Tampa’s Muslims Thrive, but Political Crosscurrents Create Dilemmas
While the city’s Islamic infrastructure is dynamic, the community’s mix of progressive values and social conservatism makes it an outlier in a polarized ideological landscape
“You’ve got to try The Fryer House,” Aaysha Kapila told me via the Tampa Halal Food Facebook group. “It’s new on the scene, but it’s amazing.” The “scene” in question? Tampa’s market for halal food. And The Fryer House, a food truck that opened in December 2023, is one of the newest on it, offering a fusion of Arab, Asian and American Southern fried chicken — from hot chicken sandwiches to fiery golden tenders to chicken and waffles.
Blending Palestinian spices with Japanese styles and Latin American peppers, the food truck’s owner, Ashraf “Ash” Ayyash, says his brand of “halal hot chicken” has proved a hit. While his customers come from a cross-section of Tampa society, many are Arabs and South Asian Muslims looking for a spicy, sumptuous, halal option for lunch or dinner. During Ramadan, Ayyash said, he cooked thousands of pounds of chicken. At a series of major local events during the month of fasting — Ramadan Suhoor Nights — he averaged 300 pounds per night.
Sitting underneath Ayyash’s menu with its hot, very hot and “pepper x” levels of spiciness, a slim, 30-something Palestinian American named Zyad is snacking on some of Ayyash’s specially seasoned french fries. This, he says, is one of his favorite options in Temple Terrace, a city on the northeast side of Tampa Bay and epicenter of its robust halal food scene. “There’s a Yemeni place down the road, several shawarma options, an Arab grocery store, a Turkish grocery store, bakeries, clothing stores, restaurants, food trucks. The list goes on,” he told New Lines.
“Tampa,” Zyad said, “is like the new Dearborn,” referring to Dearborn, Michigan, the first Arab-majority city in the U.S. and home to the largest mosque in North America.
Though there are no official statistics, estimates of Tampa’s Muslim community range between 5,000 or 6,000 in the Temple Terrace-New Tampa area alone, to upward of 36,000 or as high as 100,000 in the greater Tampa Bay area, which includes St. Petersburg and Clearwater.
Community statistics show an estimated 500,000 Muslims in Florida and over 150 mosques and Islamic centers across the state, from the Keys in the south to Pensacola on the panhandle. And they cut the cross section of Muslim-American society: Almost one-third were born in the U.S., with the remaining 69% coming from places like Pakistan and India, Egypt and Palestine, Guyana and Puerto Rico. The Tampa Bay area is home to tens of thousands of Muslims from over 80 different countries.
Especially around Busch Boulevard and 56th Street, not far from the Busch Gardens amusement park and the main campus of the University of South Florida (USF), Tampa’s Islamic infrastructure is dense, a testament to its rarely recognized, but consistently growing, Muslim community. Not only are numerous mosques and several of the nation’s premier Islamic schools in and around Temple Terrace, but there are also law offices with signs in Arabic and Urdu, numerous halal restaurants, Middle Eastern barber shops, Ramadan decor hanging in shop windows and a large halal slaughterhouse named Musa’s.
“I would estimate around 70% of the businesses in the Temple Terrace area are Muslim-owned,” said Imam Abdullah Jaber, executive director of CAIR Florida, the Sunshine State’s chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations, a civil liberties organization whose offices are also in Temple Terrace. “There are Muslims heading the Chamber of Commerce, professors at local universities, dentists, physicians, you name it.”
They are also shaping local, state and national elections with the growing political power that comes with such a presence. But that influence is far from monolithic: The Muslim community’s shifting political crosscurrents and fault lines mean it doesn’t align neatly with either camp in the country’s increasingly polarized landscape. “I think you can be socially conservative and yet be an advocate for social and racial justice,” Jaber told New Lines.
“Maybe that’s impossible with America’s current politics, but I think Tampa is leading the way here. It’s a model for American Muslim life.”
Since the early 2000s, Tampa’s Muslim community has grown around “three pillars,” Jaber said: “faith, family and finance.”
