What’s the story behind your creative journey? Tell us how you got started, and what moment made you realize this was your calling?

My creative journey didn’t start with journalism. It started with restlessness. I grew up writing, competing in sports, and eventually serving in the military, always searching for a language that could hold complexity without flattening it. After my service, I ran for office, worked in nonprofits, and spent years close to power but far from truth. What shifted everything was being on the ground in Palestine. Seeing how lived reality was erased or distorted in real time made something click. I realized storytelling wasn’t just expression for me. It was responsibility. Reporting became the place where my politics, faith, grief, and discipline finally aligned.

How does your cultural or faith background influence your work? We’d love to hear about the unique perspective you bring to your art.

My faith and cultural background shape everything I do, even when I’m not writing explicitly about Islam. Being Muslim taught me to sit with contradiction, to value intention, and to understand justice as something both spiritual and material. Being Bengali in diaspora taught me what it means to be overlooked, misread, or reduced to a single story. I carry that into my work by resisting simplification. I don’t chase neutrality. I chase honesty, accountability, and dignity, especially for people who are constantly spoken about but rarely listened to.

What’s a project you’re especially proud of, and why?

One project I’m especially proud of is my investigative work exposing U.S. weapons shipments from JFK to Israel. It mattered because it connected paperwork to consequences. Air waybills, cargo manifests, and corporate logistics are usually abstract, but when you trace them properly, they tell a very human story. The process was slow and meticulous. FOIA requests, cross checking flight data, verifying companies, and then grounding it all in what those weapons enable on the ground. It holds a special place for me because it proved that independent journalism, when done carefully, can disrupt powerful systems even without institutional backing.

If you could collaborate with any artist (living or historical) from the Muslim or ethnic diaspora, who would it be and why?

If I could collaborate with anyone, it would be Edward Said. Not just because of his politics, but because of his insistence on intellectual rigor paired with moral clarity. He refused to separate culture from power or art from responsibility. I think about that constantly. How to write in a way that is precise, principled, and still deeply human.

What’s one misconception about your art form or your community that you’d like to challenge? What do you wish more people understood?

A misconception I’d like to challenge is that Muslim or diaspora journalism is inherently biased or emotional. As if proximity to injustice disqualifies you from rigor. In reality, proximity often sharpens accuracy. What gets overlooked is how much discipline, verification, and restraint goes into this work. Caring deeply does not mean abandoning standards. It often means holding yourself to higher ones.

⁠How can our community support your work and stay connected with you?

The best way to support my work is to read it, share it, and engage with it critically. I write and publish through my Substack at shaniyat.substack.com, and my reporting appears in outlets like Mondoweiss, Vox Ummah, and The Bengal Gazette. I’m also building new media projects focused on Muslim and global South narratives. People can connect with me on Instagram and X, and through Kufi, which has been an important creative home. I’m always open to conversation, collaboration, and thoughtful disagreement.