Lessons Learned

My name is Madinah Wilson-Anton.

I am the daughter of Black American reverts. My extended family is mostly Christian. I am one of six girls, the oldest of five raised in the Muslim community of Newark, Delaware. Over the years, I have had friends, classmates, neighbors, and coworkers from various faiths and backgrounds.

I can’t remember the exact moment when I became interested in politics. From a young age I loved learning languages and by high school I had decided I wanted to be an interpreter for the United Nations. In college, I focused on international relations and political science, still intent on working for the government but realizing my path would lead me in another direction. In the Spring of 2015, I got an email advertising an internship program in the Delaware State Legislature. I didn’t really know anything about state politics, but I applied because it was a paid internship and the cost of travel to the state capital of Dover was covered too, even the toll fare. I was accepted into the program and would work for the House Democrats beginning in January.

January 2016, I began my internship and I loved it. Three days a week, I climbed into a minivan for an hour-long trip to the most exciting place I had ever worked. Every day was full of new experiences, the commute was filled with enlightening and, frankly, hilarious conversations. For six months I learned, shared, and was exposed to the thoughts, philosophies, and perspectives of my 6 coworkers who hailed from Philly, New York, Amish Country, and PG County, Maryland. Black, white, Puerto Rican, Jewish, Christian, Catholic, Muslim...our little van family exposed me to new ideas and ways of thinking about the world. Sometimes we argued and vehemently disagreed, but it was enriching.

I graduated with my bachelor’s degree that spring and applied to return to the position the following year during my first year of graduate school. I was interviewed by an intimidating panel made up of leadership from all four caucuses, House and Senate, Democrat and Republican. To my surprise, I was chosen to work for the Senate Democrats this time.

The political environment had changed. My first year of the internship had been during the 2016 presidential primary process. On the hour-long trips my coworkers and I discussed our favorite candidates: Hillary. Bernie. Martin O’Malley? We argued over their policy stances and what the focus of the next president should be. We argued about Obama’s legacy. As I started my work for the Senate in January of 2017, Donald Trump was the president-elect, and I was on edge. That November I had briefly contemplated wearing my headscarf differently, perhaps in a way that made me look more “black” and less “Muslim.” Working for the Senate meant I was in a different minivan for the drive down to Dover. This year, instead of the diverse group I rode with the year prior I was in a minivan with six white women.

With Donald Trump as the next president, my interest in working for the federal government had waned considerably. I couldn’t imagine myself joining the federal foreign service under President Trump. But I wanted to be in public service, maybe work with the state government would better align with my values? I had started my first year in the internship without much knowledge of how things worked in Dover, but the more I learned the more energized I became by the impacts state policy could have on our communities and the possibilities that were out there.

When I worked for the House, I was seated in a relatively quiet wing of the building with six staffers, three representatives, and four of my fellow interns. We were probably the noisiest ones, chatting, joking, and asking each other questions about protocol. The most exciting moments in the House were when the Speaker and his staff bustled through our section to get to the House floor when the session proceedings began. Working in the Senate was different, my desk was in the middle of an open floor plan room, with Senator’s offices along the outer walls. I wasn’t assigned to a specific committee or senator, so I got assignments from lots of different senators and therefore got to know them and build relationships with them. I guess you could say I stood out a little. In a mostly white staff, with an even whiter legislative makeup, I was the only Muslim working on that side of the building. At the time, there was only one non-white senator.

I liked sitting in the middle of the action, I felt like I could keep up on what was happening easier, and it was common to pick up on the talk of the day, the political gossip, because everyone passed through the area to get to their office. I felt like I was part of the mix and I thrived off it. I could really see myself working here full-time.

The Speaker of the House is elected by the House membership and is the presiding officer of house proceedings. In the Senate, the Lt. Governor, who is elected statewide, is the presiding officer. Every morning, the House and Senate open with a prayer and the pledge of allegiance. My first day in the building I was taken aback, wasn’t there a separation of church and state? Well, apparently not. One day in April she invited some members of the community to give the opening prayer; they happened to be Muslim. I sat at my desk working, researching for a memo I was writing or putting the finishing touches on minutes for a committee meeting I’d staffed. As I worked, the familiar sound of the Senate proceedings played in the background. I was surprised to hear a familiar ayah from the Quran resonating over the speaker system for the first time:

۞ يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلَّذِينَ ءَامَنُوا۟ كُونُوا۟ قَوَّٰمِينَ بِٱلْقِسْطِ شُهَدَآءَ لِلَّهِ وَلَوْ عَلَىٰٓ أَنفُسِكُمْ أَوِ ٱلْوَٰلِدَيْنِ وَٱلْأَقْرَبِينَ ۚ إِن يَكُنْ غَنِيًّا أَوْ فَقِيرًا فَٱللَّهُ أَوْلَىٰ بِهِمَا ۖ فَلَا تَتَّبِعُوا۟ ٱلْهَوَىٰٓ أَن تَعْدِلُوا۟ ۚ وَإِن تَلْوُۥٓا۟ أَوْ تُعْرِضُوا۟ فَإِنَّ ٱللَّهَ كَانَ بِمَا تَعْمَلُونَ خَبِيرًا

O believers! Stand firm for justice as witnesses for Allah even if it is against yourselves, your parents, or close relatives. Be they rich or poor, Allah is best to ensure their interests. So do not let your desires cause you to deviate from justice. If you distort the testimony or refuse to give it, then know that Allah is certainly All-Aware of what you do. (4:135)

I remember feeling a sense of pride to finally hear my beliefs recognized in our chamber. It was a historic moment and as my heart swelled with the feeling of being seen, of being heard, two senators walked out the chamber. I didn’t know that. I just heard the Islamophobic remarks booming over the speakers when they returned.

