By AMNE ALRIFAI
I was about 10 when 9/11 happened. I barely remember what it was like before then. But I can tell you what it has been like since then, especially since I wear the hijab.
Every. Single. Time. Literally, every single time a Muslim person commits a crime, an atrocity, I brace myself. I brace myself for the stern glances I get from passers by. I wait to be yelled at. Spat at. I wait to be told to go back to where I came from.
Following the brutal killing of a soldier by two Muslim men in London last week, I again wait to be told that my religion is by nature evil, and that essentially I am supporting the actions of terrorists by covering my hair up.
I wait to be told that we’re all the same, and I wait for the day that someone will come from behind and rip my hijab off or something much, much worse.
I wait, because this and much more has already happened.
In an act which fuses irony and hypocrisy, I’m told to condemn and apologise on behalf all Muslims, because I’m one of the few good ones. I’m here to say no. No more. And never again.