Coming Out as an atheist

This is a brave and thoughtful article in CiF by Alom Shaha. It is 2010, yet this is an account by a man born into a muslim family who is careful not to offend or disappoint family and friends by “coming out” as an atheist. This article will be very helpful to those muslims who cannot articulate this statement, not just because of the ridiculous ‘Law of Apostasy’ which has little chance of being applied in Britain, but because of the fear of severing the ties that bind.

Well done Mr Shaha.

I am an atheist. I imagine that the typical Cif belief reader may not think this is a particularly big deal, but it is for me, because I’m not just an atheist – I’m an apostate from Islam. Apparently there are people who would happily kill me for making such a statement. But I’m not expecting to be killed, or even threatened; despite what the BNP and certain elements of the press might want you to think, the overwhelming majority of Muslims are not rabid fundamentalists who respond with violence to every perceived slight.

It’s not easy “coming out” like this. Yes, this is a term that is usually applied to people declaring their homosexuality, but there are parallels which justify its use in this context – especially if you come from the kind of background I have.

I grew up on a council housing estate in the Elephant and Castle, an area of London notorious for crime and poverty. My family was one of a large wave of Bangladeshi families who emigrated to the UK in the early 1970s. It was a horrid time to be a young Bangladeshi in Britain – a time when pubs could legally displays signs saying “no Blacks, no Irish, no dogs”, and violent racism was rife. We got used to the shouts of “go back home you dirty pakis”, and lived in fear of physical abuse ranging from being spat at to being beaten up on the street. In these circumstances, it’s not surprising that the Bangladeshi community was a close-knit and insular one.

It was not only our shared experiences as immigrants that unified us, but also our shared religion. Islam was the religion that defined many of my cultural experiences as I was growing up and it is the religion of all those “aunts” and “uncles” who will be so disappointed if they ever read this.

For many of the people I grew up with, being a Bangladeshi is inseparable from being a Muslim. The same is true of many of the Bangladeshi students I teach, as evidenced by a conversation I seem to have at least once a year with new students:

Bangladeshi Student (clearly excited and a little proud at encountering their first Bangladeshi teacher): “Are you from Bangladesh, sir?”

Me: “Yes.”

Student: “You must be a Muslim then.”

Me: “No, I’m an atheist.”

Student (now a little bewildered and visibly disappointed): “But you’re from Bangladesh, you must be a Muslim.”