"Duke, we are Muslim, feminist, and Catalan nationalist."

PalmNot all young women have such a clear head and ideas as 19-year-old Douae El Mojahidi. She may have had a very different life experience, though not by choice, which has given her a maturity and ability to analyze the world around her that is unusual at such a young age. She defines herself as Muslim, feminist, and Catalan nationalist; she could be the three-turn rebel that Maria Mercè Marçal wrote about in her famous poem.

When asked where she's from, she doesn't have a simple answer. Her story moves between places, languages, and identities, Amazigh and Mallorcan. She was born in Algeciras, but grew up in Campos, Mallorca.

"When people ask me where we're from, I don't have a single answer," she explains. "I was born in Andalusia, but I've lived my whole life in Mallorca. I learned to speak Catalan here, my friends are here, I went to high school here… basically, I've made my life here."

At home, the culture is different. "My family's roots are Moroccan, Amazigh. The culture at home is from there, and that's also part of who we are." That's why he says he can't be defined by just one place. "In the end, I don't feel like I belong to just one place. I feel like I belong to both. I'm meeting more and more young people who feel the same way: we're from here and there at the same time, and that's perfectly fine."

Between Two Lands

"I feel like I belong everywhere and nowhere at the same time." When she travels to Morocco to see her family, her identity is also questioned there. "There they call me 'the Spanish woman' or 'the Mallorcan woman.' Because I speak differently, because I grew up here, because I have a different way of doing things."

But when she returns to Mallorca, she often feels judged there as well. "Some people see my face or my last name and ask me, 'So, where are you from?' And when I tell them we're from Mallorca, they say, 'Where are you really from?'"

Even though she explains that she has lived her whole life in Campos, she says that sometimes it doesn't seem to be enough. "So, where do I belong? In the end, you learn to live on this border: you belong to both places, but sometimes you're not 'fully' in either." However, she also finds strength in all of this. "It's strange, but it's also beautiful," she explains. "When you're little, you don't understand why things are different at home than at your friends' houses: the food, the customs, your parents' language... And when you go to Morocco, you don't quite fit in either."

However, over the years she has learned to see things differently and turn what used to make her uncomfortable into a virtue. "It's beautiful, because you learn to see the world in two ways. You have two ways of living, two ways of feeling. And in the end, all of this is yours." She feels Mallorcan because she grew up here. "Campos is my place, I chat like they do here, and I love this land." But she also feels that Morocco is part of her. "I carry Morocco within me, even though I don't live there. And Andalusia is the first place I lived, even though I don't remember it." "At first, it was as if I had to choose," she says. "But now I know I don't. They're all mine."

Feminism and the veil

Another issue that often sparks debate is wearing a veil and identifying as a feminist. Some feminist circles consider the two incompatible, but she's clear on the matter.

"Think about it this way: can a woman who wears a veil decide whether or not to wear it?" she asks. "If she decides to, why can't she be a feminist?" For Douae, the key lies in the freedom to choose, and she's right. "Feminism should be about being able to choose, not imposing," she states firmly.

She has had to answer this question on several occasions. "I've been told, 'How can you be a feminist if you wear a veil?'" Her answer is clear: "I wear a veil because I want to, not because I'm forced to, and it's my right to choose what I wear." She points out that there are many reasons why a woman might choose to wear one: faith, culture, identity. "There are also women who fight for their rights, who work, who study, who express their opinions. One thing doesn't negate the other."

That's why she believes feminism should defend the freedom of all women. "True feminism should defend the right of all women to decide about their bodies and their lives, with or without a veil. Otherwise, it's not feminism; it's imposing what women should do again," she says. She has heard these kinds of comments especially in high school. "People see you wearing a veil and immediately assume you're oppressed, that you can't think for yourself."

She recalls a specific conversation with a classmate. "She told me, 'I don't understand how you can call yourself a feminist if you wear this.' And I replied, 'If I didn't want to wear it, I wouldn't. Feminism is about being able to choose, isn't it?'" she said. She has also experienced similar debates online. "There are people who say the veil is an imposition, and that's it. I tell them: there are women who have it imposed on them, yes, and that's wrong. But there are also those of us who choose it. Why do you silence the latter?"

When discussing the criticism some sectors level at Muslim countries regarding LGBTQ+ rights, Douae also reflects on the contradiction she sees in some discourses. "It's hypocritical; there are people who point the finger at Moroccans as if we were the only ones who have problems with LGBTQ+ rights. But then those same people don't defend them here either."

According to her, often the same people who criticize the situation in other countries are the ones who oppose the rights of the LGBTQ+ community in their own communities. "The same people who criticize 'there' are the ones who go against Pride or make hate speech here." Although she acknowledges that she comes from a different cultural background, she defends a clear idea: respect. "I was taught something else, and I can't change that overnight. But I respect everyone, and I believe that everyone has the right to live as they want and love whomever they want without being judged."

"They tell me they thought I was from there when I speak in Mallorcan."