Not only do organizations like The Muslim Connection (TMC), the Islamic Community of Tampa (ICT) and the Islamic Society of Tampa Bay (ISTABA) — one of the largest mosques in the nation, founded in 2004 — strive to cultivate a welcoming space for practicing Muslims, but K-12 schools, like the Universal Academy and American Youth Academy, also attract Muslim families from across the United States looking for a place where they feel their children can receive a top-notch state education alongside learning the Quran and their family’s faith. In four Muslim schools in Tampa, there are over 2,000 students.
Every year, with the support of local business leaders and wealthy Muslim donors, ICT puts on an enormous Eid celebration at the 355-acre Florida State Fairgrounds, just east of Tampa, featuring free breakfast and attracting more than 8,000 attendees. Every Eid al-Adha, ISTABA hosts a carnival with bumper cars, a bouncy house and other rides. Meanwhile, throughout the year, Muslims are spoiled for choice at the numerous halal restaurants in town, such as at Ayyash’s Fryer House food truck. “It’s just easy to be a Muslim here,” Jaber said.
Jacqueline Fewkes, an anthropology professor at Florida Atlantic University in Boca Raton, said Tampa stands out for the extent of its Islamic infrastructure.
The Tampa Muslim community “is really vibrant,” she told New Lines. “They have mosques, associated schools, activist organizations, restaurants, bakeries, civil rights organizations, law offices and civic organizations, study groups for women, for singles, youth groups, socially focused resources that extend beyond the Muslim community.”
As leader of the American Mosques Project — a survey of mosques across the U.S. — Fewkes said she is impressed by how much the Tampa community has built in a relatively short amount of time. Over the past two decades, for example, Tampa went from having just a few mosques to having 36 today.
“That takes a politically grounded, locally committed community,” Fewkes said. Having studied Islamic centers, schools and organizations across the nation, Fewkes said that while a lot of attention is focused on national politics, much goes on at the local level, “in school boards and city councils.” So, when she looks at Tampa, she sees the patient work of faithful volunteers working through bureaucratic steps — zoning laws, town hall meetings, permits for basketball courts and parking lots — to make Islamic centers, schools and clinics possible.
“Town-level decisions are where real power lies,” she said. “And when I look at Tampa, I can tell the Muslim community has a definite sway.”
Dyma AbuOleim is founder and president of Tampa’s 200 Muslim Women Who Care, a Muslim women’s giving circle that brings together women with shared values to discuss and decide collectively where to make pooled gifts. She is also the mother of four teenagers and intentionally moved to Tampa because of its Islamic infrastructure.
“Especially the schools,” she told New Lines. “I needed Islamic schools for my kids, a place for them to learn Arabic and the culture, a place where they could take pride in their faith [and] their Jordanian and Palestinian identity.”
AbuOleim grew up in South Florida’s affluent West Palm Beach, where the Muslim community was insular, never branching beyond the community’s carefully monitored boundaries.
“I wanted our family to grow up in a place where they could live Islam out loud, and we found it in Tampa,” AbuOleim said. “There’s a real spiritual pull to Tampa, with its schools, vision and critical mass.”
Imam Derrick Peat, a 36-year-old Jamaican-born convert to Islam who grew up in Tampa and has two children, said Tampa’s Islamic infrastructure creates a real sense of “taawoun” (a collective and cooperative spirit). “Muslims of different backgrounds, it doesn’t matter — it’s all hands on deck,” he told New Lines.
With its people and finances, Peat believes the Tampa community is ready to take the next step, build on its foundations, and expand with more dynamic institutions and programs to further integrate Islam into American society. “I want to see Tampa recognized across the U.S. as a model for how a Muslim community can embrace integration and remain deeply in touch with its religious and cultural heritage,” he said.
Part of that involves Tampa’s Muslims flexing their political muscle. Following the example of Cuban Americans, who recognized their ability to change the outcome of state and national elections from their home base in Florida, Tampa’s Muslims want to make their community a political force.
But the comparison to Florida’s Cubans cuts both ways. With the highest concentration of Cuban Americans in the country — and with Florida’s tight margins in five of the past eight U.S. presidential elections — their influence peaks in presidential years, when candidates across the state try to curry favor with them. But over the years, Cuban-American views and values have shifted, with Cuban Americans not always voting as a political bloc and becoming more divided on policy preferences and party affiliations. Meanwhile, Cuban-American politicians have continued to prioritize their “narrow” interests over those of the broader Latino community, which has rapidly expanded around them.
