We can’t forget the Afzaals
Anniversary of their killings reminds us of the work that needs to be done to tackle Islamophobia and racism
Monday will mark the one-year anniversary since four members of the Afzaal family were killed in a hate-motivated attack in London, Ont.
All the words spoken by politicians, leaders and our white neighbours in the wake of the Afzaals’ tragic death have been forgotten as time crept on.
But for those of us who are racialized, who are Muslim, who are Black and Indigenous, these horrific, hate-fuelled tragedies do not just disappear into the past — we think about them every day.
And one year later, we do not feel safe when we are out for walks with our own families, or when we go to the mosque for prayer, or to buy groceries for Sunday dinner.
One afternoon last summer, I decided to walk home from the playground alone. It was hot, but my kids wanted to stay, so my husband stayed with them while I headed home to find treats in the freezer.
As I trudged home in the heat, a car full of young white men slowed down beside me. They yelled a combination of racial slurs and sexually explicit phrases at me. They laughed.
If this happened to me 10 years ago, I would have yelled right back at them, but I was surprised by the fear that overcame me. I was afraid. I kept my head down and walked faster until I heard the car drive off.
It had only been a few weeks since a white man in a pickup truck ran over the Afzaals, a Pakistani Muslim family, while they were out for an evening stroll. I was still shaken by the news.
This is the impact not just racism, but also Islamophobia, can have.
It should be inconceivable, the notion that someone could attack you just because of the colour of your skin, or because you wear a piece of cloth on your head.
We can’t forget the Afzaals, and as the anniversary of their killings near, I have not seen any sign of progress, only more signs of hate and confirmation of white supremacy.
We saw the so-called “Freedom Convoy” — a vessel for hate-fuelled rhetoric that was allowed to occupy
I think the problem is that Islamophobia is only recognized when these tragedies occur.
JASMINE ZINE WILFRID LAURIER UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR
this country’s capital earlier this year. Many of the convoy’s supporters have white supremacist views and were given a platform to spew hate, and some even threatened racialized folk who spoke out.
We hear about countless incidents of hateful graffiti scrubbed from local roadways, public buildings and private residences. Since January, there have been four local police reports of hate-motivated graffiti, and those are just the ones we know about.
How can racialized, Muslim, Black and Indigenous people feel safe when this is what we see in our communities? We can’t call these acts of hate “isolated incidents” and “tragic events.” They point to a bigger problem behind computer screens and closed doors.
“I think the problem is that Islamophobia is only recognized when these tragedies occur,” said Jasmine Zine, a Wilfrid Laurier University professor of Muslim studies, sociology and religion and culture who researches Islamophobia.
Not enough was done after the Quebec City mosque terror attack in 2017 where a white nationalist killed six Muslim men. Then when the Afzaal family was attacked, Zine said: “It felt like déjà vu.”
When an entire group of people has been demonized by government policies, that sentiment trickles down and permeates public opinion, Zine explains. Two decades of post 9/11 Islamophobia — heightened security policies that target Muslims — has shaped the identities of millennial Muslims, like myself, who came of age in a world where we were seen as threats to public safety.
Islamophobia was normalized. Distrust of Muslims and Islam was the norm, according to Zine’s research into two decades of Canadian public opinion polls on Muslims.
So how do we address this Islamophobia? Zine said it will require governments to re-examine Islamophobic policies, such as Quebec’s Bill 21 that bans public servants from wearing religious symbols, and to sustainably fund public education and research into Islamophobia.
Grassroots community groups like the Coalition of Muslim Women KW are crucial in dispelling Islamophobia, but also because of their incredible work documenting hate crimes and providing support to all racialized communities who experience hate crimes.
On Monday, the coalition will host a vigil to honour and remember the Afzaal family: Madiha, her husband Salman, her mother-in-law Talat, and her 15-year-old daughter Yumna. Madiha’s young son survived, but he lost three generations of his family in an instant.
“We will gather together for our people who are here. They need to gather as a community and to remember them,” said the coalition’s executive director, Fauzia Mazhar.
“We can’t forget about this. Who else is going to remember?”
Last summer, just days after the Afzaals were attacked by a white man in a pickup, I asked in a column: “Why are white people afraid to say white supremacy?”
It hurts to have to ask it again, because white supremacy is the driving force behind these hate crimes against Muslims, against racialized people and those who are Black and Indigenous. It is the primary reason many of us feel unsafe in our own communities.
Governments have spent decades targeting and surveilling us, why not white supremacists?
The Coalition of Muslim Women KW’s vigil for the Afzaal family will take place at The Family Centre, at 65 Hanson Ave., in Kitchener from 9 to 11:30 a.m. on Monday.