Part 1: ExMuslim Awareness Month

By Veiled Rose

For too long, the voices of ExMuslims—those who leave Islam—have been drowned out by stigma, fear, and silence. December, as ExMuslim Awareness Month, seeks to change that. Launched just three years ago by the ExMuslim Subreddit and championed by activists like Haram Doodles, this growing campaign highlights the struggles, resilience, and humanity of those who have chosen to leave their faith behind. Despite this progress, many around the world remain unaware of the existence of ExMuslims, and countless Muslims do not realise that leaving Islam is even an option.

Leaving Islam is no simple act of personal belief; it is an act of defiance that can cost individuals their families, homes, and even their lives. In 12 countries, apostasy is punishable by death, and in many others, it is met with systemic discrimination, ostracism, and abuse. Yet, while terms like Islamophobia and homophobia are recognised as names for prejudice and hate, the abuse faced by apostates from Islam—apostophobia—lacks even a word to describe it. This glaring absence underscores how invisible and ignored ExMuslims remain on the global stage.

This three-part series delves into the heart of the ExMuslim experience, shining a light on apostophobia and its parallels with the fight against homophobia. By examining the historical criminalisation of LGBT people, the rise of apostasy and blasphemy laws, and the alarming attempts to revive these laws in Western contexts, we uncover a disturbing truth: the fight for freedom from religious oppression is far from over.

ExMuslim Awareness Month is not just a campaign for recognition—it is a rallying cry against a global epidemic of intolerance that seeks to deny individuals the right to question, dissent, and live authentically. Through this series, we hope to amplify the voices of those who risk everything for their freedom and call for a world where leaving a religion is no longer a crime, but a fundamental human right.

I, an atheist since I was 15 and now 43, did not know that others had left Islam. I truly believed, as though it were an undeniable fact, that I was the only Muslim who had become an atheist. The term ExMuslim only emerged much later, with the establishment of organisations like The Central Council of Ex-Muslims (German: Zentralrat der Ex-Muslime, ZdE) and the Council of ExMuslims of Britain (CEMB), both founded in 2007.

Although CEMB was founded in 2007, I did not hear of the organisation until 2013. It took me many more years to realise there is a mass movement of ExMuslims campaigning for the right to leave Islam and challenging apostophobia.

What Is Apostophobia?

When I began researching for this article, I started by looking up the term apostophobia, and unsurprisingly, Google did not recognise it at all. The very fact that there is no officially acknowledged word to describe the irrational abuse and hate directed at people who leave religion by those who remain in it highlights the dire need for a campaign and awareness-raising for apostates and Apostophobia.

So, what is Apostophobia? Put simply, Apostophobia combines the word apostasy, meaning to leave a religion and reject its ideas, customs, and values, with the word phobia, which denotes an irrational fear or hatred. It mirrors how homophobia is constructed from homo for homosexuals and phobia for an irrational fear or hatred of them.

Apostophobia Parallels with Homophobia

Homophobia is widely condemned and challenged in much of the modern world, with its consequences recognised and legislated against in many countries. In contrast, apostates, particularly ExMuslims, face an uphill battle, as apostophobia—discrimination and abuse directed at those who leave religion—is not even acknowledged in our language. There is no recognised term for the hate and mistreatment we face from those who remain in the religion, nor is there recognition of the human rights abuses it leads to.

The traumatic and suffocating effects of Apostophobia within the Islamic world and Muslim communities are often underestimated, making it exhausting to convey. Unless one has lived through it, it is difficult to fathom. Breaking the rules and going against the norms is a major taboo; apostasy, the rejection of the religion’s rule books, calls for a death sentence within Islamic scriptures. In 12 countries, it is punishable by death, and merely asking questions or being critical of Islam is considered blasphemy—again, against the rule book—punishable by either death or imprisonment in 22 countries.

The fact that ExMuslims face abuse and threats is largely dismissed and undermined when we seek support to escape the dangers we face. One ExMuslim from the US spoke about how his guidance counsellor (a non-Muslim) deemed his fears of leaving Islam as an irrational phobia. He was encouraged by them to be open, not fear leaving Islam, and to talk freely with imams and his Muslim family.

While working for a prominent welfare rights charity in the UK, I was casually told by my manager, “just tell your parents you’re lesbian and atheist, it’s no big deal, nothing will happen.” I shudder at the memory, and as I think of Mahad Olad, a Somali American ExMuslim homosexual, whose family attempted to force him into conversion therapy to “cure” him of his atheism and homosexuality. His life was put in danger when his mother discovered he was gay and an apostate. Thankfully, Mahad Olad managed to escape with the help of the activist organisation ExMuslims of North America.

The silencing of ExMuslims through bogus terms like “Islamophobia” adds to our difficulties in accessing support to flee the dangers we face. ExMuslims are constantly gaslighted by Apostophobes and silenced with slurs like “Islamophobe,” being accused of being hateful bigots and racists. The irony of these accusations is not lost on me as I look at the Rational Thinkers meme on social media commemorating Avijit Roy (12 September 1972 to 26 February 2015): “So those who think that victory can be earned without sacrifice are living in a fool’s paradise. Since the time we started to write about blind beliefs and religious fundamentalism, we knew that we had put our lives in danger.”

In the wake of the murder of Samuel Paty for his alleged blasphemy, the response I witnessed online was not an acknowledgement of the similar fate of apostates and blasphemers in Islamic nations from mob lynchings, imprisonments, or capital punishment so widely carried out. Instead, it was a focus on how horrendous Islamophobia is in the West. The likes of Avijit Roy, Taslima Nasreen, Salman Rushdie, Shammi Haque, Mubarak Bala, and so many more were completely invisible in the press and in conversations. Yes, any form of hate and bigotry towards people is wholly unacceptable, as is the case with the heinous anti-Muslim bigotry. There are laws in place to protect Muslims from hate in nations like France. However, seeing responses to a nation’s mourning over Samuel Paty’s murder deflecting to cries of Islamophobia was painful considering the real, rational fears ExMuslims face when they leave Islam. The conflation of Islam as an ideology or religion with Muslims as people under the bogus umbrella term “Islamophobia” is a very successful means to gaslight and silence ExMuslims, secularists, and humanists who are critical of religious dogma.

