I have always done my best to keep up with current events, particularly domestic issues. It is not always easy to concentrate on issues not taking place in the US as the distance to other counties, especially overseas adds a layer of disconnect. That being said I make every attempt to take time to make myself aware of what is going on in countries around us. 

Although this is true, the conflict between Isreal and Palestine which had a strong social media presence sparking the hashtag free Palestine (#freepalestine) drew in much of my attention. Of course, I was aware of the issues in this region as it is unfortunately been an active conflict for decades. However, with the #freepalestine movement on Instagram and Twitter, as well as, other social media platforms, this really opened my eyes to how truly severe the situation is and has been.

Many of my friends including myself have posted speaking out against the heinous crimes committed by Isreal. While my friends and I were trying to spread awareness and understanding, I started to notice a lot of people that I followed, who I grew up with — living in a community with many Jewish residents– posting opposing and offensive messages. I got into many arguments with people who did not seem to understand or want to understand any perspective other than their own. Seeing that many people I had known for years and had grown up with were so ignorant and blind to this concerned me, I was just doing my best to help spread awareness as much as I could.

This particularly struck a chord with me because my mother and her family were forced to flee their country at a young age due to similar circumstances. Therefore, my interactions with others became personal which made me further feel that I need to speak up and educate myself along with others in order to try and help myself and others connect to and acknowledge the true atrocities that are taking place around us.

The first time I learned about abortion was in spring of seventh grade. All I remember is my heart plunging down into my stomach as an animation of a pea-sized fetus flashed on my phone screen. My eyes followed the menacing doctor’s vacuum-like equipment as it reached into a silhouette of a woman’s uterus and suctioned out an underdeveloped baby. As a sympathetic middle school student, who’d only recently begun exploring the ideas surrounding feminism, women’s rights, and sexism, all I could think about was how traumatic and depressing an abortion must be. My heart ached for the baby, who’s painful screams I imagined disappearing into the suction of a vacuum hose. 

Although I was just starting to think critically for myself, questioning life, religion, and the childhood beliefs I’d easily accepted growing up, I was still that impressionable young girl seeking validation and approval from the older people in my life, whether it be my parents or my loveable Earth Science teacher, Ms.Choudhery. At the time, I didn’t understand, but when I look back, it’s quite obvious that Ms.Choudhery strongly persuaded the entire class’s opinion on abortion, whether that was her intention or not. When it came time to actually do a socratic seminar on the topic, not even one person was in support of abortion. We were all just awkwardly agreeing with each other that abortion was immoral, speaking up not in response to another person, but just to get those participation points. I remember passionately arguing that even if a fetus doesn’t feel pain, it’s still a potential life, who’s basic human right to live has been taken away. 

It was only until I reached high school, that my position on abortion drastically changed. I was very active on instagram and youtube, where social justice posts/videos about racism, sexism, islamophobia, and homophobia would circulate on my feeds. At one point, during Donald Trump’s chaotic campaign and presidency, abortion was a hot topic, and I kept finding recommended articles and informative posters on the issue, mostly from female activists. Some of these women had considered or gone through abortion themselves, and some were simply big believers in the rights to their own body. As I read through their first hand experiences, I felt my heart ache once again, this time, for the teenage girls who’d fallen pregnant by accident, the sexual assault victims who’s bodies were violated, and the torn mothers who had to choose between their baby’s life or their own. I felt my heart ache for the poor girls who couldn’t deal with their grief in peace due to pro-lifers who harassed them as they left Planned Parenthood abortion clinics. And I felt empowered by the women who simply decided they did not want or need children, and thus, didn’t have to, despite society’s pressure to do so. As a Muslim woman, I decided that although I probably wouldn’t have an abortion, I’d never pressure another woman to do the same. Now, I’m unapologetically and confidently pro-choice.