For Orange County’s most prominent hijab-wearing political and community figure, it is no surprise that her first name in Arabic means leader. Rida Hamida is a first-generation daughter of Palestinian immigrants and exemplifies that definition every day.
Her proactive mindset was shaped from a young age, as the essence of community bloomed within the walls of Hamida’s childhood home. Being the second-eldest, she quickly learned the importance of looking out for her eight siblings. “We shared space, responsibilities, and memories.” When it was time to eat, Hamida recalls setting the table together after following their mother around the kitchen. In a full house, those moments captured a sense of unity and belonging where she found comfort. Looking back, her family was her first example of the strength within a community.
However, Hamida’s family struggled at times to hold on to that strength. Her parents grew up in Palestine and married young. Soon to have a family of their own, they decided to leave the West Bank in search of economic opportunity. Her parents raised their family away from the life they once knew. But they were not alone, for many Palestinians in the 1960s, “migration was often the only way to support loved ones under occupation and displacement,” said Hamida. In the past, her father and grandfather moved throughout Latin America, among the diaspora, just to make ends meet.
Home in this unfamiliar country did not come right away, and it was not until the early 1980s that they settled in Orange County. Despite these changes, Hamida’s parents were keen not to let their children lose sight of where they came from.
Her parents were involved in the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee, where they advocated for Palestinian rights. Such activism put a target on the committee and leaders, but they kept showing up. Hamida’s mother would bring her daughters, as young as seven, to meetings for the Union of Palestinian American Women. “Those spaces were foundational for me,” said Hamida, “rooted in education, small business, women’s leadership, and civil rights.” At the same time, her father was deeply involved in community advocacy and building his own business. On weekends, Hamida would follow her father around his men’s clothing store in Orange, counting inventory and making sales. “My Palestinian American parents formed the foundation of my lifelong commitment to equity, representation, and community empowerment.”
In more ways than one, her identity has grounded Hamida, from the light brown curls that bounced around her face as a child to the artwork that decorated the walls featuring verses from the Qur’an, to the scent of her mother’s Arabic cooking. Hamida grew up with a mix of cultures as she and her siblings spoke to their family in Arabic, Spanish, and English.“It was a beautiful example of what it means to grow up between cultures, holding onto our roots while building a life in America.”
From her time at Orange Crescent, an Islamic school, to Canyon High, a public school in Anaheim Hills, Hamida was never a student who went unnoticed. As early as 13, her involvement in organizing student councils for talent shows and yearbooks motivated her “to be an activist and community organizer,” she said. “Those early experiences shaped my commitment to leadership, storytelling, and community building.”
After graduating, Hamida had a non-traditional path to higher education. While working on her associates at Orange Coast Community College, she married and had a child. However, she filed for divorce after three years. Instead of seeing this change as a setback, she focused on finishing her degree as a reality.
It was at that moment that she also decided to put on the hijab. When she saw her reflection in the mirror, her face was framed by a pink hijab fabric, the soon-to-be iconic color she is known for today. At UCLA, Hamida completed her undergraduate and graduate studies in World History and Middle Eastern and North African Studies. While heavily involved in the classroom and around campus, she worked two jobs to support herself and her child, yet never lost her spark for student activism. Hamida’s voice became known among her peers, but everyone quickly noticed she was never alone. While she attended lectures or ran around Ackerman Union, her 3-year-old son was by her side. “It was so cute, he had his own fan club.” She remembers the day of graduation, when she made her way across the stage, her son was the one to receive his mother’s diploma.
“It makes me want to cry,” said Hamida, “but it was so empowering to leave [UCLA once graduated]. I told myself, I do not want to be defined by failure. I want to be defined by my own empowerment, my own free will, and my choice to live an authentic life.”
Much of Hamida’s strength as a leader, she attributes to her mother, Randa Hamida, who passed away less than a year ago. Just like her daughter, her mother never let age stand in the way of her education. At 50 years old, her mother completed her high school diploma and earned an associate’s degree in children’s development and education.
As a child, seeing her mother take charge in her home, community meetings, or the classroom were all lessons that continue to ground her work today. “Being proud to be Palestinian, being proud to be Muslim,” shared Hamida through tears, “whether people are trying to dehumanize you or criminalize you, just be proud and celebrate and honor who you are, no matter where you are. That’s what I learned from my proud Palestinian mom.”
