This Is What America Looks Like

This Is What America Looks Like Plot Summary

Introduction

In November 2018, as the midterm election results rolled in, a historic milestone quietly unfolded in Minnesota's 5th congressional district. Ilhan Omar, a hijab-wearing Somali refugee who had arrived in America speaking just two English words—"hello" and "shut up"—was elected to the United States Congress. Her victory represented far more than a personal triumph; it symbolized the boundless possibilities of the American dream and challenged the rising tide of anti-immigrant and anti-Muslim sentiment that had become increasingly mainstream in American politics. As Omar took her oath of office on the Quran in January 2019, she broke multiple barriers simultaneously: the first Somali-American, one of the first two Muslim women, and the first woman of color from Minnesota to serve in Congress. Omar's journey from a refugee camp in Kenya to the hallowed halls of the U.S. Capitol offers a compelling narrative of resilience, determination, and unwavering conviction. Through her story, we witness the harrowing experience of displacement during civil war, the challenges of adapting to a new culture while maintaining one's identity, and the transformative power of civic engagement. More profoundly, her life illuminates how personal adversity can forge a commitment to social justice, how traditional barriers to political participation can be overcome through grassroots organizing, and how representation in government can fundamentally reshape what leadership looks like in America. In an era marked by deep political divisions and heated debates about immigration, Omar's story provides a timely reflection on what it truly means to be American.

Chapter 1: Childhood in War-Torn Somalia and Refugee Experience

Born in 1982 in Mogadishu, Somalia, Ilhan Omar grew up in an unusual household by traditional Somali standards. Her family was large, multigenerational, and notably progressive. Unlike the patriarchal hierarchy typical in Somali culture, Omar's family fostered an environment where everyone, even the youngest child, participated in family decisions. This democratic family structure, where opinions were valued regardless of age, would later influence Omar's political philosophy and approach to governance. Omar's early childhood was marked by loss when her mother died when she was very young—so young that Omar has no memories of her. She was raised by her father and grandfather, along with aunts who provided maternal figures in her life. Her grandfather, whom she called Baba, was particularly influential in shaping her worldview. A well-read man who worked running the country's network of lighthouses, Baba rejected traditional gender limitations, raising his daughter—Omar's mother—as an equal to his sons. This progressive attitude extended to his granddaughters as well. When civil war erupted in Somalia in 1991, eight-year-old Omar's life was suddenly transformed. The violence that engulfed Mogadishu became a daily reality—bullets piercing buildings and bodies, food shortages, and the constant sound of mortar fire. "One day everything was okay," Omar would later recall, "and the next, there were bullets piercing not only buildings but also people." What was once unthinkable became normalized: corpses in the streets, neighborhoods turned into battlegrounds, and the collapse of every institution from schools to hospitals. The conflict in Somalia took on clan dimensions, with militia groups targeting civilians based on their clan affiliations. Omar's father's clan, the Majerteen, became targets in Mogadishu. Though her mother's side of the family were Benadiri (a Somali ethnic minority), Omar found herself in danger by association with her father's clan. The family had to hide their identities to survive, a confusing reality for a young girl who had been taught to take pride in her lineage. At checkpoints, Omar learned to claim her great-grandmother's clan instead of her father's to avoid being killed. When the family compound was directly attacked by armed men one night, Omar's grandfather finally accepted that they could no longer stay in Mogadishu. They fled the city, leaving behind their books, art collections, and the safety of their walls. Their journey took them first to other parts of Somalia and eventually to the Kenyan border. The journey was perilous, with the family splitting up to increase chances of survival. For a time, Omar and her aunt traveled separately from her father and siblings, not knowing if they would see each other again. In 1992, Omar arrived at the Utange refugee camp near Mombasa, Kenya, where she would spend the next four years of her life. The camp brought new dangers: malaria, dysentery, and malnutrition were rampant. Omar witnessed more death in the camp than she had during the war. Her beloved aunt Fos, who had been like a mother to her, contracted malaria and died in the camp despite Omar's desperate efforts to find help. This profound loss reinforced a harsh lesson: "There was no such thing as escape in this life. If you are destined to die, it doesn't matter how far you travel—you will die." Yet among the hardship, Omar also found resilience and community, learning that "the only option for the human spirit is to keep going."

