by Yasmin Hai
Writer and journalist

Alas, business was never better for me – a British journalist with a Muslim heritage – than in the months following 9/11. Every week brought a phone call from some television company offering me work on a documentary, which might help ‘uncover’, ‘understand’, ‘unravel’ or ‘unveil’ who Muslims really were.

And while I welcomed the job opportunities, very rarely was I asked to work on a film that related to the Muslims I knew. In fact, more often than not, my colleagues had already decided who Muslims were: an alien and incomprehensible people.

While this might have been reason enough to write a memoir about the community I had grown up in, I held back. Being a ‘secular’ Muslim, I had fallen for the Fundamentalists’ propaganda, now bolstered by the British media, and didn’t believe I had anything to contribute.

But this soon changed.

Through my work, I frequently thought back to my own experience of growing up in Wembley – a multicultural community in London. And a series of revelations came to the fore challenging many of the received wisdoms about British Muslims being bandied around.

For example, I was slowly coming to realise that, despite what the media might purport, the British Muslim story was not one rooted in some bizarre cultish religion but rather a painful story about the immigrant experience. I only had to think back to my childhood. How often had I heard my Muslim neighbours, or Asian neighbours, as we used to describe ourselves, discussing their place in England?

These debates were often triggered by everyday dilemmas. What to do if your daughter was caught talking to boys? Should you let your children watch Top Of The Pops? These matters appeared flippant but were critical in defining my neighbour’s identity and then in later years fuelling their estrangement from British society.

Another such revelation came over my radical Muslim friends.

When I began to examine my friend’s past, it occurred to me that many had not been brought up with religion. In fact, many had led very assimilated lives, happy to dabble with sex and drugs. So what had changed?

When I asked my Muslim friends, instead of offering their opinion, I was met with blank stares. ‘Jahiliaya’ they said in disgust, referring to the notorious age of ignorance in pre-Islamic Arabian society.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I would retort, urging them to remember our rich multicultural past. But they weren’t having it. Instead more citations from the Koran followed.

This frightened me. My friends were living in a state of denial, preferring to look to the Koran for answers. But then westerners, desperate to understand them, were doing the same. But what did the Koran tell anyone about the situation?

Answers were more likely to be found in our own common British past. But that’s the last place either side wanted to look. Pious Muslims didn’t want to be reminded of their “ungodly” past. And the West was lost in a fantasy of Muslim otherness.

And yet, frustrated as I was with my Muslim friends, I envied their new self-respect and confidence. Why couldn’t I have their faith? I knew why. My father had worked hard to keep religion out of our lives, encouraging us to assimilate.

And while I was now a model British citizen, look where his ideals had also left me. Like anyone who straddles many cultures knows – confused and insecure.

That’s why I have decided to write this book. Not only did I want to travel back in time and reclaim my history before it was conveniently forgotten but only by retracing my upbringing, would I be able to judge whether my father or my neighbours got it right in their vision for living in Britain.

Eight years on the Muslim issue remains as pertinent than ever. Despite the huge amount of air space and column inches devoted to Islam, there is still a poor understanding of British Muslims. The media and radicals continue to dictate the agenda. And the silent majority, allow it to happen; fearful that speaking out will attract charges of disloyalty.

But any reading of Islamic history will reveal that there has always been a plurality of voices and experiences in Islam. The onus is upon Muslims to recover that legacy, not betray the tradition.

That’s not to say that the western media will be receptive to hearing the different Muslim perspectives. In light of 9/11 and 7/7, the more humanised accounts of Islam are frankly not sexy enough.

But if Muslims, in all their guises speak out, then there might come a time when the media has no choice but to offer a more accurate portrayal of British Muslims or be resigned to looking crass or worse, outdated and irrelevant.

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Yasmin Hai was born in North London in 1970 where she continues to live. She is a current affairs journalist and documentary producer/director. Her television work includes BBC’s Newsnight programme as well as award winning documentaries for Channel 4.

Her memoir – The Making of Mr Hai’s Daughter – was published last month by Virago.