‘Every One of You Is a Leader’: Investigating the Experience of Being a Brown British Muslim Woman in Professional Contexts

Abstract

The Hadith paraphrased as ‘every one of you is a leader’ does not discriminate in gender in any way—both men and women are leaders. What does this mean in practice, and how are Muslim women perceived and received in line with this Hadith? Only in very recent years are Muslim women in Britain starting to occupy prominent positions: 13 Muslim women Members of British Parliament were elected in 2024; celebrities such as baker Nadia Hussain are regularly seen on British TV; and others such as Fatima Manji in the media. In this article, I explore how different ‘contextual intersectionalities’ influence and impact a Muslim woman and her leadership role. How does the intersectionality of her outward expression of faith identify her? How does a Muslim woman navigate a space where she is the leader and her skills are sought, yet her faith representation may instigate unconscious/conscious biases? Using an autoethnographic method, I investigate the impact of my identities as a Brown British Muslim woman in three distinct settings. First, in the professional and academic space of British Christian practical theology, where I was the first British Muslim to obtain a doctorate in the subject and was the first Muslim Trustee and Committee Member of the British and Irish Association for Practical Theology (BIAPT) between 2020 and 2024. Second, as a leadership advisor and executive coach to FTSE-listed companies, where I support C-suite leaders to generate sustained change in individuals, teams, and systems. And third, as a tutor and supervisor of proven business leaders to master the skills of coaching in their own right. I discuss how I am met in these spaces and the impact of that on my being. In conclusion, I call for increased understanding and awareness of the emotional tax paid by Muslim women who choose to take leadership roles.

1. Introduction

Despite being born and raised in superdiverse London, I am a hijabi Muslim woman in a post-Brexit world. I write this paper in the context of being at the receiving end of polemical language such as ‘migrant’, ‘foreigner’, ‘outsider’, with the right-wing and far-right in the UK gathering and targeting mosques, Muslims, and migrants due to the polarisation of identity. In much of the analysis about the role of Muslims and Islam in Britain, the voice of many Muslim women is not apparent. However, it is Muslim women who receive, witness, and experience Islamophobia, racism, and sexism as an everyday experience. My personal, professional, and academic experience is interdisciplinary. It is influenced by architecture, project direction, applied positive psychology, professional coaching, leadership advisory, and practical theology. I take a reflexive and reflective approach to all aspects of my life, including work and academic writing, to consider the role of a Muslim woman as a leader.

Throughout the world and in many religious traditions, women have experienced cultural and religious interpretation that negatively impacts their potential to obtain leadership positions. The idea that a Muslim woman can be a leader is perceived as controversial in traditional and contemporary societies today. However, the idea that ‘every one of you is a leader’ (paraphrasing Sahih Muslim Book 22, Hadith 24 https://sunnah.com/muslim:1829a) offers that leadership responsibilities and capabilities are given to all. I believe that it is important for individuals, communities, and societies to encourage women to actively participate in leadership that befits their skillset and capacity.

In this paper, I share three autoethnographic vignettes to articulate my leadership story and narrate what emerges within the event context by presenting analysis interweaved within the experience. I deliberately do not ‘over edit’ with the aim of maintaining the initial rawness of the writing. In writing ‘beyond myself’, I ‘cross disciplines, boundaries, and borders, write both self and culture, and appreciate that I am writing and performing auto-ethnography’ (Denshire 2014, pp. 833–36). I aim to ‘get relevant insights, methods, and perceptions talking to each other’ to allow new ‘understandings of practice, experience, and the world’ (Pattison 2000b, in Bennett et al. 2018, p. 22) to be created and emerge. As readers engage with this paper, I invite them to ‘become critical inhabitants of their faith world, to assay and test it, not with a view to abandoning it, but with a view to taking responsibility for it… [in] pursuit of the common good’ (Bennett et al. 2018, pp. 23–31). I conclude with the argument that despite the desire to be a leader, there is an emotional and psychological tax that Muslim women pay, which impacts how they are perceived and received, and if this was reduced, then Muslim women would be able to contribute even more effectively to all aspects of society.

2. Theoretical Background: Contextualising the Experience of a Brown British Muslim Woman

The contemporary Muslim presence in Western Europe goes back three to four generations. There are:

two developments…: [1] normalisation of Muslim life and the rise of Islamophobia, … appear to be contradictory [and are] interlinked… [2] It appears that minorities only turn “problematic” when they become visible and claim their stake in their majority society.

