Guest columnist Dalila Benameur: I learned I could be free to be Muslim when I came to America

The United States is officially recognizing April as Arab American Heritage Month, a time for acknowledging the role and contributions of our diverse community.

We are a very diverse group with a population that represents 22 different countries from the Middle East to North Africa, a region commonly known as MENA.

As an Arab American of Algerian descent, I moved to the United States in 1995 from Paris, France. Like many immigrants, I had to make the painful decision to leave my home country and my family and friends, if I wanted to have a future as a professional.

Although I am the product of the French public education system that tried to acculturate me and other students of various ethnic groups, I chose to hang on to my religion.

My childhood was somewhat ordinary; however, everything changed during one of my academic trips to the U.S. While doing research in Chicago for my master's degree, my faith strangely grew stronger, and I decided to wear the hijab, the Muslim woman head scarf. I felt very comfortable with my new attire. I felt empowered and stronger than I had ever felt as a woman.

But upon my return to France, I faced all sorts of blatant discrimination and racist micro-aggressions. After graduating in France, I couldn't find a job, not because I was not qualified, simply because I wore the hijab. And wherever I went, I was told the same thing. "You are highly qualified but we cannot hire you with your visible religious garment. Take it off and the job is yours."

I was obviously determined to remain steadfast and become the professional I aspired to be without compromising my faith and values. That is when I decided to move to the United States. I knew that neither my religion, nor my hijab would be looked at as a "problem." So I packed up and left everything behind, and never looked back.

Within a week of my arrival, I was hired as a substitute teacher in a suburban private school. The following school year, I was hired as a full-time social studies teacher in that same school, where I have worked for the past 25 years. I moved on to becoming History Department chair, dean of students and finally academic counselor. I also pursued my postsecondary education and earned two more master's degrees in school administration and education. I was finally "home."

My "American adventure" has been filled with rewarding moments, rich in civic engagement, community activities, volunteering at food pantries, cooking for and serving the homeless and interfaith dialogue with my Catholic and Muslim sisters. Whether I was leading a phone banking operation for a Muslim candidate or organizing Eid parties for families, I have never had a dull moment in Chicago. As an educator, I have had the honor and privilege of educating, coaching and mentoring teenage students.

As an Arab American, whose community has suffered horrendous stereotyping and whose faith and ethnicity have been associated with violence and cruelty, the recognition of Arab-American culture in a celebratory manner is a steppingstone toward fully belonging to the fabric of the American identity.

I have noticed lots of changes and progress made toward my culture, my faith and my people. Although the media perpetuate unfortunate misconceptions of "Islamic violence," more companies have featured women like me; women who wear the hijab are seen in commercials, on billboards, in corporate America, and public schools as teachers and administrators among others. Interestingly, I've always known that America, with all its contradictions and paradox, was a land where I could be American and different.

My friends and sisters from different religions have proven that it is fairly easy to coexist and do charitable work together. We have experienced Sept. 11 together, rejoiced for one another's happiness and family steppingstones, cried and comforted one another in times of loss and hardship. I've always believed that humans are good in nature. Racism and violence stem from ignorance and fear. But they can be broken down one day at a time, one person at a time, and one good action at a time. That's what I have lived by and will continue to do so.

• Dalila Benameur, is an academic counselor at Universal School in Bridgeview, an independent Islamic school which draws students from all over the suburbs, Chicago and Indiana. She is an Algerian American and lives in Worth.