Translator: Aya AlAjjan Reviewer: Denise RQ
Hi everyone.
My name is Salma Abdelrahman,
and just in case you couldn’t tell, I’m a Muslim American.
(Applause)
I’m not a terrorist.
Fabula Rasa – the phrase stems from John Locke’s theory of tabula rasa
meaning “blank slate,”
which states that humans are born a blank slate,
and as we grow older, our sensory experiences carve into that slate
in order to change who we are and how we think.
However, “fabulae” meaning stories in Latin,
also have a profound impact on our individuality and our mindset.
Well, if you combine fabula and tabula rasa, you get Fabula Rasa,
my video project.
(Applause)
The importance of storytelling in shaping who we are
hit me one day in ninth grade during a Student Voices panel.
Student Voices is a project created by the MCCJ,
which aims to share stories of discrimination, prejudice, and intolerance
in order to foster
a more compassionate school environment throughout my community.
Well, on the panel, students share their experiences with homophobia,
xenophobia, antisemitism, body shaming, and other forms of discrimination.
And each story grounded a complex and abstract issue into reality.
One student talked about
how she was not offered a spot at a New York public school,
because the principal told her
she would be unable to climb the stairs due to her disability.
Another student talked about
how he was thinking of transferring out of our school
due to his fear of coming out to his classmates
after hearing them use the word ‘gay’ as an insult.
All I could think to myself throughout all of this
was how can we stand by and allow this to happen?
The tears came quickly and without warning,
and as I glanced back at my classmates, I could see that I was not alone.
These stories have caused some of the toughest football players,
some of the quietest observers,
and some of the most positive and outgoing social butterflies to shed tears.
I left the room that day in shock.
Now, I’d experienced shock before.
In sixth grade, one of my classmates skipped over to me one day and asked,
“Hey, Salma, are you a terrorist?”
and at this point in my life,
I hardly even knew what a terrorist was so I responded, “I don’t think so,”
and just kept eating my lunch.
When I got home that day,
I asked my parents to explain to me what this girl meant,
and when my dad heard my question, I saw his facial expressions drop,
immediately saddened by the fact that I had to be exposed
to such a horrible concept at such a young age.
He then explained to me that a terrorist was a very bad person,
someone who causes harm to others
in order to further their own political agenda.
I was puzzled.
That was not me.
He then showed me a video of the 9/11 attacks,
and as I saw the shear destruction of it all,
the pure cruelty, and hatred,
I was so confused.
The values I had been raised upon were the polar opposite
of what I saw on screen.
I was nothing like the terrorists nor am I today.
Why was I being compared to them?
I felt horrible and dirty as if my skin were suddenly tainted by this label.
That one comment made it absolutely clear to me
that a key part of my identity, my religion,
was not accepted in American society,
and thus I, a 12-year-old girl, was also not accepted.
That night, I laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling fan,
knowing I had to respond in one of two ways:
I could either lose faith in all humanity and do absolutely nothing about it,
or create constructive change in order to restore that faith.
In sixth grade, I chose the first option because it was the easier one,
and because I was too busy being an angsty pre-teen
to start any kind of social revolution.
So whenever someone made an Islamophobic remark
like, “Is Osama Bin-Ladin your dad?”
or “I’m only your friend so you won’t bomb me!”,
I would just brush it off as normal.
And eventually, I became numb.
But let’s go back to that day in ninth grade
during the Student Voices panel.
These students, their stories and others’ reactions to their stories
were shocks I could not ignore.
This time, I chose to act.
I went to my counselor’s office the next day and asked
how I could get involved in Student Voices,
and a month later,
I was sitting in a freshman class sharing my own experiences.
Each panel was so powerful.
I watched as students from the audience
responded with tears, with laughter, with stories of their own,
and I realized, “Oh, my God! We’re actually making a difference!”
You see, everyone knows the textbook definition of racism, sexism,
homophobia, Islamophobia, and other forms of discrimination,
but until people are exposed to individuals
who have faced that discrimination, suffered that hurt,
and been changed by those experiences,
the issue is hardly real.
In order to move people to action
against the marginalization of minority groups,
we had to do what Student Voices was doing.
We had to share stories.
But the impact of Student Voices was limited to the classroom,
and after seeing just how powerful these stories were,
I wanted to do something in order to expand that impact.
After months of brainstorming, some successes, and a ton of failed ideas,
I created Fabula Rasa, my video project,
which is aimed at capturing these stories and spreading them,
allowing them to create an impact on a wider scope.
We utilize whiteboard animation and voice-over
in order to provide marginalized groups with a platform
on which they can be heard.
Since I started the project in October, 2014,
I’ve shared stories of students from all over Miami.
Their experiences with discrimination and prejudice
are beautifully represented and emotionally told,
and they serve as a reminder to us
that the issues we hear about on our TVs and Twitter feeds
are affecting real people,
and while we may be able to turn off the constant violence,
negativity, hatred, and bullying,
the people affected by it,
they can’t.
Fabula Rasa has become a movement,
one that in the wake of cruelty, apathy, and hatred is extremely necessary.
These stories can unify us,
show us that no matter our race, religion, gender, or sexuality,
we are all human.
They can instill a sense of caring, compassion, love, and empathy
in our young people, our elderly, and everyone in between.
They can show marginalized groups that they are not alone,
that there are people who care for them,
support them, and are willing to stand up for them.
In the words of Martin Luther King,
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
Take a stand,
listen to these stories,
and share your own.
Once again, my name is Salma Abdelrahman.
I started as a blank slate.
I’ve become a committed big sister to my younger brother,
an avid knitter,
an empowered storyteller,
and a determined activist.
But one thing is for sure,
I am not a terrorist.