Chapter 2: New American: Adapting to Life in a Foreign Land

In 1995, after spending four years in the Utange refugee camp, Omar's family was granted asylum in the United States. Before leaving Kenya, they attended an orientation program that showed idyllic images of America: beautiful homes with white picket fences, bountiful farms, and thriving malls. This romanticized vision created expectations that would soon collide with reality. Landing first in New York City, twelve-year-old Omar was immediately struck by the disconnect between the America she had imagined and what she saw: "All I see is garbage. How... how is this America?" Her father reassured her, "This isn't our America. We'll get to our America." The family settled in Arlington, Virginia, where Omar faced the daunting challenge of starting middle school with only two English phrases in her vocabulary: "hello" and "shut up." The cultural transition was jarring. In Somalia, Omar had been part of the social majority; in America, she was suddenly marked by multiple differences—her skin color, religion, clothing, and language. Without siblings at her school for support, she navigated this new environment alone. Misunderstandings led to frequent fights as Omar interpreted stares and comments as threats, earning her constant detention, which ironically accelerated her English learning as she spent hours reading alone. Omar's father imposed a rigorous system at home where family members had to speak English to each other, no matter how painful the process. He also offered financial incentives for good grades—three hundred dollars for all As, less for lower grades, and nothing if she received a D. This system motivated Omar to excel academically despite her initial language barriers. By her second year in America, she was nearly fluent in English, impressing her teachers with her rapid progress. One teacher noted in her yearbook the remarkable transformation: "Ilhan in '96: 'Hello and shut up.' Ilhan in '97: 'Hi, my name's Ilhan. I want to be your friend.'" After moving to Minneapolis, Minnesota, in her early teens, Omar found herself in a community with a significant Somali population—the largest in the United States at that time. For the first time since arriving in America, she was surrounded by people who understood aspects of her identity and experience without explanation. At Edison High School, she channeled her energy into positive change, helping form a student coalition called "Unity in Diversity" that worked to bridge cultural divides and reduce conflicts between different ethnic groups. This early organizing experience foreshadowed her future role in community activism. The tension between assimilation and cultural preservation created ongoing conflicts in Omar's teenage years. Her father had liberal values but faced pressure from the Somali community to impose stricter limitations on his daughter. Omar pushed boundaries in ways that alarmed her family—staying out late, dyeing her hair with Beyoncé-inspired highlights, and eventually dating Ahmed, a young Somali man who had also come to America as a refugee. These tensions represented the broader struggle of immigrant children navigating between cultural traditions and American teenage norms. Despite these challenges, Omar maintained strong ties to her family, particularly her grandfather Baba, who remained her closest confidant. She often stayed with him to watch basketball or movies late into the night. The intergenerational bond provided stability amid the turbulence of adolescence in a new country. By age nineteen, partly due to cultural expectations and family pressure, Omar married Ahmed—a decision that reflected both her deep connection to him and the reality that in their culture, unmarried relationships were not accepted.

