“It’s just how some people react to people like us,” my mother told me when I was around eight years old, in response to me asking her why a strange man on the bus home from school was shouting at her. My mum wears a hijab – a headscarf – so she’s visibly a Muslim woman and has been subjected to her fair share of verbal abuse since my parents moved to the UK in the early 1990s. But how do you explain this to an eight-year-old who doesn’t understand why a person who’s never encountered us before suddenly decides to hurl abuse at a stranger on a bus? Sadly, this wouldn’t be the last time I came across what is now referred to as Islamophobia.

The term Islamophobia first appeared in public policy discourse in 1997, but it’s still not officially defined by the UK government. It was only relatively recently, in 2017, that a definition of Islamophobia was put forward by an all-party parliamentary group (APPG) but the Conservative party dropped its plans to give Islamophobia an official definition. But even without a state definition, it’s a type of racism that’s understood to target expressions of Islam or perceived Muslimness. And it’s on the rise.

As of March 2023, where the perceived religion of the victim was recorded, two in five (44%) of all religious hate crime offences were targeted against Muslims – making Muslims the most targeted faith group in the UK. But it’s certainly not new. In August 2018, having recently resigned as foreign secretary, Boris Johnson wrote a column for The Telegraph in which he compared women in niqabs to “looking like letterboxes”, which led to a 375% increase in Islamophobia incidents the week after the article was published.

But one thing Islamophobia is not is a ‘phobia’, despite its name. One of the most common things I’ve heard over the years when it comes to this form of prejudice is “But it’s not really racism, is it?” There are still misconceptions surrounding it. Islamophobia isn’t based on individual fear or apprehension, even though many people can regard it in this way. And when it’s understood in this context, it minimises the experiences of Muslims and frames this form of racism as a lesser version of hate and prejudice.

It can also imply that because of this fear, people have no control over their beliefs or behaviour, normalising Islamophobia and removing any type of accountability.

With this normalisation comes very real consequences for Muslim communities – from experiencing abuse and violence to dealing with prejudice and discrimination in the workplace. According to a recent Savanta ComRes survey, which asked 1,500 UK Muslims about their work and careers, seven out of 10 said they had encountered Islamophobia in a range of work scenarios, including engaging with customers or clients (44%) and at work-related social events (42%).

Another survey conducted by the University of Birmingham and YouGov in 2022 found that the British public is almost three times more likely to hold prejudiced views of Islam than they are of other religions. Muslims are also the UK’s second “least liked” group with 25.9% of people surveyed feeling negatively towards Muslim communities.

It’s why it’s more important than ever that Islamophobia is properly understood for what it is: a structural form of racism that targets a specific group of people for the simple act of practising a faith. And it shouldn’t fall on Muslims to constantly call out and stand against Islamophobia because we can’t push back on this normalisation without people outside of our communities also taking a stand with us. 

• A good starting point for accessing more resources is the official Islamophobia Awareness Month website which contains a range of information packs that you can easily download and access dependent on the context – if it’s your school, university or workplace.
• The not-for-profit MEND (Muslim Engagement and Development) also has several resources and publications available to read, which includes guides, factsheets and toolkits.
• It’s also worth engaging with prominent Muslim voices and their work – from books such as Cut From The Same Cloth and It’s Not About The Burqa to publications like Amaliah.

Whenever I encounter an Islamophobic comment or abusive behaviour, one thing I wish non-Muslims would do is call it out. It can be exhausting work for Muslims and our collective voices are always stronger together. In the end, solidarity is action and not just words.

Image: Getty