The Trojan Horse scandal, better named ‘Trojan Hoax’, torpedoed through British society around eight years ago. The devastation it wrought upon British Muslim communities persists to this day. Thanks to a podcast series by journalists Hamza Syed and Brian Reed, we now know more than ever before about the hoax, the letter that started it, and how its influence carried all the way to parliament. In the wake of its release, British Muslims in particular have been left asking: what now?
Ever since the podcast’s release, I’ve been poring through articles and Twitter threads, and attending virtual discussions to get a sense of the response from the Muslim community. Then, last week, I attended an in-person event at the University of Birmingham, hosted by the University’s Islamic Society, where a discussion was held on the impacts of the Trojan Hoax on British Muslims.
I’m from Birmingham, and while some of these discussions are close to home, it’s also apparent that the ‘Trojan Horse effect’ has been pervasive and widespread. In all of these discussions, there’s a palpable sense of momentum in relation to the Islamophobia that’s endemic in Britain. However, unfortunately, there also seems to be a lack of clarity in terms of what to do with that momentum.
The discussions can largely be summarised as follows. There’s anger at the way Muslims have been treated, as part of Trojan Horse and beyond. There’s an appreciation of the podcast and the journalists who produced it for their in-depth investigation. And there’s an assortment of suggestions for where we go from here, broadly: fostering greater intra-community solidarity, calling for a public inquiry, and being more vocal, which includes more Muslims going into media and journalism.
Underlying these suggestions is a deep sense of unfairness. I believe that if we are to utilise this momentum effectively, this sense of unfairness is what we need to unpick.
It's worth acknowledging at this stage that when I say ‘Muslims’, a significant proportion of these thoughts have come from South Asian, and specifically Pakistani/Kashmiri, Muslims in particular.
One of the underlying sentiments appears to be that we did nothing wrong but were targeted anyway. There are suggestions of challenging and ‘correcting’ the portrayal of Muslims in the media. However, this belies a narrative of Muslims being ‘undeserving victims’ as opposed to deserving ones. It misses an acknowledgment of the fact that as former and current colonial subjects, there’s really nothing we can do to avert the various forms of colonial oppression, including but not limited to Islamophobia, that are thrust upon us.
As Asim Qureshi noted: “politicians from Prime Minister David Cameron, his Home Secretary Theresa May, through to the Education Minister Michael Gove, deployed the full extent of the machinery of the state against Birmingham’s Muslims, sending the message that their belonging is forever conditional – that no amount of success and achievement will ever be enough to assuage the fear and loathing that is the foundational block of contemporary British racism”.
In some ways, I see this momentum as an awakening for many British Muslims to the reality of Islamophobia in the UK.
As Syed himself says in the podcast, “I didn’t think there was, you know, some kind of fundamental distrust of Muslims”. Meanwhile Tahir Alam, one of the school governors at the centre of the scandal, tells Syed that “we were part of the community and… it was important as Muslims that we should bring benefit to this country”. He goes on to say, “not only was incorporating Islam into school an academic strategy, it’s also a British value”.
There has been a widespread belief, particularly among South Asian Muslim immigrants, that if you integrate and contribute as citizens of this country, you will be reciprocated with respect and equal social standing. The Trojan Horse affair revealed that this is far from the case. And it is the breaking down of this illusion that South Asian Muslims now find themselves grappling with; it’s also why this sense of unfairness about the entire saga prevails.
In reality, the British state has been forever racist – but as Ava Vidal said in her column for Media Diversified, it seems a lot of Muslims just haven’t been paying attention.
So where do we go from here? One of the issues brought forth in the podcast is how the spectre of terrorism turns Muslims against one another. ‘Salafi Muslims’ were constantly scapegoated. No one wanted to support or show solidarity with those affected by the scandal out of fear of being associated with extremism.
Solidarity, therefore, is one suggestion worth considering seriously and an antidote to the establishment’s divide and rule tactics. But solidarity also requires considered implementation in practice. Instead of expecting women to remain silent on the issues they face for fear of maligning Islam and Muslims as a whole, the South Asian uncles sitting at the top in Muslim organisations and community spaces need to hear these women out and genuinely consider their interests.
Our mosques and communal spaces need to be inclusive and open, so that women, Black people, LGBTQ people, people from GRT communities, and any combination thereof are welcomed and respected.
At the event, there were more white men on the panel than there were women. None of the panellists were Black. It’s events such as these where the work begins.
And moving outside the Muslim community, we must heed Vidal’s words and start paying attention. Racism and Islamophobia aren’t going anywhere. While strengthening ourselves as a community, we also need to show solidarity with those affected by Windrush, with Child Q, with the GRT community’s criminalisation in the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill.
Ironically, while the state demands that Muslims integrate, with Prevent it keeps us from fully integrating in the truest sense, being aware of our democratic rights and able to assert them without fear.
Prevent has silenced Muslims; it has depoliticised us for fear of being seen as too disaffected by the state and therefore too radical. We resist by speaking out – for ourselves, and for everyone oppressed alongside us. Until hopefully one day, at the very least, our children will be able to pray in schools without national hysteria about Islamist plots.
Afroze Fatima Zaidi is a writer, editor and journalist. She has a background in academia and writing for online platforms.
Follow her on Twitter: @afrozefz.
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