(Scharbrodt 2020, p. 3)

which impact how Muslim women are perceived. This article addresses both these developments by drawing attention to everyday experiences and the normalised negative responses that occur, and by providing examples of what occurs when I ‘claim my stake’. The portrayal of Muslims by British media is often portrayed as synonymous with and/or related to conflict and disagreement (Baker et al. 2013, p. 275). I aim to draw attention to go beyond the ‘frequently used paradigms and research categories’ and avoid falling into the trap of ‘using pre-constructed media categories when studying Muslims and Islam’ (Ahmed and Matthes 2017, p. 236). My doctoral research identified that within the academy, the representation of Muslims and specifically research relating to Muslim women explores topics of ‘oppression of Muslim women, a feminist response to Islam, a study of Muslim women in counselling, or domestic violence’ (Zaidi 2022, p. 20). This article aims to change the discourse relating to the lived experience of Muslim women by discussing everyday experiences of Muslim women in professional, research, and teaching spaces.

In seeking to ‘help to identify the most universal human understandings of holiness, justice, truth, and creativity’ (Koopman 2003, p. 4, in Graham 2013, p. 184) of being Muslim and aim to honestly document and analyse my experiences to: resource ‘theological reconstruction’ (Swinton 2020, p. 167) and how faith and belief impact us within our everyday experiences; and attend to the ‘present moment and the complexity of bio-social reality as an important locus theologicus’, (Bennett et al. 2018, p. 12, italics original).

My experiences:

• the first British Muslim woman in a ‘white–male–straight–abled-bodied–privileged’ (Jagessar 2015, p. 7, italics original) Christian practical theology field;
• the first Muslim and first non-White person in a prominent coach training faculty;
• the first overt Muslim in a leadership advisory/coaching practice working in the corporate space in London.

These experiences provide a nuanced opportunity to explore how one Muslim woman is received and responded to. Acknowledging that ‘every way of seeing is also a way of not seeing’ (Bennett et al. 2018, p. 134) I realise that my unique position, as the only female Muslim, contains inherent blind spots, but these are not the subject of this investigation. Examining the experiences of one British Muslim woman is a risky endeavour because there exists a vast range of ethnic, racial, socio-economical, and religious diversity that one person’s experience cannot capture. Hence, I acknowledge the risk of essentialising, despite my best efforts and strong conviction that the individual agency of each Muslim woman should be recognised. Eight years after entering British Christian practical theology, fifteen years after becoming a leadership coach, and four years after being a coach, tutor, and supervisor, I am ready to examine my experiences as the prime resource for an investigation that emerges from both frustration and love.

I have always worked hard to be in spaces where I feel like I can belong and am to some degree accepted for who I am. Some of this requires compromise, particularly in spaces where my belonging or ‘taking space’ is questioned and challenged by the hegemonic norm, even subtlety. I wish to ask difficult questions ‘that emerge in the light of the human experience of God [that] are often different from those that emerge from the solitude of the academic’s office’ (Swinton and Mowat 2006, p. 7). I aim to explore what it is to be a Muslim–Brown–British woman navigating her way in the world, going about her day-to-day life, and to illuminate the additional challenges experienced by Muslim women simply having the intersectionality of being Muslim, Brown, and female. In the Islamic tradition, Muslim women asking difficult questions to gain knowledge for themselves and others is within our history. For example, rather than asking a man to approach the Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings upon him) on her behalf, Asma bint Shakal directly asked the Prophet pbuh how to perform ablutions after sexual intercourse. Until today, Muslims had the answer to this sensitive inquiry because Asma asked a relevant, challenging, and important question. It is in this tradition that I undertake research to investigate how a Muslim woman can respond to the idea that ‘everyone of you is a leader’, for the sake of the common good.