David Lawson, a Republican Senator from Marydel, rose to be recognized.

I’d like to make a statement on what was just presented in this chamber. We heard from the Quran, that advocates for our very demise...and that’s brought in this chamber as a prayer to open this session. I take great exception to that. I fought for this country, not to be damned by someone that comes in here and prays to their God for our demise. I think that’s despicable. Thank you.

The Lt. Governor responded, and what she said cut almost as deep.

Perhaps, I should have stated before, what was read was about Christianity and God. We had this conversation previously, and I apologize if there was offense there was meant to be none. It was purposeful in that there was a sharing of an understanding of love and compassion, and that for constitutional rights for government. So, perhaps, it should have been shared before, certainly there was not meant to be any offense. But you certainly have the right to share your concerns.

I was amazed. Somehow, she had managed to apologize for our presence. At that moment, the president pro tempore of the senate, the highest-ranking member, stood to be recognized. Maybe he would say something better? Nope. Business as usual was proceeding, as if nothing had happened.

The irony of the prayer being one urging for courage in standing for justice, followed by no one having courage to stand up for my community, wasn’t lost on me.

The next day I raised my concerns with multiple senators and the Lt. Gov. about the inflammatory and bigoted remarks said on the Senate floor Wednesday about the Quran, Islam, and Muslims.

I explained how disappointed I was at the lack of response from Democrats on the floor, especially the silence of those who consider themselves friends of the Muslim community here in Delaware. The Lt. Governor responded by telling me she had been shocked but she thanked me for “checking in” because she was “the most hurt person in the chamber” that day because the invited guests were her friends. I was so taken aback I just nodded my head and walked away. I had seen and heard enough.

The feeling of disappointment was crushing. For the rest of the day my coworkers came by my desk, apologizing for what had happened, assuring me that they valued me, and that Lawson’s remarks didn’t represent their views. My phone was ringing, text messages were flooding in. The House Majority Leader told me she wouldn’t have let that happen in the House. It felt like I was at a funeral for a loved one. Hugs upon hugs. The outpouring of support made me feel better, but I was still hurting.

I lost a lot of respect for politicians that day. I learned they are just people, and the institutions that govern us are as good and just as the people who fill them. I guess I should’ve already known that. For the next two months when I would type away, taking notes during committee meetings with Sen. Lawson sitting at the same table, I would be annoyed but there was nothing I could do. His community elected him to represent them and so he got a seat at the table to share his views, no matter how bigoted or untrue they may be. Bigots in this country are emboldened, they know their rights and they seize them, preserve, and conserve them. What if all of us did that?

In a moment when my community and our beliefs were attacked, I couldn’t say anything. I felt abandoned. I wasn’t a senator. No one else felt the need to address what had been said, they just continued with the docket for the day. Maybe it was because they didn’t know what to say. They were so shocked by his remarks they didn’t know how to respond. But they’re only shocked because they don’t experience life the way we do. Hours later, the highest-ranking Senator read remarks lambasting Lawson, taking exception to what he had said, remarks that I know he didn’t pen.

Less than four years after two bigoted men couldn’t stand to hear the words of the Noble Quran, uttered in our state’s capitol, I was elected as the first Muslim to serve in the Delaware General Assembly. Our campaign defeated a 22-year incumbent Democrat in a three-way primary race by 43 votes. It was a grassroots effort that was only possible because of the will of Al-Musawwir (The Fashioner), Dhul-Jalaali wal-Ikraam (The Owner of Majesty and Honor), and the incredible hard work and sacrifice of our campaign staff and volunteers. On Thursday, March 11, 2021, I was honored to deliver the 1st Islamic prayer to open the House proceedings, then again during the holy month of Ramadan on April 22, 2021.

I represent one of the most ethnically diverse communities in my state. The diversity of my family and of my community shaped me into the woman I am today and informs me as a legislator. Elected at 26, I am the youngest member of the House or Senate, and one of the youngest elected in state history.

On June 24, 2021, I spoke on the Senate floor. In the same grand room where I was unable to speak four years ago, HB163, my bill to ensure all students can observe their religious holidays without falling behind in school passed 17-1-3.

Voices of hate have grown louder, in an attempt to reclaim the space and power they once held in our public squares. The voices of love, peace, inclusion, and evolution must grow louder too.

Some interests in our country have always had a voice. It is my duty to raise those voices who haven’t always been heard. Those voices who aren’t consulted. Those voices who have been censored and beat down and oppressed. I take this responsibility seriously. It can be scary. I was nervous when I walked up to the Lt. Governor to express my disappointment. But the scarier thing would be to know her and know my power and to say nothing.

When I decided to run for office, I was terrified. So many people told me I shouldn’t do it, and that I didn’t know what I was doing and or didn’t have the experience necessary to succeed. Imagine if I had listened to them, if I didn’t find the courage to stand for justice.

I keep that lesson with me.