... when Silence Becomes the Price of Belonging..
(courtesy - Rana Ayub : https://ranaayyub.substack.com/p/the-myth-of-the-acceptable-muslim)
I am a Muslim. And I am tired of constantly explaining, defending, and sometimes even justifying my existence, my identity and my concerns.
I have written and spoken about this repeatedly. Not because I want to live with a victimhood mentality, but because there is a reality that many people either refuse to acknowledge or have the privilege of ignoring.
I sometimes wonder: If an educated, financially comfortable, privileged Muslim had to live for just one year as an ordinary Muslim without money, influence, social connections or political protection, would they understand what the rest of us experience?
Perhaps then they would understand that education alone does not protect you. Money does not necessarily buy acceptance. Professional success does not erase your identity. And being politically silent does not guarantee that you will be left alone.
The struggle is not always visible. Sometimes it is in the conversations we avoid, the jokes we tolerate, the questions we are expected to answer, the news we are expected to remain silent about, and the constant pressure to prove that we are acceptable.
The politics of "No Politics"
Look at our everyday social circles.
School friends, old classmates, WhatsApp groups, professional connections — people who repeatedly declare, "Let's not discuss politics here. We are friends. No politics, please."
But observe the conversations, it completely isolate muslim friends!
Hindu festival greetings are shared enthusiastically. Cultural celebrations are acknowledged. Religious symbols and traditions are freely discussed. Nobody considers these things political.
And there is absolutely nothing wrong with wishing someone a happy festival. Respecting another person's faith and celebrating their happiness are part of living together.
But where is the same openness when Muslims want to discuss their anxieties, discrimination, political representation, or the struggles of their community?
Suddenly, it becomes politics.
Suddenly, we are dividing people.
Suddenly, we are bringing religion into everything.
Suddenly, the group needs to remain apolitical.
Isn't that selective neutrality?
Perhaps the most effective propaganda is not always what people are explicitly told to believe. Sometimes it is what they are repeatedly encouraged to celebrate, what they are discouraged from questioning, and what they are gradually conditioned to consider normal.
This is what I mean by soft propaganda. It does not necessarily arrive as an aggressive political message. It can become part of everyday social behaviour, cultural conversations and selective expressions of solidarity.
The privilege of being an acceptable Muslim is paid with answers to many unwanted questions!!
What hurts even more is seeing educated, financially secure and professionally successful so called secular people (some muslims too) distancing themselves from these conversations.
Perhaps they believe that keeping quiet will protect their social standing. Perhaps they have built a comfortable life and do not want uncomfortable discussions to disturb it.
I do not expect every Muslim to have identical political opinions. Nor do I expect everyone to participate in every discussion.
But I do question a society in which only Muslims being ignored or struggling but others don't because their "religion" are relatively comfortable to be free from "doubt"!
A Muslim who speaks about injustice is expected to prove that they are sufficiently secular, sufficiently liberal, sufficiently critical of their own community and sufficiently acceptable to everyone else.
Why?
Why must a Muslim's suffering come with a certificate of acceptability?
Why must we repeatedly condemn, clarify, apologise and distance ourselves before our concerns are considered legitimate?
Why can't we simply speak as human beings and citizens?
Friendship without solidarity?
I have known some of these people since school. We have shared classrooms, memories, celebrations and years of friendship.
I do not want to lose those relationships. But I also do not want friendship to become an arrangement in which one person's identity and concerns are welcome only when they remain unspoken.
You cannot repeatedly say that you have no politics while participating in a social environment where only certain narratives are comfortable.
You cannot claim neutrality while expecting the other person to remain silent about their lived experiences.
And you cannot measure communal harmony simply by how quietly the less privileged community accepts its circumstances.
Silence is not always harmony. Sometimes it is simply the comfort of those who do not have to speak.
Beyond religion, towards dignity..
My concern is not about seeking special privileges for Muslims. It is about equal dignity, equal citizenship, equal protection and the freedom to exist without constantly negotiating one's identity.
I want a society where a Muslim does not have to become an acceptable version of themselves to be treated as an equal.
Where a Hindu can celebrate their faith, a Muslim can express theirs, and neither has to feel threatened by the other's existence.
Where friendship does not demand political silence, and where empathy is not conditional on someone's religious identity.
I keep writing because I know there are people who experience these things but struggle to articulate them. Some remain silent because they are afraid of losing friendships, opportunities or social acceptance. Others have simply become accustomed to the situation.
But becoming accustomed to injustice does not make it normal.
I don't want to be an acceptable Muslim. I want to live in a society where being Muslim does not require me to prove that I am acceptable in the first place.
And perhaps the real question we should all ask ourselves is this:
If your friendship, solidarity and humanity disappear the moment I speak about the struggles of my community, were they ever unconditional?
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