3. Method

Given my background as a practitioner–researcher who practices self-awareness, autoethnography is a fitting methodology to deploy as it involves an ‘intriguing and promising [approach] to giving voice to personal experience for the purpose of extending… understanding’ (Wall 2008, p. 38). Autoethnographic writing techniques enable consideration of ‘value systems, the place of faith, a sense of vision and justice, a sense of what is possible in a given situation’ (Graham et al. 2019, p. 49). Women in my academic domain of practical theology have often used ‘journal writing and creative writing… [to provide] those who are silenced within a dominant socio-cultural milieu a way of reaching a public readership’ (p. 49). Exploring the lived experience can be theoretically sensitive research where the ‘human [is] instrument of choice [requires the researchers] responsiveness, adaptability, holistic emphasis, knowledge base expansion, processual immediacy, opportunities for clarification and summarisation, and opportunities to explore atypical or idiosyncratic responses’ (Lincoln and Guba 2006, pp. 193–94). This makes qualitative approaches like autoethnography appropriate when seeking to actively engage in a curious and sensitive exploration of context. In this research, I ‘seek critically to complexify and explore situations…, [by offering] a particular way of seeing and discovering’ (Swinton and Mowat 2006, p. 31, italics original). Through this, I will surface implicit cultural assumptions and world views. I will then create a theologically focused reflection built on these. It is with an autoethnographic approach that I hope to offer ‘new experiences, voices, perspectives, and insights that demand new ways of seeing, thinking, or acting’ (Bennett et al. 2018, p. 10). Autoethnography is an invitation for the reader to critically think about themselves and reflect on their own reflexivity and identity in a critical way that is otherwise unavailable. I invite you to lean into being ‘one human seeing another and being able to connect at a spiritual, emotional, and intellectual level despite our differences in religion and gender’ (Zaidi 2022, p. 167).

Undertaking autoethnography can be a vulnerable, exposing approach to research. However, ‘if research is worth undertaking, it is important to understand what its costs and benefits might be’ (Bennett et al. 2018, p. 6). There is potentially a high price to pay in sensitive research projects—‘the personal voice is a perilous voice. If I open myself up to my readers, who knows what might happen to me? Perhaps you might attack me or deride me. Perhaps I might lose my authority’ (Rabia Terri Harris, in Abu-Nimer and Augsburger 2010, pp. 107–9). Undertaking reflexivity at every stage in this methodology is important, and I seek to do that by adopting a ‘reflective practitioner’ approach in all settings. Autoethnography is an ‘ethical approach’ (Lapadat 2017, p. 593) at its core, with ethical considerations such as ‘relational ethics…, researcher vulnerability…, institutional ethics…, emotion, rigour, and self-indulgence…, and restriction of scope’ (pp. 593–96) and ‘entering… “exotic” cultures’ (p. 591) embedded within it. The method’s strength is in its ‘ability to present an intimate but transgressive account, writing the absent bodies and voices of researchers and professionals into their practice, and thereby challenging institutional and professional power relationships’ (p. 594). To respond to these considerations, I draw upon my coaching skills and self-calibrate. I am also in supervision, where I discuss matters that emerge from any autoethnographic vignettes I am writing.

4. First in Practical Theology

It is July 2024, and for the first time in three years, the annual gathering of British and Irish practical theologians is taking place in person. I am both excited and apprehensive. My excitement comes from the opportunity to once again meet old friends in person; my apprehension comes from knowing that once again some will simply wonder, ‘what is a Muslim doing here?’ Despite over ten years of service in the field of practical theology, I am still seen as an outsider by some, and I still feel like an outsider despite having been a trustee and non-executive committee member of BIAPT for three years. Some have asked me to use my leadership status (expressed and unexpressed) to ‘invite other Muslims in’ (Zaidi 2022, p. 185) and to help expand the influence of British practical theology beyond Christianity, yet the environment is such that I remain one of a handful of non-Christians in the field in a majority English Anglican environment.

For the first time I am meeting a White male Protestant vicar who has become a colleague in person. We stand talking and enjoying our conversation in the lobby of the Christian conference centre chosen as the venue for this year’s event. Topics of marginalisation, social deprivation, inclusion, integration, belonging, shoes, clothing, and expression of faith are touched upon in a conversation that is exhilarating and expanding for both of us. Then, as our conversation is ending, two people emerge from the entrance. At the pace they are moving at, they appear to be in a rush, and they are about to walk past us. However, they stop. Abruptly. My colleague and I notice that they appear to physically quake in their bodies, and their facial expression is one I would not wish upon anyone. That moment feels like a lifetime. These two White men are staring at us. Their eyes move from my colleague to me, back and forth, again and again. Without saying a word, they then continue on their journey.

What just happened?

My colleague wants to call them back and express how unacceptable their behaviour is. He is enraged with ’righteous anger’ (Reddie 1999, p. 19) and wants to articulate that to them. I also feel outrage at someone thinking it is acceptable to physically embody hatred and disdain in their expression towards us. Do they think their view of us will not leak? Do they believe we will not see it? Are they expecting us to not be affected by it? At the same time, I know any response might escalate things, so I must be quick in my thinking. I wonder if this is a new experience for my colleague—has he just experienced vicarious Islamophobia by being with me?

