Watch the discussion.

Michigan Radio and the Arab American National Museum presented a panel discussion exploring the BBC’s news coverage of the Arab world at 7:00 pm on Monday, June 7.

Lukman Ahmed (BBC Arabic Washington Correspondent), Liliane Landor (Head of the Middle East Region, BBC World Service), and Anne Koch (Deputy Director, BBC World Service English Networks) brought their perspectives to a conversation moderated by Michigan Radio News Director Vincent Duffy.

I awakened to the familiar timbre of my mother’s smoothing voice.

“Yasmine! Time to wake up. You’re gonna be late!” my mother called from the bottom of the staircase.

I had heard these words a thousand times. After rolling groggily out of bed, I threw on some clothes and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. I stood by the breakfast table, a transparent glass and metal structure as familiar to me as my own skin. I waited, watching Mama as she tipped the box of Frosted Flakes over my bowl. The crinkle of the plastic lining as the flakes fell quickly and “clankity clanked” into my bowl created a music that had been replayed every morning since I could remember. These were the familiar, comforting sounds of my mornings.

As I slurped my cereal, Mama and I planned our day. Pointing at the sticky note adhered to the refrigerator, my mother reminded me of my soccer practice after school.

“What would you like me to cook for dinner tonight?” she asked.

This was a privilege, I felt certain few other kids had. To play a part in the planning of dinner, our most important family meal, made me feel important.

“Your famous spaghetti!” I quickly responded.

Laughing, Mama agreed and encouraged me to finish getting ready for school.

Ready to go, I watched as my mother tied her beautiful, dark tresses into a ponytail that would lie hidden beneath a colorful cloth we call a hijab. It had been 2 years since Mama had decided to wear the hijab in public. When other kids would ask me why she wore a scarf on her head, I never knew how to answer.

In the car, I asked Mama the reason why women in our religion, Islam, wear the hijab. She seemed happy that I had asked that question and said, “Well, Yasmine, it is an act of modesty.” I wanted to understand, but I didn’t know what she meant by an “act of modesty.”

Judging from the look on my face, she understood my confusion. Mama explained the meaning of modesty, and then she questioned me.

“When boys talk to you, do you think they’re talking to you because they like you as a person, or because of how beautiful you are?”

Before I could answer, she affectionately stroked my hair.

I had never really thought about it before.  While I thought I understood what she was saying, I still found myself confused.  Did boys really only talk to me because they thought I was pretty?

“Remember, always let people see the beauty in your personality, instead of your looks.”

Arriving at school, Mama leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Have a great day!” she said.  I smiled, hoisted my heavy book bag over my shoulders and made my way to the leaded glass doors, behind which I had spent so many hours.

My first class was English.  I dreaded English class that day because the teacher’s plan was to teach pronouns.  Nonetheless, I tried to understand.  She explained that “Pronouns take the place of nouns. There are several different types of . . .”

A knock at the door interrupted the teacher’s lesson.  She uttered a sarcastic sigh and then dryly said, “Perhaps we can finish this lesson by the end of the week!”

I recall giggling to myself, not only because I was amused by her response but also because I wouldn’t have to listen to 45 minutes of boring pronouns, a subject that seemed as painful to me as sitting on nails.

At the door stood the dean of my school.  Normally, a smile spread across her face when she addressed anyone.  This time, however, her face seemed ashen, with no trace of a smile.

“Good morning, girls,” she said.  “May I see you in the hallway for just a moment?” she said to my teacher.

They both walked into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind them.

On another occasion, a teacher’s absence from the room would be a free ticket to socialize. This time, the room fell silent.  The other children must have also sensed the same solemn mood in the dean’s face.

When the teacher walked into the room, she looked as if she had seen a ghost.  She feigned a smile and walked to the front of the class.  “Uh . . . ladies, in just a few minutes we will move to the other room. It is important that you all be on your best behavior.”

Something is terribly wrong, I thought.  Butterflies fluttered in the pit of my stomach. Those few moments passed like the minutes on a clock whose battery is losing power.

Shortly after, we filed out of the classroom and walked silently to the other room.  There we were told to sit down, that what we were about to hear was more important than anything we had been told before.  As I looked around the room at my teachers’ anxious faces, the butterflies returned with even more intensity.

