After the Olympic Games, I was physically and mentally exhausted. The day after I got home from Rio, I literally dropped my bags in my room and my sisters, my niece, and I got in my car, and we drove south to spend the week with my parents at the beach in Ocean City, Maryland. While everyone spent the day frolicking in the sand and water, I stayed in the hotel room so I could soak in the silence. As much as I love my family and was grateful to spend time with them, I needed the time alone. Thankfully, my family understood. They encouraged me to take as much time as I needed to relax and decompress after a crazy Olympic experience. So I did. For almost an entire week I lay in bed, getting some much-needed rest, occasionally joining my family for dinner or a walk on the beach. I tried not to think about fencing, training, or what came next. I let my mind wander and rest.
Of course, my self-imposed vacation from life couldn’t last forever. I had previously booked speaking engagements and appearances. Not to mention my other responsibilities, like Louella. Our online store was growing rapidly, and my sisters needed me to be more than the face of the company.
Barely two weeks had passed post-Olympics, and I was with my family in Chicago at the largest Islamic conference in North America helping to staff our Louella booths. Even though the Olympics had been the pinnacle of my athletic career, it had only created a jumping-off point for the rest of my life. But before I could take a moment to figure out my next steps, I had to deal with a more pressing issue.
Someone wanted me dead!
The email had come through USA Fencing. Some disgruntled American—a retired veteran—referred to me as “a thing that had to be destroyed.” In a vile email, he’d threatened to kill me and my family, and threatened USA Fencing for having me on the team. It was the scariest thing I’d ever read. I’d never considered myself ignorant to the hate that existed in the world—my father had spoken to us several times about the dangers we’d face for being Black and Muslim in America. So, I knew there were people like that in the world, vicious in their hatred and willing to act on their desires to rid our country of anyone who didn’t fit into their neo-fascist ideals. But this brought the threat too close to home. I was terrified, not just for me, but for my family as well. What was I to do in situations like this? Luckily, USA Fencing officials and my management team took the matter seriously right away and took it to the highest levels of law enforcement.
Because the man had made actual death threats against me and my family—threats that fell under the rubric of hate crimes—the FBI was quickly contacted. Investigators were dispatched to the man’s home in Virginia, and it was eventually determined that he didn’t pose a “real threat.” He supposedly was just “blowing off some steam online.” While I was grateful that the authorities had taken such quick and decisive action, this death threat only confirmed what I had feared all along—that with the rise of my visibility would come a rise in bigots who would make every effort to make my life and my family’s life a living hell. My social media pages were already full of unsavory comments from people who had a problem with everything about me from my hijab to my taste in movies. Up until this point I had been able to brush off the online negativity as mere Internet nonsense, but this latest threat made it all too real.
I had to ask myself again: was it all worth it? As the nation became more racially and politically polarized, did I really want to take a stand at the risk of my own safety? One day I’d feel brave and resolute to keep speaking up even in the face of danger, but the next day I’d wonder how I would ever be able to go out into the world as a symbol of courage when I actually felt fear.
Both my mom and dad were extremely shaken by the death threat, even though it had amounted to nothing in the end. As a retired police officer, my dad wasn’t convinced that the threat was truly over, though, and he blamed himself for not being able to protect me.
“You see, Ibtihaj,” Abu said, “this is why sometimes it’s just good practice to say nothing and let your actions speak for you. You’ve been a positive symbol for so many people, but maybe it’s time for you to pull back from all the speeches and the media interviews. That just gives these guys more to use against you.”
I didn’t know what to say. My father was right—my increased visibility brought new opportunities, both good and bad. But if I went silent, I’d be letting the crazies win.
“But this isn’t a game, Ibtihaj,” he said. “This is your life we’re talking about here. There are people out here with a racist axe to grind. People who don’t want to see people like us getting ahead. That’s always been the case.”
I sighed. There was a lot of truth in what my dad was saying. And he was my father. His first concern—as it had always been—was his family’s safety. “But, Abu, I’ve been given this opportunity. If I don’t speak up, who will?”
“I don’t know, Ibtihaj,” Abu admitted. “But I can’t let anything happen to you.”
My dad would never have asked me to quit speaking out, but he also wanted to make sure I took the right precautions. For one, he wanted me to always travel with some kind of security team.