In moments like these, I deploy all the strategies and tools that my professional training as a coach has taught me. It is important to adopt an ‘Anatomy of Peace: Resolving the Heart of Conflict’ (Arbinger Institute) approach where an approach of peace is used rather than one of conflict. This approach centres on cultivating relationships and settling conflict by nurturing empathy and understanding. I must think on my feet before anything else happens. As much as I know he is fully in his right to share his frustration, I, as the only Muslim at the conference and conference centre, do not want to be associated with a disturbance of any sort. I look at my colleague and, using every atom of calm I can muster, say, ‘it’s them, not us’. He looks a little confused. I wait in silence and repeat the words, ‘it’s them, not us’. I can see my colleague wants to say something; I do too. As a coach, I know change takes time and both parties need to be involved and engaged in the process. I suspect that before moving to the next piece in our conference agenda, we do not have enough time needed for the conversation. More than that, it is important for them to be ready to receive the message of peace that we wish to extend, and I am not sure that they are right now as they too are in a rush. It feels like those few words temporarily ease the situation and enable us to both move to the next part of a day.

A few hours later I am leading an impromptu discussion on belonging, identity, and culture with a dozen other conference attendees, and the interaction I shared comes up. The fact that we are discussing it demonstrates that a few seconds of exchange can either make or break someone’s day. I notice a common theme: we are expected to continue with our daily routine as if nothing has occurred, as if our identity has not been challenged. This is an experience that is difficult to share, difficult to read, and difficult to process. Nevertheless, it is a regular occurrence for someone who is on the margins, and even more so for someone on the margins of the margins.

I recognise that I have a choice—I can choose to respond to a situation and draw attention to it, or I can ignore it and release myself of the emotional cost of drawing attention to it. In seeking to embody the Hadith ‘every one of you is a leader’ I must ‘pick my battles’. My interpretation of this hadith is that in every interaction, opportunity, and conversation I have the possibility to at best impact someone positively through my engagement with them, at worst to not create a scene. Leadership in situations where I may wish to draw attention to an injustice often means remaining silent. In the Qur’an, God says, ‘you to your religion and me to mine’ (109:6). I view this as a mutually courteous approach to difference—to be truly inclusive, we need to be respectful of the differentiation, something that is often not happening. There is an unspoken expectation that I will conform with the unspoken rules of a space and put aside any of my needs.

There is a great deal of energy taken by a passive representation. I deliberately do not respond or react to events that are discriminatory or offensive and encourage those who I am with to do the same for fear that I will end up being the one who suffers most. In writing this article and sharing stories, I am moving towards a more active representation and using any available discretionary power (Meier and Bohte 2001, p. 15) to express concern about the lived reality of being an obviously Muslim woman in Britain. It is worth noting that the power I have in relation to the intersection of my identities as a Brown British Muslim woman does not exist in the professional arena; it is in the academic space. Due to my research at the intersection of culture and religion, I can share this without fear of being vilified. Has my active representation in practical theology resulted in better outcomes for minorities in relation to colour or religion? I believe diversity of colour has slightly improved, but in reality, there has been no tangible shift in religious representation. I expected practical theology in Britain to be more religiously diverse and representative of the range of faiths in Britain. Difficult conversations regarding inclusion and diversity do occur, although these are still few and far between—I still witness discrimination. The religious diversity that might have been anticipated does not exist in this space and may never do so. In taking a self-leadership approach, I recognise that I must manage myself and take care of myself first, and this is perhaps why I have one foot outside of that space now.

5. First in Coaching and Leadership Advisory

I am the first Muslim, and often the first Muslim woman, that many of my coaching and leadership advisory clients will ever speak with. This is a big responsibility—despite my having no desire that they do, many will judge all Muslims and Muslim women on their interactions with me. At one level, my role at work is to use the vast skill set and experience I have developed over 30 years to support the individuals, teams, and organisations I work with in leadership advisory, career strategy and transition, and leadership team excellence. At another level, it is to change the narrative on how Muslim women are perceived.

All the people I have worked with in recent years have treated me with respect and have not made an issue out of the external expression of my faith or that my name is still unusual—they certainly have not to my face. However, I notice that my name causes some friction. The reflection below is from my doctoral thesis and is related to suggestions that I change my ‘foreign’, ‘exotic’, ‘unusual’, ‘hard to pronounce’ name to progress my career.