In moments like these, the senses are heightened.  I never before had been so aware of the brilliant greens and dull oranges that decorated this room.  From the carpet on which I sat, I could smell the years of dust and dirt that had accumulated in and penetrated the fibers.

It was in this room that we learned of the tragedy.  Our dean, asked us, “How many of you have heard of the Twin Towers in New York City?” I looked around and saw about half of the girls’ hands raised. While I honestly didn’t know what the Twin Towers were, I knew that these buildings held a great importance for our country.  She continued, “Well then, today these buildings were hit by planes.”  She went on to say, “Many people died in this accident.”

Immediately, there were tears in many of my peers’ eyes.

The room was quiet.

She then said, “If you need to call your parents or need someone to talk to, please let us know.”

I looked around the room at a sea of tears.  I remember thinking at that moment how easily girls tend to cry.  Yes, it was a horrible event, but how many of these girls were crying simply because their friends were?

It would take several days before I realized the magnitude of this tragedy.  In the moments following the announcements, I felt alone and confused—yes, people had died, but I had often watched the news, which was filled with disasters. What had made this one so different?

“Girls!” the dean called.  My thoughts were interrupted.  “Your parents have been instructed to pick you up as soon as possible.  We feel it is best for everyone to be with their loved ones at such a time.”

Waiting at the front of the school in the unusually frigid air, I seemed more aware of my surroundings than I had ever been before.  Colors, sounds, and textures all seemed to jump out at me.  I had seen the copper roof of our building hundreds of times, but the milky patina never looked so pretty.  The tires of the cars that passed the curb on which I stood swished and came to a halt several feet from me.  Girls climbed into expensive, shiny vehicles.

I was the last one waiting.  Curiosity helped to occupy my time.  A window nearby caught my attention.  Through its dirtied glass, I noticed a TV.  On it were two enormous buildings, both of which were the same height and design.  Images of planes crashing and exploding into the buildings, emitting massive balls of fire, smoke, and debris, played over and over again.  In front of the TV stood our dean, tears rolling down her cheeks.  I turned away quickly, not wanting to see the images replayed; a sadness overcame me.  I wondered to myself, How many parents, brothers, sisters, aunts or uncles were in those buildings?  Did they suffer?  Were they killed instantly?  How many died?  The utterly horrific nature of these events began to register in my mind.

My mother, the last mother to arrive, never looked so beautiful to me.  The door made its familiar “squeak” as I opened it, although it resonated with more power than it ever had before.  It seemed that every movement took on a new meaning.  Before I could fasten my seatbelt, my mother pulled me close to her.  She hugged me, as she usually did.  This time, however, her embrace lingered.  In that hug, my mother seemed to be telling me the depth of her love.

No words were spoken during that 10 minute drive, yet the silence took on a life of its own.  In those moments, I believed we both realized the fragile nature of life—in an instant worlds can collide, changing lives forever.

Over the next few days, I learned more and more about this attack on our country, that a radical Muslim group was thought to have been behind these tragic attacks.  Watching the news one evening, my mother and I discussed our new-found fears.  Several news reports spoke of innocent Muslims being harassed, simply because they wore hijabs or looked a certain way.  I worried for my mother who decided not to leave the house out of fear of such harassment.  I worried for my father who might also fall prey to the stereotypes assigned to men of the Muslim faith.  I worried for my brother who might be hurt by children’s words.

It was in these days following the tragedy that I no longer felt the same as everyone else.  I had become the “Muslim girl.”  An outsider.

Thrust into a world of prejudice, I finally understood what the words racism, discrimination, and hatred truly meant.  Throughout the days and months that followed, I was looked upon with suspicion, simply because of my Middle-eastern descent.  Many children approached me with ignorant questions, or even ridiculed my family and me.  One of my classmates looked at me with seriousness and asked, “So you knew all about this?” I was in shock.  How could I have known about the whole attack before it happened?  After all, my Islamic religion had never taught me to hate or to kill any person.  A girl in my class went so far as to say, “I heard that the people who did it were from someone’s dad’s home country.”  She stared into my eyes, and I soon felt many other eyes on me as well.  I replied with the only answer I could think of: “My father is from Egypt.”  To this she replied, “Same difference!”

