As a visibly Muslim woman and tenured law professor, I’ve faced my share of discrimination. However, nothing prepared me for the chilling reality I encountered at the 2024 Democratic National Convention.
While I was serving as co-chair of the DNC’s Interfaith Council and on the executive committee of the DNC’s Women’s Caucus, I became a victim of a violent assault at the convention. This attack laid bare the pervasive nature of Islamophobia in our society, but what followed was even more disturbing.
The complete institutional failure following my assault—manifested in the Democratic Party’s silence, my academic institutions’ indifference, the legal system’s impotence and the overall lack of support for a victim of political violence—revealed a disturbing truth: Even in spaces that champion diversity and inclusion, Muslim voices remain expendable.
As I stood in the bustling convention hall at the United Center in Chicago, holding a cloth banner that read “Stop Arming Israel,” I never imagined that my act of peaceful protest would end in violence. Yet, within moments, three white men wielding campaign signs with wooden planks inside repeatedly struck me on the head. The physical pain was immediate, but the emotional aftermath—a concussion, trauma and a profound sense of betrayal—would linger far longer.
While some organizations swiftly issued statements condemning the attack as political violence and demanding justice, the universities I am affiliated with remained silent. This institutional indifference underscores a larger problem: The disconnect between well-intentioned diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives and the lived realities of Muslim faculty and staff, particularly those who are visibly Muslim, Black, Latino/a or from other minority groups.
In my years navigating academia, I’ve witnessed firsthand how corporatized, apolitical DEI programs fall short for those of us at the margins. They tend to focus on secular and liberal perspectives, emphasizing concepts like religious practices and holidays. While these are important, they fail to address the daily microaggressions and systemic biases that shape our experiences.
As one of the few tenured, visibly Muslim women in legal academia, I face an average of 500 micro- and macroaggressions annually. The mental toll of deciding which handful of incidents to address is exhausting, constantly pulling my focus from teaching, research and service. This burden of representation and advocacy weighs heavily on visibly Muslim women in academia. We’re often tokenized, expected to be the voice for all Muslims, which places an unfair burden on individuals and perpetuates the myth of a monolithic Muslim experience.
Moreover, current DEI approaches often prioritize male and Arab voices, inadvertently sidelining the perspectives of women, Black Muslims, Latino/a Muslims, Indigenous and other minority groups within the Muslim community. A panel on Islamophobia might discuss the impacts of fasting during Ramadan and the need for prayer spaces, but neglect to address the foreign policy landscape or the systemic racism and unique challenges faced by Black or Latino/a Muslims in academia.
The personal toll of traversing these spaces is immense. The constant code-switching, the exhaustion of being valued for expertise in one’s field while simultaneously unsupported when speaking about personal experiences with discrimination—it all breeds cynicism and burnout. My assault at the DNC and the subsequent lack of support from institutions I once believed in have profoundly impacted my sense of safety and belonging in academic and political spaces.
When I’ve complained about disparities and inequities, I am often met with shoulder shrugs and labeled a troublemaker. It is difficult for me to serve as a council member of the American Bar Association’s Section of Civil Rights and Social Justice while watching students being arrested, harassed and assaulted on university campuses like Yale University, Barnard College, the University of California, Berkeley, and Northwestern University, institutions run by people I once admired and trusted. The American Bar Association can do nothing but create a Task Force to Combat Islamophobia and hold webinars, doing nothing in response to the campus free speech issues other than talk about them.
Yet, we must channel this pain into constructive action. Based on my experiences, here are some recommendations for institutions looking to create more inclusive and effective anti-Islamophobia initiatives.
- Audit Policies and Practices for Islamophobia. Review hiring and promotion practices for subtle and overt biases. Examine whether Muslim faculty are less likely to receive tenure due to research areas perceived as “controversial” or due to stereotypes about Muslim scholarship. Revise policies that marginalize Muslim faculty and fail to promote them.
- Broaden Representation in Leadership and Curriculum. Actively recruit Muslim faculty and staff, especially visible Muslim women, and include them in leadership roles. Establish fellowships specifically for Muslim scholars to contribute to curriculum development and other initiatives.
- Apply an Intersectional Lens to DEI Programs. Design DEI programming that addresses the unique challenges faced by visibly Muslim women, Black, Latino/a and Indigenous Muslims. Host panels that discuss both racial and religious discrimination and include speakers who can address anti-Blackness within Muslim communities as well as Islamophobia as state policy.
- Diversify Anti-Islamophobia Training Leadership. Engage trainers from different Muslim backgrounds to lead DEI workshops. Ensure participation from all university levels to promote a comprehensive understanding of diverse Muslim experiences, and include bystander intervention training.
- Implement Robust Reporting and Accountability Mechanisms. Establish confidential reporting for Islamophobic incidents with guaranteed follow-up. Ensure that any report of Islamophobia results in a clear process with potential outcomes such as mandated sensitivity training, formal apologies or, in severe cases, suspension. Publicize these measures to build trust within the Muslim community and ensure transparency.
Institutional leaders must step up in setting the tone for how Islamophobia is addressed on campus. They must make public, unequivocal statements condemning Islamophobia and supporting Muslim members of the academic community. They need to stop criminalizing antiwar protesters and brutalizing their own students. Allocating significant resources to anti-Islamophobia initiatives, including funding for Muslim student organizations and research on Islamophobia in academia, is crucial.
Regular policy reviews are essential to ensure protection for Muslim students and faculty from discrimination, with clear consequences for Islamophobic behavior. Promoting Muslim-led interfaith dialogue and developing robust crisis response protocols are also critical steps. As we strive for progress, it’s important to note that the burden of education and advocacy does not fall solely on the shoulders of Muslim academics. Allies in positions of power must step up, speak out and take concrete actions to create truly inclusive academic spaces.
My experience of assault at the DNC and the subsequent lack of institutional support is a harrowing reminder of how far we still have to go. It underscores the need for a comprehensive approach to combating Islamophobia that goes beyond superficial diversity initiatives and addresses the deep-seated biases in our institutions. Only by working together—Muslim and non-Muslim, faculty, staff, and administration— can we create academic environments that are truly inclusive and free from the scourge of Islamophobia. The path forward is clear, but it requires courage, commitment and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. Are we ready to take that step?