Atheism A ‘Disease’

Atheism is seen as both a disease and a crime. The Islamic regime of Iran and its affiliates at the Islamic University of Tehran recently deemed protester Ahoo Daryaei mentally ill following her protest against being harassed by the morality police for ‘improper’ hijab. The regime has since announced plans to roll out psychological correction centres to deal with women who oppose the hijab. Being an apostate or opposing the religious rulings of the Islamic regime is classified as an act against God and a crime punishable by law, often leading to imprisonment in torture cells the regime refers to as correction facilities.

After centuries of hiding and remaining invisible as apostates, the advent of technologies such as the internet has provided us with a space to explore and express our apostasy with the safety of anonymity. It has enabled us to organise our small numbers from across the globe. However, it has also brought the existence of apostates to the forefront, as those who wish to deny, imprison, and silence us struggle to do so. Their reactions to our apostasy help us in our battle to expose their Apostophobia. In recent years, mullahs and sheikhs have warned against the tsunami of ex-Muslims. On TV, mullahs have been seen crying inconsolable tears, in pain over the apostates who have “struck” their beloved God. In one incident on Egyptian TV, an atheist was invited to discuss their beliefs. The response from the religious cleric and the host was to berate him as mentally ill and apologise to the audience for exposing them to a “disease” they might catch.

Apostophobia is common throughout the Islamic world and wherever Muslim communities reside. It can manifest as being seen as a mental sickness, or as a fear that the devil is inside you. I say this from personal experience, as my mother was alarmed when I said I no longer believed in Islam. She started rubbing my head and said the devil was inside me.

The fight to end apostophobia is barely beginning. The world doesn’t even have a widely recognized word for it, let alone acknowledgment of its existence. There are no UN efforts to ban apostophobic or blasphemy laws, nor is there international outrage over the stoning and execution of apostates. Islamists in the UK openly declare on social media that apostates should be put to death and express pride in this stance. When such content is reported, social media platforms often dismiss it as “Islamophobic,” weaponizing that term to silence dissent and embolden zealots.

Despite apostates facing death penalties, imprisonment, and mob lynchings legally sanctioned by the state, there is little to no clear recourse to seek asylum on these grounds. While the UNHCR states there should be freedom to practice religion and freedom from religion, it says nothing about protecting people from apostophobia. Forget pride marches—apostates from Islam are often too afraid to show their faces, even online. Most use pseudonyms or literal masks, like Apostate Aladdin or Infidel Noodles. Many ExMuslims avoid consuming or interacting with other apostates online out of fear that family or friends might discover their apostasy through their internet search history.

In a humane world where humans are free to be themselves without prejudice or phobias suffocating and attempting to eliminate parts of what make them human, it should not be necessary to hide any aspect of who you are. Yet even in the West, where there are legal protections against homophobic hate crimes and discrimination, people still fear being discovered as either LGBT+ or Ex-Muslim. One question frequently asked, especially when LGBT+ individuals and Ex-Muslims meet up, is, “Are you out to your family?” This question is so normal and routine, primarily to assess how safe and supported the person is. 

It saddens me that in both communities I belong to—the LGBT+ and the apostate communities—we still need to consider such things. Luckily, in the LGBT+ community where I live in the UK, I’ve seen fewer awkward silences and pained expressions in response to the question, “Are you out to your family?” Over time, I’ve witnessed many friends celebrate their weddings with their families present—something I couldn’t have imagined just 12 years ago, before the introduction of same-sex marriages. A close friend and neighbour once told me that my partner and I would have faced a much more painful and difficult time a few decades ago when gay and lesbian people were routinely abused and ignored in their neighbourhoods’. He also shared how his own attitudes toward homosexuality had changed, evolving from absolute horror and disgust to love and acceptance. Every now and then, he even apologizes for the homophobia he held in the past. 

However, in the Ex-Muslim community in the UK, the question, “Are you out to your family?” still carries a heavy weight for most of us. Many have had to flee their families, and others have fled their homelands, cutting ties altogether due to the apostophobia we face.

When setting out to write this article, my main aim was to raise awareness of the existence of ExMuslims and the uphill battles we face due to the hate we encounter from within our own communities and homelands. Considering the stigma, torture, imprisonment, exile, and even death penalty, many ExMuslims remain in hiding. Even in the relative safety of Western secular countries, we are often invisible and forced to stay in the shadows.

It is no wonder that many find it hard to fathom our existence, let alone understand our struggles. By illustrating the parallels between the history of the LGBT+ community’s fight against homophobia and the ExMuslim community’s fight against apostophobia—both stemming from religious bigotry—I hope to shine a light on our struggles and highlight the importance of opposing all forms of bigotry that seek to deny and criminalise the essence of what makes us human.

To pave a way forward in building ExMuslim awareness and ending apostophobia, I urge people to start by strengthening and expanding the mass movement that many have already begun. This involves fostering resilience and addressing the mental health needs of our community, undoing religious trauma, and challenging internalised apostophobia. We must study and learn from the successes and challenges of the LGBT+ movement. It is also critical to call out the gaslighting and manipulation by those who seek to discredit ExMuslims as racists or bigots, simply for criticising Islam. Building pride in the ExMuslim community as part of a civil rights and human rights movement working toward universal human rights is essential.