I thought back to Saturday school (the Muslim version of Sunday school) and remembered the teachers quoting a verse from the Quran: “He who kills one person is like killing a whole mankind” (5:32).  I simply couldn’t understand how people could equate Islam with terrorism.  Throughout history, people have interpreted religious books such as the Bible, the Torah, the Geeta, and the Quran in manners to suit their own selfish needs.  None of these books teach believers to kill the “infidels.”  Over and over I thought to myself that there are good and bad people in all religions.  I realized that it is the individual who chooses evil over good.

Nine years have passed since the terrorist attacks.  The attitudes toward me have changed.  I am no longer the “Muslim girl.”  Time has a way of diminishing prejudice.  While I am aware that stereotypes still exist, I fortunately live in a community where youth are taught to embrace diversity.  Although I see myself as a typical American teenager, my unusual experiences have changed me as a human being.  In my life, it is more important than ever to respect everyone’s differences, be they religious, ethnic, or cultural.  After all, we are all one race—the human race.

Yasmine is currently a Junior at the University of Michigan completing a B.A. in Psychology, specializing in Brain, Behavior, and Cognitive Sciences. Contact her by email.

Photography by Rodrigo Gaya
Interviews and production by Mercedes Mejia

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(Click image to download flier)

The Ann Arbor District Library and the U of M Muslim Students Association are co-sponsoring this event, which will feature a panel of prominent local Muslim women and an open discussion.

The Panelists:
Heather Laird-Jackson, MPA
Bayyinah Mohammed, ME
Stephanie Flower, ME
Mona Youseff, JD
Shirin Khan, MA & JD

Contact gracek@icpj.net or call (734) 663-1870 for more information.

Add this event to your Google calendar:

Video and production by Mercedes Mejia
Interview by Dustin Dwyer
Photographs by Rodrigo Gaya

Christina Rountree converted to Islam in 2006 (Photo by Rodrigo Gaya)

Christina Rountree was a junior in high school when the two hijacked planes flew into the World Trade Center. And she says, like most Americans, she was flabbergasted and angry.

“And it came out in the news that this was done by Muslims. So I asked my Muslim friends…why would these people do this in the name of Islam? That’s your religion, right?”

Rountree says her friends told her: those people are crazy. They don’t represent Muslims. Islam is a religion of peace.

But Rountree wanted to know more. So she started reading about the faith, and in college she joined the Muslim Student Association on campus.

Rountree says she was trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, and she decided she wanted to help other non-Muslim Americans understand Islam.

“They were getting the wrong information about Muslims, and that worried me,” says Rountree. “Because as an African American, I know what it’s like to be judged just by the way you look.”

But Rountree says she didn’t know if anyone would listen to her. And she shared her doubts with a friend.

“And she said ‘Well, Christina, wouldn’t you think it would be even cooler to be an example of what a Muslim really is and not spend your whole life talking about what they aren’t?’” Rountree remembers. “And when she said that, it just clicked. And I got chills and I cried, and oh, it was such an emotional moment.”

Rountree says she believed in the prophet Muhammad and all the good he had done. She liked the structure Islam offered, and the fact that she could look to the Koran to answer everything she needed.

Rountree converted to the faith on November 17, 2006. That means she made her proclamation of faith – that there’s no God but God, and Muhammad is his prophet. That’s the first of what are called the five pillars of Islam.

Rountree says she felt like converting to Islam was something God wanted her to do.

But it definitely wasn’t something her mom wanted her to do.

“My mom completely flipped out, she said I was doing it because of guys, cause I’ve always been into Middle-Eastern or Indian-looking guys,” she says. “But I didn’t have a boyfriend at the time, so she couldn’t play that card on me. And my dad said: do whatever makes you happy. Do whatever makes you think that you’ve found God.”

Rountree says her mom has come around some since then, and has even gone to a service with her at her mosque.

But the experience of being a Muslim convert has also been difficult and painful at times.

She says the attempted airliner bombing near Detroit on Christmas Day was a huge step backward for Muslims everywhere.

“It wasn’t even two steps, I would say it was like a thousand steps back,” she says. “Because we had just gotten to the point where you could talk about Islam in a positive way, and not seem like some kind of traitor, and then that happened.”

To make matters worse, Rountree is a flight attendant. And soon after the terrorist attempt by the young Nigerian Muslim, she was on an airplane, getting ready to board passengers, when a fellow attendant who was on that Christmas Day flight started talking about it.

