave Sharma’s assertion that Islamophobia was “fictitious”.

Extraordinary Muslims

However, despite hearing heartbreaking accounts, a pattern quickly emerged in communities across Australia. Ordinary Australian Muslims behaving in an extraordinary manner; refusing to give in to hate.

Following the Christchurch terror attacks in March 2019, an imam from Adelaide was asked by a local reporter if he was fearful for his community. He told me that he took the reporter to a stall outside his mosque that was stacked with flowers and cards from non-Muslims in the neighbourhood, and pointing to the stall, said: “With support like this, why do I fear for my community?”

The stewards at Baitul Masroor mosque in Brisbane, far from retreating, issued a very public invitation to the pig head-impaler, to come, drink tea, and talk with the community.

Gaza

Despite their diversity, all Muslims I know personally, and those I have engaged with, are at a loss (as to what they should do with the catastrophic humanitarian crises happening in Gaza (and now the loss of civilian life in Lebanon).

It was clear to me that it is serving as a catalyst to eviscerate confidence in democratic institutions. There is so much heartbreak, anxiety and anger. Rarely has the Australian Muslim populace spoken with one, unequivocal voice.

At the same time, through my engagements, it was made clear to me that Palestinians don’t face Islamophobia per se, but anti-Palestinian and anti-Arab racism. They spoke of their grave concerns about the limitations placed upon their ability to assemble and protest, how they are being dehumanised, and the ongoing challenges they face at work and at university campuses.

Like the consequences of Islamophobia, the dehumanisation of Palestinians, Arabs and their allies leave them with a sense of social exclusion, anxiety for theu safety, and on the receiving end of a barrage of online abuse.

I have been in touch and will continue to work with critical stakeholders such as the Australian Human Rights Race Discrimination Commissioner, the National Students Ombudsman, and various state commissioners for anti-discrimination, to see how we can work together, to address these appalling situations.

At each opportunity, I have also conveyed to all government stakeholders that empathy costs nothing.

While Muslim organisations across Australia differ in their understanding and definition of, and attitudes to tackling Islamophobia, my role is to determine the best way to combat it.

Some major themes emerging from my engagements

While there was an absolute consensus across Australia that more effort needs to be made to challenge public narratives about Muslims and Islam, and to create avenues for Australians to better understand and familiarise themselves with Muslims, likewise, there were strong expectations to hold leaders and the media accountable for damaging rhetoric that fuels anti-Muslim hatred by creating permissive environments, and to address institutionalised Islamophobia; the former being overt, the latter, subtle at times.

On the whole, communities were very generous with their expectations. They recognised that tackling Islamophobia was a mammoth task, and not something that can be achieved overnight. It was a complex task with many moving parts.

The inherent tensions within Muslim communities

The Muslim community is incredibly diverse, as are their views on many issues. A few rejected my role outright; others firmly warned me not to go against the wishes of the community. Many were sceptical about the role and what it could actually achieve. Others were grateful that it existed (“better late than never”).

Some believed that I had potentially undermined trust among Muslims because of an op-ed that I wrote, while others congratulated me for writing a balanced entry into what is a “most challenging time”.

Some embraced both me and the role, and very kindly pledged their organisational support for my efforts. But without exception, everyone listened with great intent and did not hold back with their questions, for which I am very grateful.

I know some among the community see this role as tokenistic. Others hope some good can come from it. Some will appreciate my efforts, while others will feel I’m not doing enough. More will feel ignored, others will feel I’m listening.

There will always remain those who won’t be aware what I have been doing, while others will. There are some who remain swayed by misinformation about me on social media. There are those who are ideologically opposed to everything I stand for, and more who are sympathetic, I hope.

There are those who dislike me referencing the sira to also tackle Islamophobia, while others have embraced me for doing so. There are those who believe I’m ill-qualified to carry this role, others who have given me the benefit of the doubt, and others still who think I am qualified.

There are some who are wary about me because I am seen both too close to one organisation and too distant from another. There are those who see a conspiracy between my previous work with government and my selection, and others who just want me to press on with achieving outcomes.

There are some who have disdain for me because I’m not Arab, others don’t care what ethnicity I am. Others have told me I will be answerable to Allah for my betrayal of the Muslims; others thanked Allah that I was selected for this role and even prayed for me.

These are just some of the internal challenges that I have to juggle on a daily basis. It isn’t easy to tell you the truth. On top of the external pressures, it does take its toll. How could it not?

Because the Muslim community is so diverse, there is no doubt that I will not be able to meet everyone’s expectations.

Extraordinary times

I know I will make mistakes at times, and sometimes people may feel let down. I will be very grateful for your advice. More importantly, I need your du’as.

We live in extraordinary times, where multiple challenges lie ahead, and no solution is simple. For every challenge, there are many, if not conflicting, considerations to take. Even the wisest among us are dumbfounded.

Whatever the situation, my advice to myself is to remain true to my principles. Don’t forget the last portion of the night. Seek counsel. Have a good opinion of others, even when they are angry at you: let them speak. Respond to ugliness with beauty. Don’t be immobilised by frustration, or even failure. Above all, despite everything that I have experienced, heard and seen, don’t give up on hope.

For this too shall pass.

Republished from Australasian Muslim Times of 20 December