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Law in Contemporary Society
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Navigating How to be Muslim in the Legal Field-- By LaraHafez - 24 May 2025A Moment of Realization"We need more Muslims like you in the legal field." When I heard this after hosting a Muslim lawyer from the ACLU to speak at our Muslim Student Union at Stanford, I had been so weighed down by my preconceived notions that I didn’t realize how much control I had over my own future. My realization of this reality now shapes how I view this comment. However, at the time, I felt both seen and burdened by expectation. I had always been intrigued by the idea of becoming a lawyer, but I never truly knew what that would look like for someone like me. Both of my parents are refugees who never had more than a high school degree. The concept of professional success, especially in an elite field like law, always felt distant. I didn’t know if I had the potential to be a lawyer, but I did know one thing: I wanted to use my voice to support people like my parents and my friends who were members of my community.The Burden of ExpectationsAfter talking to the ACLU lawyer and other advisors, I knew that a legal career could give me the platform I sought, whether as an immigration attorney, a civil rights lawyer, or in another public interest role. When people found out I was planning to go to law school, many in my community saw me as a representative of their struggles. They would remind me not to "sell my soul" and to stay true to my mission of uplifting marginalized voices. I was always told money would never be worth as much as the impact I could make. And I believed it. I went into law school committed to doing the work that mattered to me. But what no one told me was that even in public interest law, I would still face tensions that challenged both my sense of belonging and my morals. When I started law school, I found myself struggling to fit in, not because I lacked the skills or passion, but because my sense of belonging often hinged on how others perceived me and what spaces they created for me. As a Muslim, I chose not to drink as part of my religious practice. That choice, while deeply personal, felt like one of the biggest barriers to feeling like I belonged in the legal field. The challenge wasn’t abstaining from alcohol, it was navigating the social and professional consequences of that decision. Law school and the legal profession often rely heavily on networking events held at bars and social functions centered around drinking. It’s not just about being present at these events but about how people perceive me when I choose not to drink. Classmates have teased me for drinking water at a bar. Others have given me condescending comments like, "It’s good that you choose not to drink," as if I were a child being praised. At professional events, the discomfort was even more pronounced. I’ve had attorneys tell me that it’s rude not to at least hold a drink. These interactions made me feel like an outsider. But as I reflect more deeply, I realize I share some responsibility. I let other people’s opinions dictate whether or not I belonged. I placed myself in spaces where I already felt excluded and accepted those feelings as fixed. I now realize those isolated incidents should not define my future in this field. Instead, I could have advocated more, asked for mocktails, suggested inclusive activities, or even shifted where I sought belonging. I was focused on fitting in rather than thinking forward, asking what kind of future I want to build for Muslim lawyers.Moving ForwardMy experience has taught me that Muslim representation in the legal profession isn’t just about increasing numbers, it’s about ensuring we can exist in these spaces as our full, authentic selves. I think back to the words that started this reflection: “We need more Muslims like you in the legal field.” I now understand that being like me doesn’t just mean being Muslim in law, it means being a Muslim who is unapologetically themselves in law. It means carving out a space where my community doesn’t just enter the profession but thrives in it. In an ideal world, our religious and cultural differences wouldn’t matter. But we don’t live in that world. We live in one where those differences are spotlighted and weaponized. That’s why we need realistic expectations. It wouldn’t make sense to hope for a future where our religious or cultural commitments fade into the background, especially when their visibility is what helps expose prejudice and demand accountability. That is where law and faith intersect: through intentionality, accommodation, and kind acceptance. The problem isn’t that I don’t drink. The problem is that it has become extremely normalized for the legal field to be engulfed by a culture that doesn’t recognize or respect different lifestyles. True inclusion means acknowledging those differences and making space for them, whether through mocktails, non-drinking events, or simply quiet, respectful support. This problem can only be addressed through intentional actions, by Muslims and by allies. We must lead by example, showing what acceptance and accommodation look like. We can create environments where people feel at ease, and we can speak up when change is needed. We cannot simply hope for a future where our religious beliefs are unnoticed, because they are not meant to be hidden. They are personal, deeply held, and remarkable in how they shape our lives and our values. That is why we must first acknowledge the negative norms we have internalized, the harms they can perpetuate, and then work to replace them. The goal is not invisibility, it is visibility on our terms. We must move toward a future where being visibly Muslim is not a liability but a point of pride.You are entitled to restrict access to your paper if you want to. But we all derive immense benefit from reading one another's work, and I hope you won't feel the need unless the subject matter is personal and its disclosure would be harmful or undesirable. To restrict access to your paper simply delete the "#" character on the next two lines:
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