Thank you.
(Applause)
Hi everyone.
My name is Salma Abdelrahman,
and just in case you couldn’t tell, I’m a Muslim American.
(Applause)
I’m not a terrorist.
Fabula Rasa – the phrase stems from John Locke’s theory of tabula rasa
meaning “blank slate,”
which states that humans are born a blank slate,
and as we grow older, our sensory experiences carve into that slate
in order to change who we are and how we think.
However, “fabulae” meaning stories in Latin,
also have a profound impact on our individuality and our mindset.
Well, if you combine fabula and tabula rasa, you get Fabula Rasa,
my video project.
(Applause)
The importance of storytelling in shaping who we are
hit me one day in ninth grade during a Student Voices panel.
Student Voices is a project created by the MCCJ,
which aims to share stories of discrimination, prejudice, and intolerance
in order to foster
a more compassionate school environment throughout my community.
Well, on the panel, students share their experiences with homophobia,
xenophobia, antisemitism, body shaming, and other forms of discrimination.
And each story grounded a complex and abstract issue into reality.
One student talked about
how she was not offered a spot at a New York public school,
because the principal told her
she would be unable to climb the stairs due to her disability.
Another student talked about
how he was thinking of transferring out of our school
due to his fear of coming out to his classmates
after hearing them use the word ‘gay’ as an insult.
All I could think to myself throughout all of this
was how can we stand by and allow this to happen?
The tears came quickly and without warning,
and as I glanced back at my classmates, I could see that I was not alone.
These stories have caused some of the toughest football players,
some of the quietest observers,
and some of the most positive and outgoing social butterflies to shed tears.
I left the room that day in shock.
Now, I’d experienced shock before.
In sixth grade, one of my classmates skipped over to me one day and asked,
“Hey, Salma, are you a terrorist?”
and at this point in my life,
I hardly even knew what a terrorist was so I responded, “I don’t think so,”
and just kept eating my lunch.
When I got home that day,
I asked my parents to explain to me what this girl meant,
and when my dad heard my question, I saw his facial expressions drop,
immediately saddened by the fact that I had to be exposed
to such a horrible concept at such a young age.
He then explained to me that a terrorist was a very bad person,
someone who causes harm to others
in order to further their own political agenda.
I was puzzled.
That was not me.
He then showed me a video of the 9/11 attacks,
and as I saw the shear destruction of it all,
the pure cruelty, and hatred,
I was so confused.
The values I had been raised upon were the polar opposite
of what I saw on screen.
I was nothing like the terrorists nor am I today.
Why was I being compared to them?
I felt horrible and dirty as if my skin were suddenly tainted by this label.
That one comment made it absolutely clear to me
that a key part of my identity, my religion,
was not accepted in American society,
and thus I, a 12-year-old girl, was also not accepted.
That night, I laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling fan,
knowing I had to respond in one of two ways:
I could either lose faith in all humanity and do absolutely nothing about it,
or create constructive change in order to restore that faith.
In sixth grade, I chose the first option because it was the easier one,
and because I was too busy being an angsty pre-teen
to start any kind of social revolution.
So whenever someone made an Islamophobic remark
like, “Is Osama Bin-Ladin your dad?”
or “I’m only your friend so you won’t bomb me!”,
I would just brush it off as normal.
And eventually, I became numb.
But let’s go back to that day in ninth grade
during the Student Voices panel.
These students, their stories and others’ reactions to their stories
were shocks I could not ignore.
This time, I chose to act.
I went to my counselor’s office the next day and asked
how I could get involved in Student Voices,
and a month later,
I was sitting in a freshman class sharing my own experiences.
Each panel was so powerful.
I watched as students from the audience
responded with tears, with laughter, with stories of their own,
and I realized, “Oh, my God! We’re actually making a difference!”
You see, everyone knows the textbook definition of racism, sexism,
homophobia, Islamophobia, and other forms of discrimination,
but until people are exposed to individuals
who have faced that discrimination, suffered that hurt,
and been changed by those experiences,
the issue is hardly real.
In order to move people to action
against the marginalization of minority groups,
we had to do what Student Voices was doing.
We had to share stories.
But the impact of Student Voices was limited to the classroom,
and after seeing just how powerful these stories were,
I wanted to do something in order to expand that impact.
After months of brainstorming, some successes, and a ton of failed ideas,
I created Fabula Rasa, my video project,
which is aimed at capturing these stories and spreading them,
allowing them to create an impact on a wider scope.
We utilize whiteboard animation and voice-over
in order to provide marginalized groups with a platform
on which they can be heard.
Since I started the project in October, 2014,
I’ve shared stories of students from all over Miami.
Their experiences with discrimination and prejudice
are beautifully represented and emotionally told,
and they serve as a reminder to us
that the issues we hear about on our TVs and Twitter feeds
are affecting real people,
and while we may be able to turn off the constant violence,
negativity, hatred, and bullying,
the people affected by it,
they can’t.
Fabula Rasa has become a movement,
one that in the wake of cruelty, apathy, and hatred is extremely necessary.
These stories can unify us,
show us that no matter our race, religion, gender, or sexuality,
we are all human.
They can instill a sense of caring, compassion, love, and empathy
in our young people, our elderly, and everyone in between.
They can show marginalized groups that they are not alone,
that there are people who care for them,
support them, and are willing to stand up for them.
In the words of Martin Luther King,
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
Take a stand,
listen to these stories,
and share your own.
Once again, my name is Salma Abdelrahman.
I started as a blank slate.
I’ve become a committed big sister to my younger brother,
an avid knitter,
an empowered storyteller,
and a determined activist.
But one thing is for sure,
I am not a terrorist.
Thank you.
(Applause)
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