Faith as a Bridge: Confronting Division in a Multicultural World

[Extended Version]

📸ME Monitor

I grew up in a world where Eid, Diwali and Christmas were celebrated with equal joy. Where our dinner tables blended biryani and samosas with turkey and, faith was never a reason to turn someone away—it was a reason to invite them in. 

Faith was a bridge, not a barrier!

So, when I moved to the UK and first heard the word Islamophobia, I was stunned. 

How could something so alien to my lived experience be so entrenched here? It was a concept I had never needed to understand back home, and even now, I don’t think I ever truly will.

📸 ME Monitor

From Apartheid to the UK: A Different Kind of Division

Growing up in apartheid South Africa, we were segregated by race, but never by faith. 

Despite the systemic injustices, our communities found ways to coexist, and faith was never a dividing line.

But here, in a country that prides itself on multiculturalism, I saw something different—an undercurrent of religious division that I had never encountered back home. The promise of diversity felt real on the surface, but beneath it, I began to sense the fear, the misunderstanding, the distance.

A Conversation That Broke My Heart

One day, I was on the phone with my mum, casually chatting about the news when I mentioned an attack on a mosque. There was a pause.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

I hesitated. How could I explain something so intangible—the weight of microaggressions, the unspoken discomfort in certain spaces, the way a single glance could carry volumes of judgment?

Her voice broke through my thoughts. “How can people treat each other like this?”

I heard the pain in her words. The same confusion I felt. How? 

How could a community that had always been a part of our lives—our family, our friends, our neighbours, our colleagues—be reduced to a stereotype?

How could hatred, so deeply rooted in ignorance and fear, thrive in a place that claims to embrace difference?

📸 Washington Post

I had no answers. Just an ache in my chest.

I still don’t have the answers. But what I do know is this: division is not inevitable. It is a choice. And just as it is chosen, it can be unchosen—by those willing to see beyond fear, beyond prejudice, beyond the barriers we build between each other.

The Rising Tide of Islamophobia

What was once a quiet unease has now become a roaring wave. Islamophobia isn’t just something we read about in the news or scroll past on social media.

It’s in the way Muslim communities are watched with suspicion — in the uneasy glances on public transport, the job interviews that mysteriously go nowhere, the mosques defaced, and the women harassed for wearing a hijab.

It’s in the stories of fathers attacked on their way home from prayer, of children bullied at school for the names they carry, of mothers who now hesitate before stepping outside in their traditional clothing.

This isn’t paranoia. It’s reality.

📸 Byline Times 

Anti-Muslim hate incidents spiked following the Southport stabbings in July 2024 with a 73% increase in Islamophobic assaults—each one a moment of fear, a moment of humiliation, a moment that someone had to live through.

These aren’t statistics. They are people. They are families. They are lives being shaped by the weight of suspicion, ignorance, and hate.

This didn’t happen overnight. It has been stoked, fed, and allowed to fester. 

By politicians who use dog whistles as campaign slogans. By media that casually paint Muslims as the perpetual "other." By online echo chambers that fuel conspiracy theories until they spill into the real world with bricks through mosque windows and fists raised in anger.

📷 Reuters

When we allow hate to grow, it doesn’t stop at one community. It seeps into everything. It erodes the very fabric of who we are and what we claim to stand for.

Islamophobia in the Public Eye

I still remember watching Nadiya Hussain win The Great British Bake Off, her warmth and talent lighting up the screen. She became a national treasure overnight, proof that Britain’s diversity was something to be celebrated. 

But behind the applause and admiration, there was something darker waiting.

📷 Huff Post

Despite her success, despite the joy she brought to millions, Nadiya has been pelted with objects, spat at, and subjected to relentless Islamophobic abuse. 

Not for anything she’s done—just for existing as a visibly Muslim woman. 

Just for wearing a hijab. Just for daring to belong. And she’s not alone.

Muslim MPs have spoken about the death threats that arrive in their inboxes like clockwork, the slurs whispered—or shouted—at them as they walk through Westminster. 

Journalists and activists who dare to challenge Islamophobia find themselves drowning in a deluge of online hate, their words twisted, their faces plastered across hate-filled forums, their safety constantly in question.

This is the reality of being visibly Muslim in the UK today. 

No level of success, no amount of "good representation," no endless proving of one’s Britishness can shield someone from the prejudice that lurks beneath the surface.

And yet, what is more shocking than the abuse itself is how normal it has become. 

How quickly these stories fade from public outrage, how easily these voices are dismissed.

The Role of Politics and the Media

Hate doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s sown. It’s nurtured. And far too often, it’s given a megaphone by those in power.

For years, the media has drip-fed the public a toxic narrative—one where Muslims are always the other, always a threat, always just a headline away from being vilified. 

A single crime committed by a Muslim becomes a front-page scandal, a supposed confirmation of every tired stereotype. Meanwhile, the crimes against Muslims barely make a ripple, buried beneath the noise, or dismissed as isolated incidents.

📸 Daily Sabah

And then there’s politics—the calculated rhetoric, the hidden prejudices masquerading as debate, the laws and policies that disproportionately target Muslim communities under the guise of security. 

Time and time again, we’ve seen far-right groups gain momentum, emboldened by fearmongering and misinformation. And yet, instead of shutting them down, politicians and media outlets often hand them a platform, legitimising their hate under the banner of "free speech" and "balanced discussion."

The consequences are not theoretical. They are real, immediate, and devastating.

