Читать книгу Fear in Our Hearts - Caleb Iyer Elfenbein - Страница 7

Late in 2018, I was part of a team at Grinnell College that put together a national poll asking Americans a set of questions relating to national identity.1 Among them was a question about being a “real” American. We asked respondents to rank twelve different traits on a scale from not important to very important.

Topping the list of traits, over 90 percent of respondents reported that believing in treating people equally was essential to being a real American. Approximately 80 percent said that accepting people of different racial and religious backgrounds was also very important.

At the same time, nearly a quarter of people who responded said that having been born in America was very important to being a “real” American. Just as many said that it was very important to be Christian. Approximately 20 percent said that accepting people of different religious and racial backgrounds was not very important to being a real American. I’ll call these respondents “nativist.”

Based on these numbers, it would be tempting to dismiss nativist American respondents as exceptions to a more general rule of tolerance and acceptance. In a way, that might be the case. But the reality of American life is a lot messier than a poll can capture.

Take, for example, attitudes about American Muslims. About half of the general public has doubts about the extent to which Muslims really want to be part of life in this country and whether they can truly dedicate themselves to American values. These numbers show that it’s not just nativist Americans who question whether Muslims can be real Americans.

A good number of people who report believing wholeheartedly in treating all people equally and accepting people from different backgrounds also think that Muslims could be an exception to that rule. I’m not doubting people’s sincerity when they report a deep belief in equality and acceptance. But I’ve been asking myself why so many people see Muslims as a possible exception—and the answer I’ve come to might not be what you expect.

The attacks of September 11, 2001, traumatized the country. They left us feeling vulnerable and fearful in ways that many Americans had never experienced. Crimes targeting Muslims (and others assumed to be Muslim) skyrocketed once the identities of the attackers became clear. People from across the political and ideological spectrum argued that law enforcement and other security officials should profile Muslims to prevent further attacks. In general, Muslims in the United States entered the national spotlight as never before, often with harmful effects.

It would be easy to draw a straight line from the immediate aftermath of September 11, 2001, to the doubts that many Americans report having about the place of Muslims in the fabric of the country today. In fact, it’s too easy for us to draw this line. Explaining contemporary anti-Muslim hostility simply as an extension of the fear that many Americans felt after September 11 makes it too easy to avoid asking hard questions about the state of public life in our country.

Anti-Muslim sentiment today is certainly connected to the aftermaths of September 11 and to the fears that reappear every time there is some kind of attack in which someone who is Muslim is involved. But if we take a step back and look at anti-Muslim sentiment as part of a bigger picture, then we can begin to see that the doubts many Americans harbor about whether Muslims can ever be truly American result from something else—something that we must confront together.

The discrepancy between a general commitment to equality and tolerance and specific views regarding where Muslims fit into the fabric of American life comes from fear. Fear is certainly a normal part of being human. It’s a rational response to immediate threats, or at least threats we are likely to encounter in our everyday lives. But when our feelings about other people begin to reflect threats that are not part of our everyday experiences, we need to consider where that fear comes from—what’s producing it and what makes it stick.2

A foundational premise of this book is that widespread fear or suspicion of Muslims results from the corrosive effects of hate—and, more precisely, public hate. Public hate is public speech or activity that draws on and/or perpetuates negative stereotypes about a particular group of people and that encourages others to fear or suspect all members of that group.3

In some ways, it might be more appropriate to say that public hate encourages fear of the idea of a particular group of people because of what they represent. The stereotypes that are a central part of public hate often have little connection to actual individual people themselves. Yet the effects of fear that results from public hate are very real for the people experiencing them.

When directed toward a particular group—in this case, Muslims—public hate can lead people who think of themselves as tolerant and accepting to adopt attitudes that don’t match how they describe their values. And public hate can push people to fear, or at least be suspicious of, people and things in ways that don’t match what they’re most likely to encounter in their own lives.

Public hate may not lead people to say or do terrible things themselves—though this is certainly a possibility—but it may cause them to be less willing to speak up when they hear or see something that goes against ideals that they otherwise consider very important. This ambivalence is one of the most corrosive effects of public hate.

Public hate can take many forms. It can be longstanding, so baked into history that it’s hard for us to see it. It can flare up against a particular group of people because of something that happens. Whatever form it takes, the normalization of public hate is perhaps today’s greatest threat to a public life that reflects our stated core values because it makes it difficult, if not impossible, for certain communities to participate in our life together without fear about what might happen to them as they move through their everyday lives. This situation makes equality, as well as real freedom, impossible.