When I was working as an Assistant Director in local government, I once played with changing my name from Saiyyidah Zaidi to Saiyyidah Stone or Saiyyidah Zaidi-Stone. A conversation among work friends was instigated by someone who I believe had good intentions despite the reality being different (conversion, collusion, or complicity?)—they thought that career progression would be more available to me if I changed my name. As a Muslim woman it is incumbent upon me not to change my surname upon marriage to that of my husband’s because women do not become the property of men when they marry. That said, based on the counsel of colleagues I thought adopting my husband’s surname might enable me to fit in better. The Zaidi-Stone only lasted for a few days partly due to my colleagues joking and suggesting that it was exotic, and then discussing everything in relation to that. Having been referred to as ‘exotic’ in the past I didn’t want anyone to think of me in that derogatory way.

I then chose Saiyyidah Stone for about a year.

Being a Stone felt as if I had to give part of myself away, it felt incongruent, it felt like I was not fully myself—it required an identity shift. All of a sudden I had gone from Ms Zaidi to Mrs Stone, the name of my mother-in-law who I respect and love dearly. What do you think of when you see Mrs Stone written down? Chances are it is not me, and there is another layer of explaining how I came to be Mrs Stone with each potential interaction requiring me to give away far more of my personal story than is necessary at the start.

(Zaidi 2022, pp. 125–26)

When I first heard Black American coach Greg Pennington speak at the ‘Black Voices in Coaching’ research conference, held at the University of East London, in June 2024, I was struck by stating, ‘I’ve evolved into a digestible black man’ (Pennington 2024). There was a moment of silence where we took in the reality of what that meant for us, followed by some unpacking of the impact of that sentence. Pennington then asked us to consider the idea that it would be easy for the hegemonic individual to listen to him if he was ‘digestible’. His provocation: ‘when I exercise the power of that relationship, will you listen to me?’ (Pennington 2024) gave voice to the unspoken reality that the flow of power is primarily one way from those in the hegemonic groups of power to those who are marginalised. This impacted my entire being. Finally, I had language to describe the extra effort I put into simply existing and being accepted. At the conference of primarily Black coaches, the lingua franca of Christianity was sprinkled into most conversations—I did not relate and felt like an outsider even within the conference for my demographic. Adapting Pennington’s idea into my context gives the phrase ‘digestible Muslim woman’ which starts to articulate what I have become in order to be somewhat accepted. Sharing this with colleagues enabled me to voice something that had thus far been unspoken and resulted in my conference colleagues further exploring the nuance of othering/including and belonging with me.

Some might think that removing my hijab and abaya-style clothing will make it easier; I have reflected on this on and off. The reality is that my Brown skin and gender mean that I am destined to be different from the normative descriptors for success and will always have to work harder. Therefore, adding visible expressions of my faith (i.e., hijab and abaya) alongside my non-hegemonic name, gender, and skin colour makes very little difference to how people perceive me—I remain the ‘other’. The combination of my identity markers makes me who I am and has influenced how fully I show up in the world. The interference from not being able to fully be who I am is lessened, yet the negativity directed towards me (and those with me) is sometimes increased. For that reason, I wish to be as ‘digestible’ as I can be, and that carries weight and is complicated. On one hand, it is a natural thing to want to do. In my upbringing, I was taught to be reasonable, moderate, intelligent, thoughtful, and not to lean too much to any side—to be acceptable. This is problematic, as constructing identity with the aim of not being offensive to others creates an artificial expression of who you are. And those who fit the hegemonic norm are not required to put in any effort to do anything different.

My intention in openly articulating the desire to be ‘digestible’ is that it makes it easier for those I meet to listen and to speak with me and for those who recognise the range of skills I have to offer to work with me. I know that I am hugely overqualified for the work that I do. I acknowledge that the initiation of the overqualification is a trauma response to being a Brown professional Muslim woman who was often told in her early career as an architect and project director that she was the ‘diversity hire’. This articulation also enables me to concede that I am having to put in more effort and energy to be seen, accepted, or even tolerated than I do when I am in a country where my Brown Muslim woman identity markers are more ubiquitous, meaning then I am othered for being British! The cost of being a ‘rebel’ is immeasurable; ‘it impacts one’s career and has a personal and psychological cost… the work of representation is not easy’ (Zaidi 2022, p. 167).

