As a Muslim cricketer, I sometimes felt like I didn’t belong. I long for an Australia where the only thing that matters is how you play | Usman Khawaja

A cricket scorecard is quite simple.

You can see how many runs you have scored, how long you have played and whether your team has won or lost. Cricket has always appealed to me because of that honesty. The numbers don’t care about your appearance, where you were born or what you believe.

Unfortunately, life is not that simple.

I grew up in western Sydney where diversity wasn’t something governments talked about – it was just life. My friends came from all over the world. Different cultures, different languages, different religions. We were all just kids who loved sports.

If I experienced prejudice growing up, it was not because I was Muslim. Most people didn’t know much about Islam at that time.

It was because I was the brown child.

Sometimes it was a joke. Sometimes an assumption. Sometimes it was just that silent feeling of being reminded that you were different. Racism rarely screams. More often it whispers that maybe you don’t quite fit in.

Cricket became the place where none of that mattered. If you scored points, you earned your place.

Or at least that’s what I wanted to believe.

As I progressed through representative cricket to the Australian team, there were times when I still felt like an outsider. Not because people necessarily meant it that way, but because when you are one of the few people who look like you, pray like you, or share your background, you are constantly made aware of your difference.

Sports like to celebrate diversity. We proudly show it in campaigns and photos. But inclusivity goes deeper. It creates an environment in which no one has to wonder whether he or she really belongs.

The Christchurch mosque shootings changed that conversation forever.

Seeing innocent people murdered while praying reminded us that hatred does not begin with violence. It starts with words and stereotypes. It is the slow process of dehumanizing people until the unthinkable becomes possible.

That’s why I accepted an invitation to speak at the Islamophobia campaign reportwhich is a pretty good initiative by the Office of the Special Envoy on Combating Islamophobia, led by Aftab Malik.

I’m all for this campaign because reporting is pretty important. Too often, anti-Muslim abuse is dismissed as merely “online” or “someone’s opinion.” But hate can build up. Every insult, threat and insulting message erodes someone’s sense of belonging. Reporting on this makes it clear how big the problem is and gives governments, institutions and digital platforms the evidence they need to take action.

Most importantly, it lets victims know they are not alone.

I have noticed that something has changed over time. People started focusing more on my faith than my cricket.

For years, Australians debated my batting technique, whether I should open or bat at number three. That’s cricket, and I’m glad people disagree.

What surprised me was when some people stopped talking about my percussion altogether.

The cricketer disappeared behind the Muslim.

My wife, an Australian who has embraced Islam, has often suffered even more abuse than I have. Watching someone you love become a target because of the faith she has chosen reminds you that prejudice never affects just one person. It reaches families, children and entire communities.

Like any community, Muslims are diverse. But the majority of us simply want what every Australian wants: to build a good life, raise our families, contribute to our communities and practice our belief in peace.

For many of us, this means not drinking alcohol, dressing modestly, and trying to live with kindness, humility, and respect. These are not values ​​that are outside of Australian society. They are values ​​that strengthen it.

Australia has given me opportunities that my parents could hardly have imagined. Every time I put on the baggy green, I do so with great pride. This is my home. I wouldn’t choose to live anywhere else.

Even though there are challenges, the Australia I cherish is not about prejudice. It’s about teammates becoming lifelong friends, neighbors looking out for each other and complete strangers just wishing me well for the next Test.

Those Australians are much bigger than the angry voices online. The loudest voices are not always the biggest.

Every time I wore Australian colours, I was reminded of what that cap represented: a team growing stronger because each player brought something different.

I hope the next young Muslim child growing up in Sydney’s west will not wonder if he or she belongs.

They just pick up a bat, walk to the crease and know that all anyone cares about is how they play.

That is an Australia worth fighting for.