As Florida’s Muslims determine their own political clout and the potential issues that pull them in various directions, the notion of a “Muslim vote” is relatively new. With the number of Muslim voters in the U.S. remaining comparatively small — constituting just 1.1% of the overall population with 3.45 million Muslims nationwide — the “Muslim vote” has really only manifested in recent elections.
Nevertheless, Muslims are highly politically engaged and likely to vote, and in a political environment where presidential elections are tight, minority constituencies become a coveted prize for any candidate.
Some credit Florida’s Muslims with making George W. Bush president in 2000. Georgetown University Professor Emeritus John Esposito explains in his book “The Future of Islam” (2013) that this support had less to do with shared values than a belief that Bush, in reaching out to Muslims with his attempts to address the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, would follow in the moderate footsteps of his father, former president George H.W. Bush, whom they also supported in the 1992 election.
Then, in a narrow election in 2011, Tampa’s Muslims helped deliver the mayor’s office to Democrat Bob Buckhorn. The community has also produced progressive independent candidates for local elections. Candidates like Ahmad Hussam Saadaldin, who stood in a special election for a Florida House seat in 2017, garnered 8.5% of the vote. Many Tampa Muslims are also involved with Emgage, a political action committee (PAC) that was formed in 2006 by two Muslim lawyers from Florida, Khurrum Wahid and Farooq Mitha, and holds sway with both Democrats and Republicans running for office. Tampa’s own, homegrown PAC — Muslims for Democracy and Fairness — has interviewed over 150 candidates in general, primary and local elections since 2018, focusing on where they stand on issues of import to the city’s Muslims.
Politically diverse, Jaber said that similar to Florida’s Cubans, the Sunshine State’s Muslims tend to be socially conservative. At the same time, he told New Lines, they show a strong commitment to social justice and some progressive values are deeply rooted in their religion. That means they often feel torn and not fully aligned with either major political party on the range of issues up for debate at the national and state level.
“The Muslim community’s political perspectives are multifaceted,” he said. For example, with issues like legalizing marijuana or gender identity and government support for LGBTQ+ laws in areas such as marriage or transgender access to bathrooms, the vast majority are against (68% and 79% respectively, according to CAIR Florida’s own 2023 community survey), aligning themselves firmly with the Republican voting bloc.
But for issues like civil rights, environmental concerns or reforming the criminal justice system, Muslims are more likely to align with Democrats. Most of Florida’s Muslims (74% according to CAIR data) view climate change as an urgent threat that requires immediate government action, for example.
On abortion, Muslims are more split. While Islamic tradition values unborn life, a slight majority of Muslims — alongside Jewish Americans, Catholics and the nonaffiliated — believe abortion should be legal in all or most cases, according to a 2022 Institute for Social Policy and Understanding poll. In Florida, Republicans’ extreme restrictions on abortion access saw a decline in support among the state’s Muslims, Jaber said.
Before the Gulf War (1990-91), U.S. Muslims tended to align with the Republican Party’s conservative social values and fiscal policies. In the 1990s, as anti-Muslim rhetoric increased within the party and among the U.S. public at large, there was a subtle shift toward the Democrats, but Muslims still stuck with Republicans through the 2000 election, when, according to Masood Farivar for Voice of America, “more than 70% of Muslims voted for [George W.] Bush, and most of the 50,000 Muslim votes in Florida went to the Republican candidate.” Bush won that election after a lengthy recount of the vote in Florida, where he won by the thinnest of margins — some 537 votes.
Since that election, Muslim-American voting has been decidedly more in favor of the Democratic Party. In 2004, in the aftermath of 9/11 and the war on terror, which had significant effects both abroad in Muslim-majority nations and domestically with the assault on Muslim Americans’ civil liberties, more than 9 in 10 Muslim Americans voted for Bush’s main challenger, Democrat John Kerry. Nearly the same voted for Democrat Barack Obama in 2008 and 2012 (89% and 85% respectively). But with Democratic policies not always lining up with Muslims’ more conservative social values, the landscape of Muslim political affiliation has shifted subtly over the past decade and a half — especially in Florida.