All knowledge of another is fundamentally inter-subjective, and I am aware of how my performance, image, and exposure (PIE) (Coleman 1996, p. 21) is received. Coleman’s theory suggests that success in the workplace is 10 percent ‘performance’ based, i.e., how well are duties performed; 30 percent is ‘image’ orientated and relates to personal brand and reputation, with the remainder focused on ‘exposure’ or visibility and accomplishments being known by key decision-makers. At work, I meet people in the context of how they show up within that social and culturally defined space. How I express who I am verbally, non-verbally, emotionally, etc. will affect how the person I am with feels and behaves, and what they say and do. My perception of them and theirs of me occurs through the lenses of rich and dense subjectivity (whether this is acknowledged or not). These factors all influence how my PIE is responded to. If I have a name that is non-hegemonic, does that impact how my performance is perceived, how I am seen, and what exposure is available to me? Some people make sweeping statements about the nature of the other person that they are with. I offer that it is better to humbly accept that all we know is how others respond to ‘us within the specific social and cultural context in which we meet them, filtered through our own perception’ (Hawkins and Turner 2020, p. 22), knowing that bias exists and manifests itself in multiple ways. I am left asking the following questions: What to do? Do I have to give up in order to go up? If you do not experience it, you have little or no awareness of it, and it does not impact or affect you in the same way. I propose that my PIE values as a Muslim woman are in the region of 70 percent performance, 90 percent image, and 60 percent exposure. These figures deliberately add up to significantly more than 100 percent. The time, effort, energy, and additional thought that is required by a Muslim woman simply to show up is far greater than that of someone whose identity markers fit the hegemonic norm of the workplace and society.

I have often said that those who choose to work with me benefit beyond the skills that I offer them. As well as working on personal and organisational objectives, there is an undercurrent of ‘work’ being carried out in relation to identity, belonging, and culture. This additional benefit is unarticulated and happens in every interaction at an individual level (them and me) and interpersonally (us together), with the potential for positive impact beyond the actual work we are doing together. In understanding my PIE and desiring to be a digestible Muslim woman, I want those who interact with me professionally to notice, like Eric Stoddart did in stating, ‘how his anxiety over encountering a Muslim has diminished to the extent that he could not previously have imagined’ (Zaidi and Stoddart 2024, p. 10).

6. First in Coach Training

When working in local government, my ambition was to be the first hijabi Chief Executive of a local authority in Britain, and as a result, I was one of ten women recognised as Fellows of the Association for Project Management in 2010 and the only Muslim female. However, I was becoming more disillusioned and burnt out. After much thought and reflection, I decided to take voluntary redundancy as my exit package (Zaidi 2022, p. 18). This decision led to an unexpected turn, which contributed to my work during the last fifteen years. I was the first Muslim woman to be trained as an executive coach by a leading coach training company in Britain in 2011. The post-George Floyd world provided fertile ground for an improved understanding of ‘barriers to entry’ to the field (Zaidi 2022, p. 23), and I then became the first non-White and first Muslim faculty member of the same organisation in 2019.

In the initial inquiry about my joining the faculty, I offered that the decision for me to become part of the faculty would require an articulation of alignment from both parties. I would be stating that I align with the values and aspirations of the organisations to the point that I wish to become part of them, and they would be aligning me with me and everything I represent in terms of direction of travel for them. This would be both of us speaking to inclusion, diversity, culture, and the future of coaching. And it would not be easy.

I share my experience of what happened, and still occurs in the world of executive coaching and coach training, on what some people of colour and non-Christians felt comfortable sharing with me in whispers. It remains a largely White and privileged space where more women than men are present, yet men are paid more than women. I am an anomaly. I am seen as a leader, and unconsciously and subtlety placed in the margins. Some people wish to speak with me to understand my thoughts and views in a professional context and will adopt my nuanced articulation on belonging, identity, and culture to win work and promotions for themselves. Others look straight through me and do not even acknowledge my existence. The emotional and psychological weight I carry for just being me in a space where I am expected to show up in the same way as colleagues that can show up without a depletion or reduction in energy and effort is because there is no misdirection? They are able to simply be. Dealing with these unspoken matters requires stamina, resilience, and the ability to live in constant uncertainty.

Two hours ago, I got off the train having been away at a conference for three days. I have just finished a leadership advisory meeting with a colleague and am now entering an annual summer drinks reception in the City of London. In the past, the non-alcoholic drinks left a lot to be desired, but I have been assured that things will be better because we are now in a different venue with a different caterer. I take my suitcase and bag to the cloakroom, and upon seeing a few colleagues and some new faces, I move into the space for the drinks reception with positive anticipation for a great evening.

