In January 2018, I signed up to work as a substitute teacher at a public school in Columbus, Ohio. When I showed up, I wore what I thought was professional attire for a school teacher, including a long-sleeved shirt and dress pants. I also wore my hijab, which is a symbol of my faith and tradition in the Muslim community. When I arrived, the principal saw me and immediately frowned once she saw my appearance and the hijab on my head. She then informed me that it would be my first and last day at the school before I left to go to my classroom.

While walking the school hallways with the classroom assistant, I asked her what she thought about the principal canceling my assignment. She said I looked too different, and the students would not accept me. It was then that I also noticed that almost all the staff and students were white. This situation left me disheartened, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my appearance — and perhaps my outwardly Muslim expression — had affected their decision.

That incident was a stark introduction to the challenges I face as a hijabi and Muslim woman in a predominantly white school. The hijab and what it represents in Islam is often misunderstood and unfairly stereotyped. Still, despite these challenges, I believe my story is important — not only to create a better understanding of Muslim culture and Muslim women’s identity, but also to build a more welcoming educational environment for Muslim educators and students.

A Lasting Impression

The experience of being fired from my first teaching job was undoubtedly a traumatic experience — and one that I later learned would be a regular, systemic experience I would have because of my Muslim identity.

Once I was let go from my substitute teaching job, I decided to get another two-month teaching position in a governmental education institution. Yet again, I was met with apprehensive and displeasing looks. One staff member asked, "Did your father force you to cover yourself?" Another student even questioned if I was hiding a burn or bald head underneath my hijab.

Then, in 2019, when I became the lead Arabic teacher at my current school, I attended my first professional development conference. Similar to my first teaching experience as a substitute teacher, I was surrounded by a room full of white educators, and yet again, I was the only person wearing a hijab — that is, until another teacher, a Black American woman, came up to me and whispered that she was an American Muslim. She told me that she is Muslim like me, and while she wears a hijab in her daily work, she decided to take it off for the conference for fear of not fitting in. Her decision highlighted the pressure and the feeling of otherness Muslims often experience, that to be accepted, you must conform — even in a conference that supposedly promotes diversity and inclusion.

Even in my current teaching position, working at a school where 90 percent of students identify as Muslim, I still see the division. Despite a diverse student body, social interactions are often segregated, and during record days and professional development workshops, Muslim students and white American students often sit separately. An educational aide once told me she felt offended by my hijab and thought it was disrespectful to her religious choices. When I shared my thoughts and why I wear it, I explained that the hijab is part of an Islamic philosophy where women cover their hair and wear modest clothes to be valued for their minds rather than their appearance.

As a teacher, I witness the effects of these biases on my students. Many of my female students fear how they will be perceived outside our schools. Relatedly, one of my male students told me that he is lucky that he can hide his identity as a Muslim, but his sisters cannot because, much like me, they wear their hijabs at school and during class.

After this experience, I felt an overwhelming sense of Islamaphobia and racism. While student bodies become more demographically diverse and schools experience a rise in anti-Muslim hate, it is clear that these biases still exist and are a daily challenge that Muslim students and educators must contend with.

As someone who has been negatively portrayed as an educator, I feel compelled to openly share my voice and reveal the struggles of being marginalized, in hopes that schools, particularly those that are majority white and non-Muslim, can begin to see us as human and not a stereotype.

Humanizing the Hijab

These instances from parents, fellow teachers and students not only revealed their lack of understanding of Islamic culture but also underscored the importance of explaining and dismantling these stereotypes within my own school. Thankfully, my experiences across various educational institutions have influenced my development but have not changed my core identity, aspirations or the person I strive to present to my students. Because of this, I made it my responsibility to proudly and unabashedly wear my hijab to humanize my experience so my students, peers and school leaders could learn what it means to be a Muslim student or educator in these institutions.

Despite the media's portrayal of Muslim women as oppressed, I consistently engage in conversations with my colleagues to correct these misconceptions. I started by organizing cultural awareness sessions in my school during the in-service days, where I shared my personal stories and the significance of the hijab. Then, I created a mentorship collaboration with the middle school girls to record and talk about their identity through Flipgrid's virtual classroom program to support Muslim students and help them feel more confident about their identity. I also initiated open dialogues with students and staff through the Arabic teaching conversation club to discuss diversity and inclusion.

Outside of building these initiatives, I have found strength in connecting with fellow educators who understand the complexities of being a minority teacher in public schools, both within and beyond the Muslim community. I have collaborated with other educators to develop inclusive curricula reflecting diverse cultures and perspectives. I also advocated for policy changes within the school to ensure that Muslim students' religious practices are respected, such as accommodating prayer times and allowing religious attire.

These relationships have been instrumental in sustaining my advocacy efforts; by engaging in these efforts, I strive to create an educational landscape where every student and educator feels valued and respected.

The Journey Continues

My journey as a Muslim teacher in a predominantly white school has been challenging, but deeply rewarding, oddly enough. Although I am only five years into my education career, I would like to believe my experiences have not only fostered a greater understanding of Muslim culture and identity but also challenged misconceptions and realities Muslim women face.

My decision to wear a hijab is a testament to my identity, faith and resilience and not a stereotype that should be internalized at the expense of Muslim students and staff. As educators, we are responsible for embracing diversity wholeheartedly and supporting one another in our mission to educate and inspire.

By amplifying diverse voices and promoting dialogue, we can dismantle barriers, celebrate differences and nurture an environment where every student and educator feels valued and respected.