“You want me to walk around with bodyguards, Abu?” I said, laughing, as I imagined myself flanked by six burly men in dark suits and sunglasses at my next speaking event.
Abu wasn’t laughing. “Yes, I do. And I know people who can provide the services.”
My dad was serious, which made me immediately sober up. My father was career law enforcement, and if he thought I needed a security team, I really had a lot of thinking to do.
My head swam with the possibilities and the choices I needed to make.
On September 10, 2016, the city of Maplewood celebrated Ibtihaj Muhammad Day with a day’s worth of activities and a parade. The event had been planned since before the Olympics, and bringing home a bronze medal only made the event organizers even more excited to celebrate my achievements. I was flattered by the idea, but the recent events with the FBI and my father’s warnings had me a little skittish about the idea of walking through Maplewood with crowds of people around me. Even though it was Maplewood, I was still concerned about my safety. My parents were, too, and they demanded the city offer protection. Admittedly I was glad they did. The city police were terrific and made me feel as safe as possible. And the whole day turned out to be the most affirming experience—it cemented my purpose in the world.
Arranged by the mayor of Maplewood, the parade and subsequent activities far surpassed anything I had imagined. I was expecting a little walk down Main Street, but instead there was a motorcade of ten cars that traveled from the New Jersey Fencing Alliance all the way to the town library. My dad and I were seated together in a convertible in the front of the parade and my mom and sisters were in a car right behind us. I was so pleased to have my whole family involved because I wanted everyone to know that Ibtihaj Muhammad Day was their day, too. I’m sure most parade watchers didn’t notice, but I was also surrounded by undercover police officers for the whole day. They were discreet, and even I didn’t notice them after a short while on the parade route. I was far too engrossed by the outpouring of love I was receiving from my hometown. I was getting choked up just seeing it all.
I couldn’t believe the number of people who came out to celebrate this day with me. The streets were packed with pedestrians holding signs and banners that said things like “Go Ibtihaj Muhammad!” and “Hometown Hero!” People were yelling and cheering for me as my car passed by.
“We love you, Ibtihaj,” I heard more times than I could keep count.
When we got to steps of the library, the official program began, and I received a handful of official awards and proclamations from various city officials as well as artwork and letters from local artists. It was so humbling to have the city of Maplewood honor me that way. It still always shocked me when it wasn’t just Muslim people or Black people who were moved by my story and who felt love for me despite both our different and shared experiences. Here I had the diverse citizens of an entire city sin
ging my praises, congratulating me on my achievements, and that made me really think about the power of my story. I had the opportunity to touch people’s lives and to make a difference in the world. I wasn’t going to let the hateful rhetoric of a bigoted few define my life or change the trajectory of my journey. I wasn’t going to live in fear. I refused to silence my voice when I knew I had the potential to change the world. I promised myself I would be more vigilant in taking measures to ensure my safety. Indeed, Allah had a plan for me, and I was going to keep riding this ride to see how far it could take me.
EPILOGUE
I decided to keep fencing. I had accomplished my goal to make an Olympic team, but I couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to retire from the sport. I was still ranked number two in the country and number twelve in the world after the Olympics. And despite the fact that Louella was experiencing consistent growth and I was being asked to speak on panels and at conferences the world over, on topics that ranged from religion to body positivity in sports, at my core I still felt like a fencer.
But now my professional network and my opportunity to be a real agent for change had truly blossomed. Alongside four other well-known athletes, Michael Bennett from the Seattle Seahawks, WNBA stars Maya Moore and Breanna Stewart, and track and field legend John Carlos, I helped create a nonprofit organization called Athletes for Impact whose mission is to “connect athletes with communities to positively transform America.” The organization addresses issues ranging from climate change to mass incarceration. With prominent sports figures—think Colin Kaepernick, LeBron James, and Aly Raisman—dominating news headlines for using their voices to speak on matters they believed in, we realized that if unified and organized, athletes could have an even greater impact on the world, and not just on the playing field.
It took me a moment to settle into my new role. I’m not sure what I would even put on a traditional business card: Olympic Fencer? Activist? Entrepreneur? All of the above? But I eventually came to understand that it’s about embracing the flexibility and possibility of the unknown. I could define my own identity and I didn’t need to explain myself to others or have them define me.