“And him and the pilot were going back and forth about: these Muslims shouldn’t be in America, I hope they do all die, and they just kept going on and on about it,” she remembers.

What she was hearing were exactly the kinds of ideas about Muslims she’d hoped to counter by example. But Rountree says she kept quiet, didn’t tell them she’s a Muslim.

She says it was just too charged a situation for that conversation.

But she says she hopes more Americans will do what she did — and learn about Islam for themselves.

“We as Americans are so quick to ask questions about everything, she says, “except for this.”

Rountree says she has a lot still to learn about her adopted faith. She doesn’t wear hijab – or the head scarf – because she says it’s not something she’s earned. But she says she hopes and prays that one day she will.

Contact Sarah Hulett at sarahhu@umich.edu

Anika Farhan and Katelyn Fuller pose in Bangladeshi dress in their dorm room at Calvin College. (Photo courtesy of Anika Farhan)

Going away to college can be tough on any student — even more so for an international student moving to the U.S. for the first time.

Dustin Dwyer spoke with her and her roommate for the latest in our series Muslims in Michigan.

First off, it’s not as if Anika Farhan was sitting in her house in Bangladesh, threw a dart at a map, hit Grand Rapids, and decided to move here. Her sister was already a doctor in Grand Rapids.

And she wanted to be close to her sister, so she applied to several universities in Michigan.

“I got acceptance from all the universities,” she says. “But I chose Calvin because I wanted to go to a smaller school. I knew it was a Christian school, but I didn’t think it would affect me that much, you know.”

At first, though, it did. It really did. Calvin is one of the leading universities in the country that’s affiliated with the Reformed tradition in Christianity. When you walk into Farhan’s residence hall, one of the first things you see is a board with today’s scripture quote.

And on her first day at Calvin, Farhan found herself in a kind of prayer group where she was asked to take part.

“I was like, ‘Oh, I’m not a Christian,” Farhan says. “People ask me, do you want to do this, do you want to do that, and I’m like, ‘No.’ I don’t know what to say.”

So, at first, things were just really awkward for her.

But let’s also not forget Farhan’s roommate.

That’s Katelyn Fuller. She’s from Chino, Calif., raised in the Christian Reformed Church, went to Christian school growing up. She’s gets accepted into Calvin. Then she gets assigned a roommate.

“I friend-requested her on Facebook,” Fuller says. “Then I saw under her information that she was Muslim, and I was like okay, I’m going to have to ask her about this and see how it’s going to go.”

And she had to ask her parents about it too, because after all, they’re footing the bill for this Christian education.

“We talked about it a lot and we prayed about it,” Fuller says. “And it was something we decided all of us together that it was a good thing that I’d be roommates with a Muslim. And it was a good decision. I’m really happy about it.”

So, though it was a little awkward at first, these two have become good friends. Katelyn’s given Anika fashion tips for how to fit in on an American college campus. Anika teaches Katelyn about Bangladesh.

“She’s been teaching me a little Bengali,” Fuller says. “So that’s been cool. Learned a couple words.”

This kind of cultural exchange also includes talk of religion.

“One time she came back from the church, and she was like, ‘Oh, I learned this about this, so what do you think about it?’” Farhan says. “And then we just were carried on, and we talked about all the differences and similarities between Islam and Christianity.”

In one sense, it’s been easy to find common ground. Farhan says she grew up in a conservative household, so she and Fuller have many of the same values. Neither spends too much time with the boys, or goes out to bars.

But there are still real differences. Belief in Jesus is a big one. For Farhan, Jesus is a prophet, for Fuller he is God made man. And neither one of them is going to change their mind.

“I think we’ve had those moments in discussion, where we just kinda agree to disagree ’cause we know it’s not going to get anywhere,” Fuller says. “But, I mean, that’s fine. I’ve definitely learned a lot, so that’s good.”

And despite these disagreements, Farhan says being in this place, surrounded by Christians, living with a Christian roommate, it’s forced her to take her own religion more seriously, and brought her closer to Islam.

“I was born a Muslim, so it was just by birth,” she says. “But now I feel like, no it’s by my choice. I think it’s the truth, and I will stay true to it.”

Contact Dustin Dwyer at dtdwyer@umich.edu.