Pursuing higher education was a pivotal chapter in Hamida’s life. Her connection to faith was never stronger, and through student leadership, she never stopped advocating for those around her. Right out of college, she worked for the nonprofit, Refugee Forum of Orange County, advocating for refugees in marginalized communities.
Hamida did not stop there; she made history as the first hijab-wearing woman to have served as a senior advisor and community liaison for a Member of Congress and served as a senior staffer for the California State Assembly. “I never dreamed of those things,” she said.
Eventually, her name, her work, and her bright pink hijab became known. She built strong connections with elected leaders and earned public trust. From the small businesses of Little Arabia to the community meetings held across cities, she helped promote the economic and cultural life.
Quickly, she found her passion was at the ground level. After years of organizing for the state and listening attentively at city council meetings, she left her role in public office to focus solely on the community. When she stepped away, she began to lead a movement that soon became bigger than herself.
After the 2016 presidential election, Hamida witnessed firsthand the overwhelming political division and decided to mend the community from within. She focused on bringing together two significant groups within Orange County: Latinos and Muslims, through shared experiences. Hamida started a movement called Latino and Muslim Unity, LMU, and their message quickly resonated. In 2019, their movement turned into a nonprofit.
One of the earliest initiatives became Hamida’s most impactful: “Taco Trucks at Every Mosque,” which brought over a million halal tacos and community resources across Southern California. The first event was held in the Islamic Center of Santa Ana, in the summer of 2017. A brightly-colored taco truck, plastered with logos and flyers for civic resources on all sides, was something to see. Nearly 400 people showed up to learn what this unconventional idea was all about. Hamida was impressed, and the turnout continued to grow as they hosted 456 pop-ups across the state, from Orange County, Los Angeles, Sacramento, Santa Clara, and San Diego.
But their activism was not confined to the local level. Since 2023, Hamida and her team have advocated for a ceasefire resolution in Palestine. Their goal was to call upon federal leaders to stop the bombing of Palestine, which is being funded by American tax dollars. “We had to work with the community and residents,” explained Hamida, “educate them on the issue and then find a shared vision of what we want. While this is a foreign affairs issue, we’re paying for this issue.”
The nonprofit was keen on making its voice heard and took these demands to members of Congress, yet failed to get a response. The rejection was not a setback as she took the movement to where Hamida knew best: city council meetings.
Together, she led constituents of all ages to 13 different city halls to remind elected officials what they could do by supporting this resolution. “We lobbied council members to understand why this was a city issue, because it was our tax dollars that were aiding and abetting genocide,” said Hamida. While it takes more than mobilizing voices in city halls to translate change across the world, efforts now turn to federal leaders, who could turn this symbolic resolution into a signed ceasefire agreement.
Hamida notes that unless you are experiencing the effects of such destruction firsthand — whether you have family members living in the area, or the land was once your homeland — it can be hard to relate from an outside perspective. However, she echoes, “there are so many intersectional historical routes that bring us together.”
While lobbying, Hamida emphasized the necessity of this ceasefire resolution by comparing what is being experienced by those living under the occupation of Gaza to the immigration raids occurring nationwide, involving increased militarization and weaponization of its people. By putting up a mirror to the destruction occurring in Hamida’s parents’ home country, to the patrolled streets under the current Trump Administration, all stem from the diminishment of the “other.” By bringing these two realities to the forefront, it illustrates the connections of injustice occurring in two seemingly separate parts of the world.
Through social media campaigns, documentary screenings, and taco truck events, the nonprofit’s efforts were grounded in educating the community on this message through nourishment and conversation.
LMU’s advocacy kept conversations for a ceasefire resolution alive, and the votes slowly began to reflect increased support. After two years, 16 cities across Southern California voted in favor of the resolution. Moreover, 13 citywide resolutions were passed condemning anti-Muslim and anti-Latino hate in that same year.
Hamida, now in her 40s, is a mother and a grandmother, yet her position as a leader prevails. She remains grounded not just by the support of her family, her team, and the community but also by what wearing the bright pink hijab means to her. “It means showing myself grace, showing myself that as I get older, my physical beauty is not as important, and who I am as a person is more important. I choose to be private about my beauty and what I have to show, and I’m still the strongest person I’ve ever been.”