One of the most exciting things that happened to me post–Rio Games was that the Mattel toy company decided to make an Ibtihaj Muhammad Barbie doll. The best part, the doll would come dressed in a fencing uniform with a hijab. Like me, she would be a first, the first Barbie in a hijab. When the company showed me the prototype, I cried. Considering how much I had loved my Barbies as a child, the thought of little girls, both Muslim and non-Muslim, playing with a Barbie who chooses to wear hijab made me so happy. As I sat there in the conference room at Mattel, my mascara running from my tears, I tried to explain why this doll was going to be so important to so many little girls. “Not only does it give millions of little girls a doll that looks like them, it means you see us and that we matter,” I said, trying to regain my composure. The Mattel executives may not have understood just how significant this was to me, but that didn’t matter. Soon enough, the world would have its first Muslim Barbie.
The Ibtihaj Muhammad Barbie made her official debut at Glamour magazine’s Women of the Year Summit and awards show in New York on November 13, 2017. Mattel came through by outfitting my custom Barbie in a Louella original. The immediate response to Barbie at the Glamour WOTY Awards was positive and the support and love for the first Barbie in hijab was overwhelming. I walked away from the event that night even more inspired to do more, more committed to standing up, and more determined to raise my voice.
If I’ve learned anything from this amazing journey I’ve been on, it’s that the work never stops. The work ethic I developed as an Olympic athlete is the same one I’m calling on now as a change agent in a world that still hasn’t figured out how to make room for everyone, regardless of their race, religion, or gender. Just as I defied the odds to make it to the Olympics in a sport that didn’t have a place for me, I will continue to fight—to use all of my resources—for equality, justice, and peace. And I know this path I’ve chosen isn’t going to be easy—the odds are against an African-American, Muslim woman being embraced as a spokesperson for building a better America—but easy has never been the way I roll. I’ve had to fight for every win, every place at the table, every ounce of respect on my path to world-class athlete. And I will continue to fight because the prize this time is an America that truly respects all of its citizens. And that is worth more than any medal.
Inshallah: so may it be.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All praises to the Most High, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful. I thank Allah for giving me this beautiful life, the experiences of joy, of sadness, and everything in between. Alhumdulillah.
To my mother and father, I thank you for seeing potential in me even when I had a hard time seeing it in myself. My parents’ efforts to instill values like hard work and dedication have shaped me into who I am today. They have taught me the importance of sacrifice, preparation, and responsibility. It is through them that I have learned to have an unwavering love for Allah, His plan, and my faith. It is my hope that I will continue to make them proud and that their love and guidance help me in every step along my journey.
To my sister Faizah, thank you for being the calm in every storm and the wind beneath my wings. Though we are six years apart, I like to think of us as twins, coupled on this adventure into the world of elite fencing. We trained together every day, helped each other through the moments that mattered most, and never stopped rooting for the other’s personal success. This Olympic medal is as much Faizah’s as it is my own. Here’s to always being best friends.
To my brother Qareeb, sisters Brandilyn and Asiya, and Auntie, I am forever grateful for the endless support and love. To my niece Maliha and nephew Zayd, because of them I strive to leave the world a better place.
To my personal coaches, Akhi, Frank, Alex, trainer Osei, and other coaches that helped me along the way, Achiko and Zoran, thank you for preparing me physically, tactically, and mentally to become the best version of myself.
To Peter Westbrook, thank you for paving the way for black and brown kids everywhere and for making this dream a possibility for me. To my Foundation teammates and mentors, friends Isis and Paola, thank you for your unconditional love and support. What a blessing it is to have family by your side during your wins. What an even greater blessing it is to have family by your side during your falls.
To Joel Hirschhorn and Andrea Buccino, thank you for putting the pieces back together again.
To Lindsay and Mary, I will be forever grateful for your guidance and friendship, and for encouraging me to awaken my inner activist.
I want to thank Greg for showing me the importance of deadlines and guiding me through the book-writing process. A big thank you to Krishan and the team at Hachette. Writing this book was as intense as it was gratifying, and I am indebted to Lori Tharps for her patience and brilliance in helping me tell my story.
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