In 2016, Muslims nationwide still supported Democrat Hillary Clinton over Republican Donald Trump (78% versus 8%), the latter of whom expressed numerous Islamophobic views on the campaign trail and advocated a so-called Muslim ban, which limited travel and refugee resettlement for people from predominantly Muslim-majority countries. But a reorientation in Muslim voting was already underway — especially in Florida, where Trump garnered nearly 18% of Muslim votes. In subsequent midterm elections, Muslim Americans have continued to drift toward the GOP. AP VoteCast surveys show support for Republican candidates in the double digits — 17% in 2018 and 28% four years later. During the 2020 presidential election, Trump’s national numbers jumped to anywhere from 17%, according to CAIR exit poll surveys, to as high as 35%, according to AP VoteCast.
It is impossible to know how Muslim Americans will vote in 2024, but Jaber pointed to CAIR data that shows nearly half of Muslim voters in Florida are more likely than ever to register as independents (45%). That leaves just 38% who identify as Democrats and 11% as Republicans (the remaining 6% are categorized as “other” in the survey). The data also shows that the longer a Muslim lives in Florida, the more likely it is that they shift their political allegiance away from the Democratic Party. “Florida’s Muslims mature in their political outlook and won’t sell their souls to any particular party,” Jaber said. “The Muslim community’s allegiance is not static,” he said, “and Florida’s Muslim vote is more in play than ever before. Their loyalty to one party or the other should not be taken for granted.”
Among 26- to 35-year-olds, a slight generational divide also emerges. CAIR data shows that over half (53%) of younger Muslims in Florida identify as independents and only a quarter identify as Democrats (24%) or Republicans (23%). This tracks with national data from the Institute for Social Policy and Understanding (ISPU) in 2022, which showed that 18-to-29-year-old Muslims are more likely than all other generations to identify as independents (49%) and less likely to approve (48%) of the job President Joe Biden is doing in the White House.
According to the ISPU, the data suggests younger Muslims may “make voting decisions based more on changing policy issues and less along fixed partisan lines, opening an opportunity for both parties to win Muslim support.”
This election cycle, two hot-button topics are putting those political allegiances to the test. First, as Muslims become more vocal on issues that converge with cultural conservatives, Republicans are looking to capitalize on their growing concerns over public school education and the promotion of LGBTQ+ friendly curricula and teaching materials. The second issue is the war in Gaza. National reporting has highlighted how Muslim voters’ dissatisfaction with Democratic approaches on both fronts presents a prime opportunity for the GOP to attract Muslims and, perhaps, deliver swing states like Michigan and Florida to Trump. At the very least, it means Muslim voters across the U.S. are seriously debating who they will vote for in 2024.
Among Tampa’s Muslims, there’s a readiness to discuss the tension they feel regarding the available options. Zyad, wiping his hands on his pants after finishing Ayyash’s fries at the Fryer House food truck, put it this way: “I could see myself voting for Trump, but I could never support [Florida Gov. Ron] DeSantis.” Zyad explained. “Trump is all talk when it comes to Muslims, but DeSantis, he’s got skin in the game,” referencing unfounded claims that while the former GOP presidential candidate was stationed at Guantanamo Bay, the infamous naval detention facility in southeastern Cuba, he was involved in detainee abuse. “If Trump is elected, my fears aren’t about Trump, they’re that DeSantis will be unleashed in full force,” Zyad said.
Other Muslim voters in Tampa, however, feel differently.
“I don’t think Trump is a viable option,” said Peat, the Jamaican-born convert to Islam. But with DeSantis — whose bid for the Republican presidential nomination failed but who remains Florida’s governor until 2027 — Peat sees a silver lining. “He is someone who is defending certain parental rights and our right to have a direct role in rearing children,” Peat said. “We respect all groups, but in the charged atmosphere around LGBTQ issues, we need balance,” he said. “We don’t want anyone forced into one side or the other, especially not our children. And we think DeSantis will make space for our rights in his politics, so that our voice is respected on that issue.” According to CAIR’s data, 79% of Muslims in Florida agree with Peat and oppose conversations about gender identity in classrooms across the state.