Chapter 3: Finding Her Voice: Education and Political Awakening

Omar's path to education was far from straightforward. After graduating high school, she enrolled in a two-year associate's program at a for-profit college located in the Mall of America. Like many first-generation immigrants without guidance on navigating higher education, she was drawn in by advertisements promising flexibility and accessibility. The reality proved more complicated—the program was expensive, the credits wouldn't transfer to traditional universities, and balancing schoolwork with raising her young daughter Isra (born in 2002) and son Adnan (born in 2005) was exhausting. During this period, Omar experienced what she describes as an "early midlife crisis." The financial crisis of 2008 revealed structural flaws in the economy that left her disillusioned about her future prospects despite her efforts to earn a degree. Questioning every aspect of her life—her marriage, her religion, her identity—Omar went through a profound personal breakdown. "I had always felt like there were five hundred eyes watching me, and every single pair was looking to see if I met their expectations," she reflected. The psychological weight of these expectations, combined with unprocessed trauma from her refugee experience, led to physical symptoms including severe headaches, insomnia, and emotional volatility. In 2009, seeking space to rebuild herself on her own terms, Omar made the radical decision to move to Fargo, North Dakota, to attend North Dakota State University. Taking her two children with her, she left behind her extended family and their opinions to focus entirely on her education and personal development. In Fargo, she found the freedom to explore her interests without constraint. Though she initially planned to study nutrition based on her previous work experience, she discovered a passion for political science. When her grandfather questioned this choice, saying "Politics is a thing we do, not something you study," Omar was undeterred, confident in her new direction. While in North Dakota, Omar reconnected with her Muslim faith in a deeper, more personal way. During a visit to relatives in Sweden in 2005, she had encountered a different approach to religious practice—one focused on internal spiritual development rather than external judgment of others. This perspective helped her reconcile her progressive values with her Islamic faith. Upon returning to Minneapolis after completing her degree, she began wearing the hijab consistently—not as a submission to cultural expectations but as an expression of her authentic self. "The hijab wasn't about a piece of cloth or the battle against objectification," she explained. "Instead it was really a symbol of the purity of my presence in the world." Omar's political awakening had begun years earlier when she accompanied her grandfather to a local Democratic caucus as a teenager. Though the process seemed chaotic, she was struck by how everyone's voice carried equal weight in the room. This early exposure to grassroots democracy planted a seed that would grow throughout her education. At NDSU, she became involved in student organizations related to politics and international affairs, finding her voice as an advocate for progressive causes. In 2011, to complete her studies, Omar traveled back to Somalia for the first time since fleeing as a child. Though she couldn't visit her childhood home in Mogadishu due to ongoing security concerns, she conducted research in Puntland on the viability of representative government. Later in her trip, when conditions unexpectedly changed, she was able to briefly return to Mogadishu, standing in the ruins of her family's former home. This emotional reconnection with her homeland deepened her commitment to helping others experiencing displacement and conflict. Before returning to the United States, she joined relief efforts assisting Somalis fleeing famine across the Kenyan border—work that gave her a profound sense of purpose.

