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Commentaries at the San Antonio Report provide space for our community to share perspectives and offer solutions to pressing local issues. The views expressed in this commentary belong to the author alone.
When Gov. Greg Abbott declared the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) a terrorist organization on Nov. 18, many Texans were stunned. For Muslims in Texas, especially those of us who are civically engaged, the announcement felt less like an isolated decision and more like the culmination of long-standing political scapegoating.
What may look like a symbolic gesture to some carries very real consequences for Muslim communities in places like San Antonio. It increases the risk of violence, undermines decades of community-building and distorts the public’s understanding of who Muslim Texans are and what we contribute to this state.
I write from the perspective of someone who has lived this intersection of faith, identity and civic life. During my recent run for San Antonio City Council District 8, I experienced something profound about our city. San Antonio is filled with compassionate people who consistently judge others by their character rather than their race, religion or background.
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Across neighborhoods ranging from Hunters Creek to Babcock North, residents opened their doors, welcomed conversation and expressed a willingness to listen. The warmth I experienced from the over 7,000 doors I knocked on stood in sharp contrast to the fear-based rhetoric that often emerges from higher levels of government.
The positive image that many San Antonians hold of Muslims that I experienced, did not appear overnight. It is the result of decades of slow, steady work by local mosques and Muslim organizations, including CAIR, the Muslim American Society and the Muslim Children Education and Civic Center.
These organizations have hosted interfaith dinners, organized charity drives, built relationships at neighborhood associations and shown up wherever understanding and dialogue were needed. Outreach of this nature is not glamorous. It is patient, incremental and rooted in daily acts of service. These efforts helped foster the respectful and welcoming attitudes that I encountered throughout my campaign.
None of this means I was shielded from all discrimination. There were moments on the campaign trail when Islamophobia surfaced, sometimes through coded comments where people openly questioned whether a Muslim can actually be loyal to America, and other times directly, in the form of physical violence. Yet even in those moments, what struck me was not the hostility but the way compassion outweighed it.
For every discriminatory encounter, there were many more residents who said they respected my willingness to run or that they cared about honesty and integrity above all else. Families even offered me water to break my fast because they knew I was blockwalking during Ramadan. Those experiences reinforced my belief that genuine relationships between communities can overcome even deep-seated fears. They also reminded me that these relationships require protection, especially when powerful officials threaten to unravel them with careless or inflammatory declarations.
This understanding became even more significant as the Israel-Hamas war and subsequent violence in Gaza unfolded and the humanitarian crisis in Gaza came to be understood by the international community as genocide. Across the country, many people called on their cities to adopt ceasefire resolutions. Such resolutions would not have stopped the violence, but they would have forced municipalities to articulate a moral position: that all lives matter equally, including Palestinian lives.
Instead, in San Antonio, the issue became entangled in political caution. Some city officials privately expressed empathy but hesitated to speak publicly. Others avoided the topic altogether out of fear of backlash. As the violence escalated overseas, the dehumanization of Palestinians grew more entrenched and that dehumanization inevitably seeped into local attitudes toward Muslim communities.
That is why the refusal of many city governments, including San Antonio’s, to take a moral stance on Gaza was so troubling. The point was never that a City Council resolution could rewrite foreign policy. The point was that moral clarity expressed locally can protect vulnerable communities from the spread of dehumanizing narratives. When local leaders affirm the dignity of all people, they help inoculate their cities against fear-based divisions. When they remain silent, those divisions deepen.
This matters because global events do not remain distant for long. History repeatedly shows that when a group is dehumanized abroad, members of that group become vulnerable at home. The anti-Asian American violence during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic was fueled by rhetoric about foreign threats. After 9/11, American Muslims faced surveillance, discrimination, and suspicion because of narratives originating thousands of miles away.
These examples illustrate a simple truth: Issues that appear foreign eventually become local. Silence from local leaders does not prevent this shift. It accelerates it. And this is precisely why I argue our City Council must take a clear public stance now, because acknowledging the humanity of Palestinians and rejecting Gov. Abbott’s declaration is essential to protecting the dignity and safety of Muslim communities here in San Antonio.
The consequences of earlier inaction became clear as Islamophobia rose nationwide and Muslims in cities across the country began reporting heightened harassment.
This growing climate forms the backdrop for Gov. Abbott’s recent declaration. Instead of easing tensions, he has escalated them. Labeling CAIR a terrorist organization distracts from the organization’s long history of civil rights advocacy, interfaith engagement and legal support for Muslim communities.
It also invites the public to view Muslims not as neighbors or fellow Texans but as potential threats. Once an entire civil rights organization is painted with such a label, it becomes easier to target individual Muslim leaders, mosques and civic institutions. The governor is aware that such rhetoric increases the risk of real-world violence. Hate crimes spike when elected officials single out minority groups, yet he continues to play political games with the safety of Muslim Texans.
In light of this, San Antonio faces an important choice. We often describe ourselves as a welcoming city, a community shaped by immigration, faith and a rich mixture of cultures. These are not hollow descriptions. They are values that define how we see ourselves and how we want others to see us. But values only have power when they are acted upon.
Cities like Houston, Dearborn, and Los Angeles have historically stepped up in moments when Muslims were targeted, making clear that fear-mongering rhetoric would not define their local culture. San Antonio must show similar clarity today.
Our City Council does not need authority over foreign policy to make a difference. It only needs the moral conviction to say that Muslim residents are valued members of this community and that attempts to marginalize them are unacceptable.
Leadership means speaking before harm is done. It means setting the tone for how neighbors treat one another. It means acknowledging the humanity of those who are being targeted.
My campaign experience showed me that San Antonio is fully capable of this kind of leadership at a community level. Residents listen to one another, show curiosity about unfamiliar experiences, and extend kindness without needing to be asked. That spirit can guide us through this moment if our elected officials are willing to amplify it instead of hide from it.
Gov. Abbott’s declaration will not make Texans safer. It will not protect Jewish communities or any other group he claims to be defending. What it will do is embolden extremists, silence civic participation and undermine years of bridge-building that have strengthened our city.
San Antonio can choose a different path. We can choose to reject fear-based politics and affirm the shared dignity of all our residents.
Muslims in Texas are teachers, doctors, small business owners, volunteers and public servants. They are part of the fabric of this state and they deserve to be treated as such. Attempts to marginalize them should be met with moral clarity and firm opposition. The future of our city will be shaped not by those who divide us but by those who commit to unity, fairness and compassion. In this moment, unity begins with the courage to speak.
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