I am a born and bred Londoner. I wear my religion on my sleeve—it is often the first thing people notice. When I speak, some people comment that I have ‘good English… where did you learn that?’ Actually, I have a range of accents and can speak ‘mild street’-to-‘refined posh’ English. The reality of my enunciation and accent is that I sit somewhere in the middle, on the boundaries, and can choose to step into either.

Nevertheless, I cannot select to step in and out of how I choose to express my faith. These days that privilege sits with a bearded Muslim man who is ‘on trend’ with his woke facial hair and suit, easily able to blend into wider society with no questions asked, able to ‘pass’ for whatever comes to the mind of those they interact with.

I cannot do that.

I know I embody not just Muslim women but also Brown women, Pakistani women, ‘traditional’ women, Muslim mothers, and anything else anyone decides to gift me. I end up epitomising what others want, including being South African once, as someone decided that I had to be from South Africa and would not take no for an answer! (I have no connections to South Africa).

I take a deep breath and walk in slowly. People are offered drinks. It feels to me that the serving staff are a little embarrassed upon seeing me and go on to not include me in their generous offering, ‘champagne madam? Would you like white or red wine?’ At one level, they know that something should be available for me; I can see it in the way their eyes turn away from me. I feel ignored and wonder what to do. I spot the bar to the left, as well as a large glass jar of water on a shelf to my front. I see the waiting staff busing themselves to make sure that there are enough glasses filled with alcoholic drinks to serve the guests arriving at quite a gentle and steady pace. That hospitality and welcome are not given to me. I know I am not the only one that does not drink here, and there are many reasons for not drinking alcohol. Because of how I look and present myself, if I explain that I do not drink and would like something other than water, then people look at me in a peculiar way. No, I am not conforming; I do not need an alcoholic drink.

There is already a dilemma for me in attending this event. In the past, I have not done so because part of me does not want to be present at an event where alcohol is being consumed in the same space. Therefore, going to the pub to socialise after work and discuss work has never been an option for me. This has meant I have missed informal team-building activities and conversations with the leaders of organisations I was employed in, resulting in awareness about opportunities that are shared through ‘optional’ activities where alcohol is present. Occasionally, I have received drunken calls from work colleagues telling me to ‘stop being a prude’, ‘you can have an orange juice’, ‘no one is watching’. Each one of these just creates an ‘eye-roll’ moment for me—I despair. Perhaps the only way I can cope is to ignore them or not veer into difficult conversation by saying nothing.

We are in the 21st century; the internet makes information readily available by typing in the right question, yet people do not have an idea of what Muslims do and do not do. I lose hope! Or they are simply choosing to ignore the knowledge that they have and are accidentally—perhaps uncompromisingly—being unwelcoming. When the media misrepresentation and societal encouragement move away from some of the key tenets of Islam in order to ‘integrate’, who is setting the rules for integration and acceptability? There is no discussion about where the flexibility is, and factors of acceptable are ‘imposed upon’ and ‘done to’ rather than discussed. Is the perception that if I do not drink alcohol, I have not integrated? If I choose not to be in that space, am I a poor representative of the organisation?

It is important to note that while I have a lot to offer, I am not here to integrate on your terms alone. That is not integration; that is oppression. Yes, Britain is my home, where I was born, yet I feel more British when I am outside Britain, yearning for a good cup of Yorkshire decaf tea and a slice of Dundee cake. When I am in the UK, I seek a place where a Muslim woman is not seen to be a foreigner, immigrant, or judged for faith or colour. To be honest though, my colour has been something I haven’t been judged on for a while; it is more my faith these days. I suspect that if I walked out of the house without my hijab and abaya, in a super-diverse London, I would be ignored like everyone else is. For some reason, being a Muslim woman is seen as threatening, and I must live with the consequence of the media and subliminal stereotyping that exists even when making a reasonable request for a broader range of non-alcoholic drinks.

There is an emotional tax for being a Muslim woman in spaces that others can occupy with ease—we pay enough of an emotional tax merely to be present in the first place, to be alive. Many of the people I encounter are unaware that this ‘tax’ exists or is being paid. That is the privilege of being White and being included without even needing to be asked to be incorporated—the existence or views of those in the hegemonic norm is never questioned or doubted; it is wholeheartedly accepted. The idea that the very being of a Muslim woman can be challenged puts one, at best, at a very serious disadvantage, and at worst, is a threat to their very existence. In simple terms, not having to worry at the passport control about how you will be received, wondering if you will be questioned/challenged about your entry, and how easy or difficult it will be for you to be allowed back into the country of your birth is a privilege not available to Muslim women who have an obvious external expression of their faith.