Chapter 4: Breaking Barriers: From Community Organizer to Legislator

Upon returning to Minneapolis with her political science degree, Omar immersed herself in local community organizing. She joined various progressive nonprofits, became vice chair of her senate district's Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party (DFL) organization, and cofounded the New Americans political action committee to increase immigrant participation in politics. Rather than seeking the spotlight, she worked tirelessly behind the scenes, planning rallies, chairing conventions, and attending committee meetings to shape party platforms. "If there was a need, I showed up—with or without permission," she recalled of this period. In 2012, Omar threw herself into the campaign against two Republican-backed ballot measures: one requiring photo ID for voters and another defining marriage as between one man and one woman in the Minnesota constitution. Understanding that the campaign's official messaging didn't resonate with immigrant communities, Omar developed alternative narratives that connected with her community's values. Her approach emphasized freedom and civil liberties, arguing that constitutional amendments that restricted rights today could target different communities tomorrow. This values-based organizing proved effective, helping defeat both measures. Omar's skill as a campaign organizer led to her being hired as campaign manager for Andrew Johnson's 2013 bid for Minneapolis City Council. Though Johnson was considered a long-shot candidate, Omar's strategic approach and relentless door-knocking helped secure his victory. After the election, she joined his staff as senior policy aide, where she gained valuable experience in municipal governance. Working within the system presented new challenges for someone accustomed to outside advocacy. She had to navigate the complexities of representing an elected official while staying true to her progressive values on issues like criminal justice reform. In February 2014, Omar's political work turned unexpectedly dangerous. While serving as site coordinator for a local Democratic caucus, she was physically attacked during an altercation between supporters of different candidates. The incident, which left her with a concussion, highlighted tensions within the Somali community over political representation. Rather than being intimidated, Omar became more determined to challenge the status quo. "I will not be bullied," she declared, insisting that photos of her injured face be shared publicly to show she remained unbowed. This resilience would be tested again in 2015 when Omar decided to run for the Minnesota House of Representatives against 44-year incumbent Phyllis Kahn. Her decision to challenge such an established figure provoked strong reactions, particularly from traditional elders in the Somali community who believed a woman should not seek political leadership. "It's not appropriate for a woman to lead," one elder told Omar's father, threatening community shunning if she persisted. These cultural pressures were compounded by vicious smear campaigns on social media, including manipulated videos with false messages attributed to Omar. Despite these obstacles, Omar built a formidable grassroots campaign, connecting with voters across demographic lines through personal conversations and relentless door-knocking. Her team of young, energetic volunteers—many first-time voters themselves—defied conventional campaign wisdom. On August 9, 2016, Omar won the Democratic primary by over 20,000 votes, effectively ensuring her election in the heavily Democratic district. Her victory represented not just a personal achievement but a breakthrough for her community, demonstrating that new voices could successfully challenge entrenched power structures.

Chapter 5: Making History: First Somali-American Congresswoman

In January 2017, Omar was sworn in as the first Somali-American legislator in United States history. Her historic achievement came just days before President Donald Trump signed an executive order banning travel from seven predominantly Muslim countries, including Somalia. The contrast between Omar's ascension and the administration's policies created an immediate national spotlight. Overnight, she became not just a state representative but a symbol of resistance to xenophobia and Islamophobia. Foreign media outlets tracked her movements, and speaking requests flooded her office from around the world. In the Minnesota House, Omar faced the challenge of being both an effective legislator and a symbolic figure. Some colleagues viewed her with suspicion, fearing she might recruit candidates to run against them as she had done with Kahn. Others were simply baffled by her confidence. "You somehow walk in like you're a white man," one fellow representative told her, perplexed by her unwillingness to display deference as a freshman lawmaker. Rather than being intimidated, Omar leaned into her role, even running for a leadership position on her first day in the Democratic caucus—and winning. As a legislator, Omar proved adept at building unexpected alliances. She found common ground with Republican committee chairs like Larry "Bud" Nornes, with whom she collaborated on higher education legislation. Her approach involved direct communication, thorough preparation, and a willingness to understand others' perspectives. Through these methods, she secured legislative victories on issues including childcare grants for student parents and a bill of rights for pregnant students. Omar's effectiveness stemmed from her belief that "hard things only get harder when you don't have real conversations about them." In June 2018, just eighteen months into her term as state representative, Omar faced an unexpected opportunity when Congressman Keith Ellison announced he was vacating his seat to run for Minnesota Attorney General. With only thirty hours until the filing deadline, Omar had to decide whether to run for Congress. The prospect seemed daunting—she would need to assemble a campaign team, raise significant funds, and mount a congressional campaign in just ten weeks. Moreover, her family was exhausted from her intensive schedule as a state legislator, and her father was recovering from surgery. Despite these challenges, the infrastructure for a congressional campaign materialized almost instantly. Former campaign volunteers reactivated, donors wrote checks, and community members stepped forward to take on campaign roles—all before Omar had even made her decision. This spontaneous mobilization, combined with strong encouragement from her former staff, convinced her to file for the race. On June 5, 2018, she officially launched her campaign for the United States House of Representatives. The condensed primary campaign was grueling but successful. Omar won the Democratic primary in August 2018 by a decisive margin, setting her up to make history again in the November general election. Her victory was part of a historic "blue wave" that included record numbers of women and candidates of color. On November 6, 2018, Omar was elected to Congress alongside Rashida Tlaib of Michigan, making them the first Muslim women to serve in the U.S. House of Representatives. Omar's election represented multiple firsts: the first Somali-American in Congress, one of the first two Muslim women, and the first woman of color to represent Minnesota.