Douae considers language a key element of her identity. But at home, the linguistic reality is different from that on the street. "At home, we speak Arabic and Spanish," she explains. "I learned Catalan at school and with friends, but my parents don't speak it. They understand a little, yes, but speaking it is more difficult for them." "Catalan is the language that has made me feel connected to this place," she explains. She recalls a childhood scene that made her realize this. "One day, when I was little, I said 'this' and my mother looked at me strangely. She didn't understand. And that's when I thought: I speak like they do here, that's my language too." Over time, Mallorcan became part of her daily life. "I went to school, played with my friends, learned new words... and little by little it became mine." That's why she says Catalan has given her a place. "When I speak Mallorcan, people see me as one of them, as what I am."

However, she often encounters prejudice. "Some people think Catalan is only for 'lifelong' Mallorcans." She recalls a scene on the street. "I was with some friends and an older man stopped me. He said, 'Young lady, you speak Mallorcan very well, where are you from?'" She replied that she was from Campos. "I've lived here all my life." The man, surprised, insisted, "Oh, I thought you were a foreigner, are you sure you're from here?"

She's also had experiences with teachers. "At school, some assumed my parents didn't speak Catalan or that we only spoke Arabic at home." The reality is more complex and, at the same time, compatible. "Yes, Arabic is spoken at home. But I'm from here and I speak the way we speak here." That's why she sums it up with a clear phrase: "Catalan is also mine. I've learned it, I defend it, and I feel it as my own because I love this land, even though my first and last name are Moroccan."

Sometimes prejudices manifest themselves in details that denote a deeply internalized xenophobia. For example, when someone speaks to him directly in Spanish. "There are people who see my face and already speak to me in Spanish without me asking," he explains.

He recalls a situation in a shop in Campos. "The shop assistant told me: 'Good morning, what did you want?'And I answered her in Mallorcan.' The reaction was immediate. 'She was taken aback and said to me:'Oh, I thought you didn't know how to speak Mallorcan!"It's happened to her with new teachers too. "They would speak to me in Spanish until they heard me chatting with my friends in Mallorcan. And then they'd say, 'Oh, but you're from here!'" These situations, she says, are tiring. "It's like you have to prove you're from here. But it's my language too."

A more diverse society

Despite these experiences, she believes Mallorca is changing. "When I was little, there were few of us in Campos with backgrounds like mine," she recalls. "Now there's more diversity: people from many places, with other languages ​​and other cultures." This change is noticeable on the street, at school, and in shops. However, she says there's still a long way to go. "There are still people who think Catalan is only for lifelong Mallorcans." The clearest difference is the voice between generations. "My friends think it's normal that I'm Muslim, a feminist, and speak Mallorcan. It doesn't surprise them." That's why she thinks change will come with time. "The real change will come when a girl like me can speak Mallorcan without anyone being surprised." The discourse of the far right

Prejudice can also be amplified through hate speech. Douae says she has heard comments associating Moroccans with social problems more than once. "In Campos, I haven't had major problems, but I have heard comments," she explains. "People say, 'These people come here to beg' or 'They take advantage of us.'" She experiences this with indignation and pain because her family's reality is different. "My family works and pays taxes like everyone else." When she recalls episodes like the videos recorded in Manacor by Vox members, she is critical. "Going to record videos saying 'that looks like Morocco' or talking about 'Moorish businesses' isn't denouncing anything real; it's creating hatred where there wasn't any." And, she says, these kinds of messages have consequences: "Afterward, people look at you differently." Regarding the rhetoric of some political groups, she believes it combines Islamophobia and racism. "They attack Islam because it's easier to sell. If they spoke ill of all immigrants, they'd lose votes."

According to her, the mechanism is clear. "They say Islam is incompatible with our way of life. And that's Islamophobia. Since Muslims are mostly Moroccan, we're all singled out." When it's mentioned that, despite her youth, she has very clear ideas, Douae acknowledges that the path hasn't always been easy. "The truth is, I haven't had any role models," she explains. "No teacher, no friend, no acquaintance who could show me that I could be all of this at once."

Her process has been primarily personal. "I've learned it on my own, by asking myself questions, doubting myself, making mistakes, and trying again. By reading, listening, and thinking. And also by feeling like an outsider sometimes, until I understood that I wasn't." Now, she says, she would like her experience to help other young people who are going through similar situations. "I would like to be a role model for other girls going through the same thing. That they see that you can be Muslim and a feminist, that you can have Moroccan roots and defend Catalan and feminism, and that you can be from here and there without having to apologize."

"There are many young people who feel this way, even if it doesn't always seem like it." The important thing, she says, is not to let others define your identity. "Neither those who tell you that you're not 'from here enough' because you have a different last name, nor those who tell you that you're not 'from there enough' because you grew up here." Because identity, she says, is everything you've experienced. "All the cultures, all the languages, all the ways of seeing the world that you have inside."

"Mallorca is my home"

When immigration or Islam become a political narrative based on fear, she says it affects her personally. "I feel terrible. And angry." Because her life is here. That's why she asks: "If they say Muslims are a danger, what are we? Where do I have to go to be considered one of us?" What bothers her most is the generalization from isolated cases. "They take one case and present it as if it were everyone's reality."

She also believes that many prejudices stem from ignorance. "Some people believe it because they don't have any Moroccan friends to tell them how we live." However, she says these experiences have also made her stronger. "Because at the end of the day, this is my home." "And I'm not going anywhere."