In discussing the experience shared above with some colleagues, there was an underlying idea that I was raising the issue of lack of non-alcoholic drinks because I am Muslim, yet no one (including me) said it overtly. More than my experience being poor, my challenge in this was that guests in ‘our’ space who desired non-alcoholic drinks were not being offered an acceptable range. I did not want to be associated with something that was inhospitable or unwelcoming. I did not want to have to say, ‘I am drawing attention to this matter because it is poor customer service’. I had hoped my colleagues would unwittingly recognise that themselves.

Those of us who have been othered in a variety of ways are saying things that no one else is saying. The matters that are being aired are tacitly out there. with very few people really drawing attention to them. At a time when there is increased awareness about the impact of alcoholism, a desire for diversity and inclusion, and an increasing Muslim population, there is a need to do more than have subtle awareness of an issue. In the last twenty years, very little has changed regarding how Muslim women are perceived in the workplace. There is more tolerance and an increase in the visibility of Muslim women, which is a move in the right direction, but it is not enough. We need more of a shift towards a mutual understanding of acceptance of all people.

7. Discussion and Conclusions

In the context of being a British Brown Muslim woman, the identity markers are perceived in different ways in different settings. In this paper, I have shown that my Brownness has a limited impact on how people perceive me when compared to religion. Most people upon seeing me will identify me as a Muslim first, and that is an important part of my identity. For members of other faith groupings where the articulation of faith is not as obvious or as placed on the margins, they are received with more openness and welcome. This impacts the leadership capabilities and potential available to individual Muslim women. I have used myself as a case study to draw attention to the complex nature of intersectionality. American lawyer and academic Kimberle Crenshaw wrote “Demarginalising the Intersection of Race and Sex” (Crenshaw 1989), and she highlighted that the ‘experience [of Black women] is greater than the sum of racism and sexism’ (p. 138) with ‘feminist theory and antiracist policy discourse… miss[ing] the mark with respect to Black women because of their failure to consider intersectionality’ (p. 140). Crenshaw identified aspects of intersectionality as:

structural—the intersection of race and gender makes… [the experience of life] different to that of white women; …political—feminist and antiracist politics…, paradoxically, help to marginalise… women of colour…; [and] representational—the cultural construction of women of colour…, controversies… [that] can also elide the particular location of women of colour (p. 1245).

In adding the dimension of religion to Crenshaw’s work, “British Race, Faith, and Culture”, researcher Heidi Mirza (2012) coined the term ‘embodied intersectionality’ and conceptualised a framework for exploring ‘how gendered and raced representation is powerfully written on and experienced within the body, and how Muslim women’s agency challenges and transforms hegemonic discourses of race, gender, and religion’ (p. 5). I notice that as I live my embodied intersectionality, the response to me is contextual (Zaidi 2023, p. 366). In professional and Christian or secular academic settings, I am perceived as ‘the Muslim’; in environments where there are more Muslims, I am received in a different way.

There are complexities of race, gender, class, and other “positional” social divisions as lived realities… (i.e., how the women experience the world holistically as a “Muslim, middle class, heterosexual woman” how is this experience affectively mediated by the body and lived through Muslim female subjectivity).

(Mirza 2009, in Mirza 2012, p. 5)

This means that women who are Brown and Muslim are received as being on the margins and, as such, are not given all the leadership opportunities that are available to others with different identity markers. By wearing a hijab and abaya and expressing my faith in a way that is authentic to me, am I seen as a challenge or threat? Am I perceived as ‘less than’ by some because of the choice of my religion? What impact does this have on my ability to live into the idea that everyone is a leader? I have worked hard to counter the full impact of any negative perception of me, and that has resulted in my being ‘the first’ in many spaces. Perhaps that is what leaders do; they break barriers and boundaries in order to create space for others to enter. The process of writing, reading, researching, and reviewing is more complex for Muslim women, and self-care and supervision are essential when considering questions such as these.

By sharing some of my lived experience in this article, I have drawn attention to the idea that the perception of Muslim women is predicated not on their experience, intellect, or character, but on the faith that they represent. In some contexts, every sentence is filtered through the lens of Islam by the person receiving it, despite them knowing little or nothing about Islam. The perception of Muslim women is underpinned by a false negative narrative. With that in mind, I propose that the performance, impact, and exposure of Muslim women are significantly higher than for those that fit the hegemonic norm. The result of this is the ‘emotional tax’ paid by Muslim women to simply live and participate in society and work and lead. I firmly believe that everyone is a leader, and that for some the price is dear.