Chapter 6: Fighting for Justice: Advocacy and Controversial Stances

From her first days in Congress, Omar positioned herself as an unapologetic progressive voice. She joined the "Squad"—a group of newly elected progressive women of color including Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Rashida Tlaib, and Ayanna Pressley—who collectively represented a new generation challenging the Democratic establishment. Omar advocated for policies including Medicare for All, a $15 minimum wage, student debt cancellation, and ambitious climate legislation. Her perspective was shaped by her lived experience: "Having witnessed firsthand the ravages of war and economic hardship, I believe we need bold solutions to address the challenges facing everyday Americans." One of Omar's first challenges in Congress was confronting a 181-year-old rule prohibiting headwear on the House floor. Rather than seeking a personal exemption, Omar worked with colleagues including Representative Jim McGovern to change the rule itself, allowing religious headwear such as hijabs and yarmulkes. The amendment, which Omar authored, reflected her approach to inclusion—not as an accommodation but as a structural change that recognized America's diversity. When critics complained that the House floor would "look like an Islamic republic," Omar responded: "Well sir, the floor of Congress is going to look like America... And you're gonna have to just deal." On international issues, Omar brought perspectives rarely represented in congressional debates. As a refugee who had experienced war firsthand, she consistently advocated for diplomatic solutions to conflicts and opposed military interventions. Her criticism of U.S. foreign policy, particularly regarding Israel and Palestine, generated significant controversy. In February 2019, she faced backlash for a tweet suggesting that U.S. political support for Israel was "all about the Benjamins"—language that many viewed as invoking antisemitic tropes about Jewish money and influence. Omar apologized for the tweet, acknowledging that she had unintentionally used harmful stereotypes. In a subsequent Washington Post op-ed, she clarified her position, writing: "A balanced, inclusive approach to the conflict recognizes the shared desire for security and freedom of both peoples." The incident highlighted the challenges of discussing complex geopolitical issues in public discourse, especially for someone already facing intense scrutiny. While critics accused her of antisemitism, supporters argued that legitimate criticism of Israeli government policies was being conflated with anti-Jewish sentiment. As one of the few Muslims in Congress during a period of rising Islamophobia, Omar became a frequent target for right-wing media and politicians, including President Trump. In July 2019, at a rally in North Carolina, Trump's criticisms of Omar prompted the crowd to chant "Send her back!"—echoing his earlier tweet suggesting that Omar and other progressive congresswomen of color should "go back" to the countries they came from. The incident crystallized the xenophobic undercurrents in American politics and highlighted the unique challenges faced by Omar as a visibly Muslim immigrant in public office. Rather than being intimidated by these attacks, Omar redoubled her advocacy for marginalized communities. She consistently spoke out against family separations at the border, championed refugee resettlement, and highlighted the humanitarian impacts of U.S. foreign policy. In committee hearings and floor speeches, she often connected policy discussions to human stories, including her own experiences. "I am someone who has seen the United States from the perspective of a foreigner," she once explained. "I know what America looks like to the rest of the world, and I hope and pray that we live up to the ideals and values that make us special."

