I was born in Mali, where more than 95% of the population professes Islam as their religion. When I think of how I got a visa to come to the US 40 years ago, the story seems romantic, especially in light of all the Muslim-hating that’s going on in this presidential election.  I first migrated to France as a 19-year-old. I was the son of a market trader in west Africa, and I was going to study abroad in search of opportunity – and to escape the destiny that was laid out in front of me and the youth of my generation. We all expected to live in poverty and to remain vulnerable to the brutal regimes changes in Africa, in which greedy capitalists of the west played a considerable role.  Shortly after arriving in France, I decided to go to America because, as a young man I was still hungry for more adventures. I was attracted by the country’s pop music and rock’n’roll: James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan and many more. So I saved my money, which I earned working in a factory in France, and bought a plane ticket for Washington DC.  When I went to the US embassy with my student immigration form, college acceptance letter and my plane ticket, the interviewer who would be granting me my visa asked me: “Who’s going to support you while you’re in school in America?” “My father,” I replied. He stamped my passport without further questions.  I washed dishes and bussed tables at night in Washington DC, and went to school during the day. I always had music playing in my head to keep me from being nostalgic. I worked while studying, until I finished my PhD in Comparative Literature and landed teaching jobs at many prestigious universities across the United States.  Now I am an American citizen and a chaired professor in the humanities at New York University. I wonder how I made it here as a productive and peaceful citizen of this country, given the thinly veiled insinuations by the Donald Trump campaign that behind every Muslim immigrant is a dormant terrorist. The difference between the rhetoric then and now makes my immigration story feel so unreal to me now.  I made it in America, not because I was exceptionally smart, or hard-working or even more “adaptable” to western culture, but because I had a dream to pursue. Americans, black and white, extended their tradition of hospitality to me, without asking me too many questions. Thanks to them, I was able to participate in making America a better place – both for newcomers escaping the miseries of the world and those looking for new adventures.  I made it in America, despite being from a predominantly Muslim country. I have not yet become a terrorist. Imagine that. On the contrary, I love France, French cafes and good French wine. I love America, I love football, basketball and still love James Brown and Bob Dylan. I love all these things just as much as I love Mali, the ancient and modern music of Salif Keita and Toumani Diabate.  I believe that what the likes of Trump are most afraid of is the realization that their way of life, based on white privilege, now belongs in the past. The future, on the other hand, belongs to people of all colors, genders, religions and sexual preferences – and that includes immigrants like me.
I’m a Muslim immigrant from Mali. But, Mr Trump, that doesn’t stop me from loving America and all that goes with it: football, basketball and James Brown