I’m not arguing that as a country we shouldn’t pay attention to risks. Everyone deserves to live in safe conditions that make flourishing possible. I am arguing that we need to pay very close attention to how closely our fears match risks in our everyday lives. When our fears don’t match these risks, it becomes all too easy to move away from our common commitment to equality as a linchpin of our shared public lives.

Building on years of research about anti-Muslim sentiment in the United States, this book offers a case study of public life in our country. It shows what public hate can look like and the ways in which it undermines core American values of equality, tolerance, and freedom. It also shows how, in the face of public hate, American Muslims have created a practical path for public life that many of us can learn from.

In the pages that follow, we will explore the effects of fear on American society, Muslims and non-Muslims alike, and how it has created a need for Muslims to engage the broader American public in specific ways. These efforts at public outreach, in which Muslims seek to humanize themselves, are not entirely voluntary. They are, at least in part, efforts at self-protection in the face of public hate. Despite the hostile environment that has made it necessary for Muslims to put in countless hours of humanizing public engagement and outreach, there are very important lessons non-Muslims can learn from the example they set. We’ll talk about how these lessons might translate into small, practical ways that non-Muslims can support Muslims, creating a more welcoming public life for everyone.

Before we get too much further into our examination of anti-Muslim hostility and American Muslim engagement in public life, I want to tell you a little bit about what to expect as we move forward together. We begin in chapter 1 by exploring some concepts and themes that are at the heart of this book. You will also meet Maheen Haq, a young woman from Hagerstown, Maryland, who wrote an article called “Being Muslim Is . . . .” Maheen serves as something of a touchstone at important moments in the book.

Chapters 2 and 3 identify when public hate against Muslims started to become a more regular feature of public life and explore how public hate has continued to affect the conditions of public life for Muslims in the United States. We will talk about big trends in anti-Muslim sentiment and activity by analyzing significant moments in the emergence of contemporary anti-Muslim activism. We will also meet people who have experienced these trends in their everyday lives.

One of the most challenging decisions in writing this book has been where to put an extended discussion of September 11, 2001. Somewhat counterintuitively, I’ve decided to locate this material toward the end of the book, in chapter 4. This placement will make it possible for us to consider an explanation of contemporary anti-Muslim hostility that doesn’t simply draw a straight line from September 11 to today. Chapter 4 includes reflections on fear, its effects, and how what we do with our fears relates to the kinds of public life we can help to create in our own local communities and beyond.

The discussion of fear and public life leads directly into chapter 5, which looks at the steps that American Muslims communities have taken to push back against anti-Muslim hostility through public outreach and engagement. Just as in chapters 2 and 3, in chapter 5 I draw on media reports to talk about trends in American Muslim public outreach and engagement and to introduce you to amazing people who are trying to resist disturbing developments in our country.

When I first began researching anti-Muslim activity, I didn’t anticipate that following Muslim public engagement would become such a significant part of the project. The fact that it’s the culminating chapter of the book is very much a reflection of what I’ve learned in the process.

As my students and I began to collect data about anti-Muslim activity, one of them kept coming across newspaper reports of heartwarming stories about events bringing together Muslim and non-Muslim Americans, often involving interfaith work or other kinds of public outreach by American Muslim communities. Aren’t these important to include, too, she asked?

The more I thought about it, the more important it became to me to figure out a way to include these stories. They are just as much a part of our contemporary public life as anti-Muslim activity.4 Chapter 5 draws on the examples that Muslim public outreach and engagement efforts provide to offer some practical thoughts about what it means to engage in public life in a way that says “hello” to people, that welcomes others into our lives.

I’ve included additional information about important points raised in the book in a series of notes at the end of the volume. Some of them are brief and just point you to additional sources you could read about a topic if you’re interested. Many are much longer—almost like mini essays. These longer notes tell a “scholarly,” behind-the-scenes version of what’s happening in the main part of the book, focusing especially on key concepts and themes. They are meant to be a resource, but they aren’t essential to understanding the core content of the volume. I’ve already included a couple of such long notes for the preface and for this introduction. There are more in chapter 1, but they decrease in frequency over the course of the book as I introduce fewer concepts and focus more on presenting and analyzing data I’ve collected.

At the end of the volume, you’ll find a list for further reading, which includes short descriptions of the sources I’m recommending as next steps in learning more deeply about the themes we’ll discuss in this book.

Now that I’ve told you about what you’ll find as you move through the book, I’d like us to transition to chapter 1 with a little exercise. I invite you to think with me for a moment about something that almost every single person has: your morning routine. Reflecting on something as simple as our morning routine can help us think about some core themes in this book, like citizenship, fear, freedom, and public life.