Chapter 7: Resilience Against Opposition and Personal Attacks

Throughout her political career, Omar has faced an extraordinary level of scrutiny, harassment, and threats. From her first campaign for the Minnesota legislature, opponents circulated conspiracy theories and personal smears designed to delegitimize her. These ranged from false claims about her marital history to bizarre accusations that she was a foreign agent or terrorist sympathizer. The attacks intensified after her election to Congress, with right-wing media outlets and politicians—including the president—regularly targeting her with inflammatory rhetoric. The personal costs of this scrutiny have been substantial. Omar's office regularly receives hate mail and death threats, requiring coordination with Capitol Police and the FBI's Threats Division. Her staff members bear the emotional burden of fielding hateful phone calls while trying to serve constituents. Family members, including her father and husband, have faced community pressure and public humiliation simply for their association with her. The strain has affected her personal relationships, creating what she describes as a "slow-breaking-away effect" as loved ones distance themselves from the constant storm surrounding her. Despite these challenges, Omar has refused to be silenced or intimidated. When criticized for her outspoken positions, she often responds by more forcefully articulating her values. "In a time of extreme cowardice, it's time for extreme courage," she has said. Her resilience stems partly from her refugee experience—having survived war and displacement, she maintains perspective about political attacks. After the "Send her back" chants at Trump's rally, she told Bernie Sanders: "I've heard that all my life, out of cars, in grocery stores. I survived war. I'm not afraid of these people." Omar's approach to criticism has evolved over time. Rather than engaging with every attack, she focuses on the substantive work of representing her constituents. When conspiracy theories resurface, she redirects attention to policy priorities like healthcare, education, and economic justice. This strategy reflects her view that the best response to hate is effective governance that improves people's lives. "I'm not here for your support," she told one critic at a community meeting. "I'm here to support you, so let's talk about what you need." The experience of being constantly vilified has deepened Omar's commitment to inclusion and pluralism. She frequently speaks about the need to create a politics that encompasses all Americans, regardless of faith, ethnicity, or background. "The world belongs to those who show up," she often says, encouraging political participation especially among communities traditionally excluded from power. This philosophy reflects her own journey from refugee to representative—a path made possible by showing up in spaces where she wasn't expected or always welcome. Throughout her career, Omar has drawn strength from the communities she represents. For every hate message, her office receives multiple expressions of support and gratitude. During her first days in Congress, visitors began leaving Post-it notes with encouraging messages outside her office. The collection grew so large that Capitol maintenance staff eventually gave up trying to remove them. The notes—from teenage girls, Senate staffers, Republican women, and fellow immigrants—embodied the diverse coalition that sees Omar as representing their hopes for a more inclusive America. Perhaps most significantly, Omar has transformed the vitriol directed at her into motivation for systemic change. Rather than viewing attacks as personal, she sees them as symptoms of deeper problems in American politics and society—problems that can only be addressed through collective action. "Your success and the successes of others you inspire can heal your wounds," she reflected after being physically attacked at a political caucus. The ultimate validation of her resilience came in her 2020 reelection, when despite being one of the most targeted incumbents in the country, she won by a commanding margin—proof that her vision of representation resonates with those she serves.

Summary

Ilhan Omar's journey embodies the complex, contradictory, and ultimately hopeful nature of the American experience. From a refugee camp in Kenya to the halls of Congress, her path illuminates both America's capacity for inclusion and its ongoing struggles with xenophobia, racism, and religious intolerance. What makes Omar's story particularly powerful is her refusal to be defined by opposition or victimhood. Instead, she has transformed her experiences of displacement, discrimination, and harassment into fuel for a politics centered on expanding opportunity and representation for all. The most enduring lesson from Omar's life may be her understanding that true belonging comes not from conformity but from authentic participation. "Living authentically is the best form of resistance," she has said, rejecting the notion that immigrants or minorities must minimize their differences to be accepted. This principle has guided her approach to governance—fighting for policies that recognize the full humanity of all people while insisting that America can only fulfill its promise by embracing its diversity. For those engaged in social change work, Omar offers a model of resilience that balances unwavering conviction with strategic pragmatism, personal authenticity with collective responsibility. Her story reminds us that democracy belongs not to those who have always held power but to "those who show up"—even and especially when their presence challenges long-standing assumptions about who deserves a seat at the table.

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Ilhan Omar

Ilhan Abdullahi Omar, along with Rashida Tlaib was one of the first two Muslim women to serve in the United States Congress.

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