At the same time, Muslims in Florida remain committed to criminal justice reform, environmental concerns and social justice issues, Jaber emphasized. And Chaikirah Parker, founder of the African American Muslim Alliance (AAMA) of Tampa Bay, wants to make sure that Muslims don’t get distracted by what she considers the shiny, hot-button issues of the day, but remain committed to social justice in the Tampa Bay area. “Tampa is a powerhouse Muslim community,” Parker told New Lines, “but when politics change, alliances can shift, and money can end up going to other causes.” Parker said she is concerned that a shift to the right would mean less attention to issues of concern for local Black Muslims.
Parker also worries that with more attention being given to Palestine and LGBTQ+ concerns this election cycle, local issues of more immediate import to Tampa’s Black Muslims will be tokenized or tossed to the wayside. Parker said Black Muslims in Tampa took to the streets to call for a cease-fire in Gaza, and many are socially conservative and feel threatened by gender identity issues being discussed in local schools. But as Parker marches in the streets with her fellow Black Muslims, she sensed feelings of frustration among those who fear their own local causes might be neglected along the way.
“What I’m hearing is that these ‘Muslim social justice issues’ are taking up all the activist space,” she said. “But people in the ’hood are concerned with things like the cost of food, education access, gangs, drug rehabilitation and prison reform.”
As political parties try to court Tampa’s Muslim voters on various issues, Parker said a lot of her work with the AAMA is making sure the issues Tampa’s Black community want to prioritize are not forgotten.
“We are concerned about injustice in Palestine,” Parker said, “but we are still fighting for better jobs, better housing, community reinvestment, teaching critical race theory, education and crime.
“I don’t want those to be token issues anymore,” she said. “I want them to be front and center.”
These tensions can put Muslim voters in an awkward position. “For Muslims in Florida, voting is always complicated,” Peat said. “Politics is a particular game, played along party lines.” He explained: “Muslims feel caught in between, supporting conservative causes and supporting racial justice movements, against anti-Muslim rhetoric but pro-life. It’s impossible with the current rhetoric, the toxic politics that make you choose red or blue.”
But this November, they must choose. And one issue, more than immigration, legalizing marijuana or culture war hot points, looms larger than all others: the war in Gaza. As reported in New Lines, Midwestern swing states — like Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania — have become a proving ground for the Democratic Party, where “a growing Palestinian rights movement is pushing Democratic candidates to challenge their party’s unchecked support for Israel.”
So too in Florida, where Muslim community members have been unequivocal in their calls on local, statewide and national leaders to condemn the war in Gaza. And while calls against violence, the massacre of innocent children and the complicity of the U.S. in genocide in Gaza are clear across the community, USF in Tampa has been ground zero.
As college campuses around the country witnessed a surge of protests against the war, USF students were among the first wave to organize since the conflict started on Oct. 7, 2023. But then, as reported in Jewish Currents, a memo went out from the chancellor of Florida’s state university system, Ray Rodrigues, in consultation with DeSantis, announcing that schools under his jurisdiction must “deactivate” all chapters of Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP). The order “marked the first time a state official has tried to stop the pro-Palestine student group from operating,” according to Jewish Currents. In response, the SJP chapter at USF joined with its chapter at the University of Florida in Gainesville to file suit. Later, as encampments spread across U.S. university campuses in April 2024, USF’s Students for a Democratic Society chapter launched an encampment, which police in riot gear disbanded shortly thereafter by firing tear gas canisters toward protesters after declaring the demonstration an “unlawful assembly.”
For Shahd Alasaly, who teaches sociology at USF, the moment was a clarion call. Originally from Chicago, Alasaly found Tampa a tricky place to express herself politically. “I still think, in Florida, there remains a fear,” she told New Lines. “Even though we are a large community, Florida’s politics makes it so we are constantly negotiating our identity at some level still.” When it came to the protests, Alasaly was hoping there would be a robust conversation on campus and that the USF administration would turn to the many Palestinians, Syrians and others on the faculty and staff who have public Muslim identities.
