Farah's journey: A New Orleans Iraqi-American adjusts to the Trump presidency
By Danielle Dreilinger
NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune
The University of New Orleans stocks prayer rugs in the University Center, but that was a whole five minutes’ walk away. So Farah and her friend Radayna Thabata shut themselves in a study room adorned with a “UNO PROUD” sticker.
Farah adjusted her blue hijab and closed her eyes. It was a moment of calm and introspection in the middle of a busy day of classes and clubs for the 20-year-old senior. A few minutes later, she stepped aside for Radayna, saying, “It’s all yours, sister!”
As Radayna knelt and bowed, Farah messaged with the university’s community liaison group about homecoming, then opened a calendar to figure out the Muslim Students’ Association’s spring activities.
There’s another event she’s trying to schedule: her wedding. Farah and her fiance, Amir, hoped to visit family in Iraq at the end of their honeymoon. But Iraq has banned U.S. citizens from entering the country, reciprocating President Donald Trump’s temporary ban on travelers from Iraq, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria and Yemen. Some family members in Canada might not be able to come to the wedding; Farah isn’t sure of their immigration status.
“All travel plans are at a standstill,” she said.
Farah is among the many immigrants reconsidering celebrations and worrying about their future in the United States after Trump’s immigration order and his intent to build a wall on the Mexican border.
“I have a lot of loved ones supporting me. But then I click on the news and there’s another side. People who want me to leave,” she said.
Farah has citizenship in four countries, including the U.S. She’s lived in New Orleans since she was 4, except for a Katrina evacuation to Houston. She loves its restaurants, its trees – even the broken-down homes. Her three siblings all attend or graduated from city universities; one is at LSU medical school.
When Farah visited Iraq for the first time, just four years ago, it was clear she didn’t belong. Wrong accent. Couldn’t manage her long abaya veil in the wind. She got chided at for sitting cross-legged. Even her “very traditional” parents made faux pas — they left so long ago.
“People say, in quotes, ‘Go back home,'” Farah said. “(New Orleans) is my home.”
Farah has been explaining her family’s traditions for a long time. When she was in the third grade, her mother organized an assembly at her school, Harold Keller Elementary in Metairie, to explain that she would begin wearing a headscarf.
It seemed to be a first for everyone. “The principal stood up and she really didn’t know how to handle it,” and asked Farah to tell her classmates why they were celebrating. This to a 9-year-old who was so shy she turned beet red when a teacher asked a question.
Farah didn’t know what to say. Desperate, she pointed to her mom. “Tomorrow, I’m going to be dressed like her!” she recalled blurting.
The other third-graders were confused. Why couldn’t she stay the same? Why did she have to change?
“I’m still going to be the same me,” she said. “I’m just going to have something on my head.” Then they all ate chips, cake and grape leaves.
In fact, Farah wasn’t the same timid girl afterwards. Her classmates got excited over her colorful scarves. They talked about their favorites. Did she have one with polka dots?
“I just became this popular kid,” she said.
On Wednesday, UNO Learning Resource Center director Shannon Williamson checked in with Farah and Radayna. Had they experienced any prejudice on campus?
In a word, no. “I’ve always felt very welcomed here. This campus specifically is so diverse,” Farah said.
Radayna, a senior biology major, had one professor say something weird when she didn’t respond to his pro-Trump comment, she said. Other than that, “the university has stood by us,” she said. “Everyone else has shown such love.”
UNO President John Nicklow personally told Farah to report any problems, spokesman Adam Norris confirmed. He said school should be a haven. The Women’s Center reached out to the Muslim Student Association to see if they could help, director Lisa Verner said.
However, Farah is painfully familiar with fear. “This was going on before Trump – Islamophobia,” she said. “Looks and stares and moms pulling their children away.” Her mother used to tell her, “They’re looking at you because you’re beautiful.”
Trump said he ordered the ban, which is currently stayed in federal court, for security’s sake. Farah gets that. “I want security. I don’t want terror,” she said. Her family in the Middle East has to worry about terrorism all the time.
Her refugee parents don’t often talk about the past. They lived in the United Kingdom and the United Arab Emirates before coming to the U.S. Still, sometimes current events remind them “of their struggles in escaping a dictator,” Farah said. They managed to get out in the 1970s before the Saddam Hussein regime began ransacking houses and abducting people.
“I’m thankful I live in New Orleans, where people are more accepting and more diverse,” Farah said. Yet the possibility of an anti-Muslim attack “does terrify me.” At night she goes out only in a group, and she sets herself a curfew. She initially did not want to say that she has Iraqi citizenship, fearing it could be used against her. When she became an American, she emphasized, she was a citizen of the United Arab Emirates.
Farah’s anthropology class sat around UNO’s Katrina monument, talking about borders and belonging. She quoted an example from the Koran, describing two seas, salt and fresh, that meet but do not mix. There’s a barrier between the two sides, “this in-between space.”
“When you’re on the edge, what can happen?” instructor Rachel Breunlin asked. She answered her own question: “You can see more.”
Farah nodded. “You start opening your mind to different realms,” she said.
“I don’t hold any resentment toward the people that are, that have – I don’t want to say hate – dislike for my community,” she said after class. “But I do wish they’d open up and ask us questions.”
Throughout college, when Farah hasn’t been studying, working in the psychology lab, mentoring or volunteering, she has spent a lot of time trying to raise awareness about Islam. It shares some classic U.S. values, she said. Environmentalism, “free speech and equality for all people … these are all Islamic teachings.” She and her sister founded the local chapter of an international group inspired by a 7th century leader, Hussain, who died fighting injustice.
Fellow Muslim Students’ Association officer Mariam Khan joined Farah and Radayna in the library for the planning session Wednesday afternoon. The MSA’s most popular event is Hijab Awareness Day, where they tie headscarves and give out flowers and sweets. Although it’s more than two months away, a lot of non-Muslims have already contacted Radayna asking to participate.
People say, in quotes, ‘Go back home.’ This is my home.” – Farah Alkhafaf
Maybe this year they’ll teach students about male guidelines for modesty, “If we can get more guys to sign up,” Radayna said. “I’m going to make them,” vowed Mariam, who had already gathered signatures to reboot the club’s email list.
One part of the awareness day is to shed light on Islamic culture and terms, such as “jihad.” In public, Western discourse, it’s associated with violent attacks and a terrifying man videotaped on a windswept desert with hostages.
However, that’s not its original meaning, Farah said. “‘Jihad’ just means ‘a struggle'” — for self-improvement, to avoid being petty and mean, the journey to a better self.
“We all struggle to be the best person we can be,” the psychology major said. “That’s what makes us human, right?”
There’s a lot of excitement on the horizon for Farah. “I’ve always had in mind (earning a) Ph.D., but for right now I think I’m just going to get my master’s,” after a gap year to adjust to Ohio, where her fiance runs several businesses.
During the library planning session, all the organization in the world couldn’t stop the friends’ conversation from turning to Farah’s wedding. Where to go for the honeymoon? The beach?
“It has to be, like, a deserted beach, though, because I can’t wear a burquini,” Farah said, rolling her eyes. She thinks the full-body swimsuit makes her look weird. And “with this travel ban, too — I mean, perfect timing!”
Scandinavia? Somewhere in the U.S.?
“She can’t go home, she can’t stay here,” Mariam quipped. Then Mariam corrected herself: “No — she can stay here.”