During the recent Israel-Gaza conflict, the impact was undeniable. Anti-Muslim hate crimes surged. 

Reports flooded in—of Muslim women being spat at in the streets, of mosques defaced, of businesses vandalised, of people attacked simply for existing as Muslims. 

Entire communities lived in fear, their safety suddenly hanging in the balance.

📸 Reuters

According to Equi —a think tank shaping UK policy with ethical, Muslim-informed research - British Muslims are three times more likely to leave the UK —not in search of opportunity, but to escape the weight of religious discrimination.

This is what happens when hate is left unchecked. This is what happens when the media and politicians fuel the fire instead of putting it out.

And the scariest part? It’s a cycle we’ve seen before.

From the "War on Terror" rhetoric of the early 2000s to the relentless framing of Muslims as a security threat, history has shown us exactly how dangerous this road is. We know where it leads. And yet, here we are—watching it unfold again, with lessons unlearned, with lives at stake.

Everyday Islamophobia

Islamophobia isn’t just the attacks that make headlines. It’s quieter than that. More insidious. It seeps into everyday life, shaping experiences in ways that are hard to call out but impossible to ignore.

It’s the Muslim woman in a job interview, watching the interviewer’s eyes flicker to her hijab before they suddenly lose interest in her CV. It’s the countless studies that prove—over and over again—that Muslim job seekers, even with identical qualifications, are far less likely to get a call-back. 

It’s not just about rejection. 

It’s about the unspoken message behind it: You don’t belong here.

📸 MuslimsInRail #IAM2020

It’s the security guard who watches a bearded man just a little too closely in a shop. The taxi that mysteriously cancels when it sees a name that sounds “too foreign.” The teacher who assumes a Muslim child’s parents must be “oppressive” if she wears a headscarf. 

It’s the way entire communities are forced to prove, again and again, that they are peaceful, loyal, “one of the good ones”—while others are never asked to justify their existence.

These daily indignities aren’t just frustrating. They are exhausting. 

They chip away at dignity, at confidence, at the simple right to move through the world without suspicion or scrutiny. 

And they aren’t random. They are the product of a society where Islamophobia is embedded into the very structures that are supposed to provide opportunity.

📸 The Lantern

Because when Muslim professionals are passed over for jobs, when Muslim children grow up seeing their faith framed as a problem, when entire communities feel unwelcome in the very places they call home—this isn’t just personal. It’s systemic. 

It’s a cycle of exclusion that feeds into broader economic and social inequalities, keeping doors closed and future.

And the worst part? 

It’s so normalised that many don’t even see it as a problem. But for those who live it, there is no escape. 

There is only the daily, grinding reality of being treated as less than—not because of anything they’ve done, but simply because of who they are.

The London I Love: A City of Diversity

Despite these challenges, London remains a city of incredible cultural richness, and moments of unity shine through. 

The Ramadan lights on Piccadilly Circus for Eid bring a stunning visual celebration of Islamic culture to the heart of the capital. 

📸The Economist

Iftar gatherings, from community events to restaurants like Dishoom, offer spaces for shared meals and connection. Even King Charles and Queen Camilla’s visit to Darjeeling Express, where they joined Asma Khan to celebrate diversity through food by helping pack food donation boxes ahead of Ramadan, was a powerful symbol of inclusion.

📸The Evening Standard

Human, Not a Label

This is a call for understanding, for empathy. It’s not about picking sides—it’s about being better, doing better, and creating a world where we see each other as human beings, not through the lens of fear and prejudice. 

No one should ever be reduced to a stereotype based on their faith.

At the heart of this, it’s about who we choose to be. The philosophy of Ubuntu—the belief I was raised with—teaches us that our strength lies in our connection, not our division. “I am because we are.”

So, the next time you hear a harmful stereotype, challenge it. The next time you see a hateful comment online, report it. And the next time you walk past an open Iftar gathering or a mosque’s open day—step inside, listen, and learn.

This is about more than fighting prejudice. It’s about building bridges. 

It’s about ensuring that future generations grow up celebrating every part of their identity without fear. 

That they never have to wonder if their faith makes them a target.

That world is possible—if we choose to create it together.

📸 Getty Images

P.S. Where to Start?

If you’re curious about Islamic culture, there are beautiful ways to engage and connect.

• Visit Regent’s Park Mosque Open Day – One of the largest mosques in the UK, it welcomes visitors to explore its stunning architecture, meet the community, and learn more about Islam in a warm and open environment.

📸 Flickr (1) | Daily Mail (2)

• Experience Iftar in London – Many mosques and community groups host open Iftar events, inviting people from all backgrounds to share a meal and learn about Ramadan. It’s a moment of unity, reflection, and joy—like wandering through Christmas markets in winter, except instead of mulled wine, you’ll find dates, warm chai, and a feeling of togetherness that transcends faith.

📸 The Independent

Whether you’re exploring these events out of curiosity, solidarity, or the simple desire to connect, one thing is certain—humanity shines brightest when we choose to stand together ❤️🕌🌙

📸 York University

Special Thanks and Acknowledgments

I’d like to give a huge thanks to Abdul Aziz and Javed Khan from Equi for so generously sharing their knowledge and experiences with me. Our conversations gave me a much deeper understanding of the challenges they’ve faced and really helped me reflect on my own thoughts, allowing me to weave my personal experiences and opinions into this extended version. 

And, of course, a big shoutout to Dawar for the introduction—this wouldn’t have happened without you! I’m incredibly grateful for the connection and the opportunity to learn/understand from an insider’s perspective.