“There are people speaking out, but I am disappointed that more are not,” she said. “Immediately after [Oct. 7], the USF president sent out a letter about antisemitism — but no one checked in with the Palestinians. Those conversations never happened,” said Alasaly. “It’s a constant struggle in Florida. We are always under pressure because of DeSantis and the politics of education in Florida. We are fighting so many battles,” she said. “I don’t know what the next election cycle will look like. I worry about it. But at this moment, if we can’t stand up for Gaza, then what do we stand up for?”
Alasaly emphasized, however, that Gaza and the politics of education are not the only issues Muslim voters in Tampa are speaking out on in 2024. Working with the refugee resettlement agency Radiant Hands Inc., Alasaly said many Muslims in the area remain keen to work with the most vulnerable in society and place a high emphasis on humanitarian aid. Radiant Hands Inc., originally founded in Gainesville to serve north-central Florida, relocated its offices to Tampa’s Temple Terrace area in 2014. In partnership with Islamic Relief USA (IRUSA) and the International Rescue Committee (IRC), Radiant Hands Inc. has helped provide reception and placement services to refugees and asylum-seekers — both Muslim and non-Muslim — from Afghanistan, Somalia, Syria, Iraq, Sudan, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Republic of Congo.
Radiant Hands Inc. was a 2021 grantee of 200 Muslim Women Who Care. AbuOleim told New Lines the “200 Muslim women” represent the philanthropic and potential political power of Tampa’s Muslim community.
Meeting four times a year, members learn about local nonprofits. Pledging to donate $100 quarterly, they select a charity every three months, which receives a $20,000 grant. Since 2017, they’ve given $580,000 to local nonprofits working on a range of issues, from providing mobile shower services to Tampa’s unhoused population to a group facilitating exercise programs for cancer patients and the Tampa chapter of the pro-life Catholic Charities/Foundation of Life Pregnancy Centers. “Modeling ourselves on the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) who was a giver of gifts,” she said, “our work is all about fulfilling our responsibility to our neighbors.”
Making a difference is also what motivated AbuOleim, who originally came to Tampa to attend university, to bring her background in philanthropy with her from South Florida. Founding the organization was part of AbuOleim’s political awakening. When Trump came into office, AbuOleim said her perspective on being Muslim changed. Having always dreamed of creating a giving circle to impact her community, Trump’s election gave her the push she needed to start it. “When Trump came, I knew we as a community had to do more,” she said. “And if we wanted to see changes, we had to take the initiative ourselves. It was time to act.” Founding the first Muslim women’s giving circle in the U.S., she insisted it was more than a group of individual philanthropists, but “a collective force for change.” AbuOleim explained, “We are democratizing philanthropy, building connections with our neighbors, and building social and financial capital to then spend on the issues we care about.”
Most recently, that has meant AbuOleim, who is Palestinian American, has been asked to speak about the war in Gaza. It is the first time, she said, she has been in a position to address humanitarian and political issues at protests and local women’s groups or rallies.
For AbuOleim, this signals a political awakening for Muslim Americans, which is taking hold in places like Tampa. “With all the connections we have, the success we’ve found, the communities we’ve built, now we are able to express our politics with a different capacity,” she said.
And now, as the 2024 election looms, the likes of AbuOleim, Jaber and Parker hope to use that capacity, the power they feel is percolating within Muslims’ present political moment. Whether it be to urge a cease-fire in Gaza, protect what they feel to be their parental rights, or push for other causes like racial justice or local reform, Tampa’s Muslims are ready to use their numbers and their know-how to get things done according to their faith-infused convictions, without fealty to any party. Now, they feel, is their chance to effect real change.
“This is our country,” AbuOleim said. “We have people power. We know the system. We’ve realized that we have a voice that matters. And now is the moment we can make a difference.”
That difference-making power, however, may be tempered by the tensions Tampa’s Muslims feel heading into November’s elections. “We have the resources — the people and finances, the maturity — to build dynamic institutions and programs to improve society for all, not just for Muslims,” CAIR’s Jaber said. “The ability is there. The potential is there. But politics is a particular game,” he said.
Muslims in Tampa won’t sell their souls to any particular party, Jaber said, but they are willing to play ball with both sides to get things done in pursuit of their priorities. He hopes Tampa becomes a model for how Muslims across the U.S. can navigate these tricky political waters.
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