My family and I immigrated to America from Guyana on September 10, 2001.
I was only two years old and remembered nothing of the journey. The next day, our lives, along with every other New Yorker, had changed in ways I wouldn’t grasp for years to come. My parents recall the mix of excitement and fear they felt, moving to an unfamiliar country so different from their own, a fear that paled in comparison to what we felt after 9/11.
My father’s cousin died on 9/11. She worked in the World Trade Center and perished as the towers fell. We were impacted by 9/11 like many others who experienced loss, yet we were made to feel ostracized and othered. As Muslims, the immediate impact of 9/11 was something we struggled to understand. My father, visibly Muslim with a long beard, faced discrimination and verbal abuse at work, often retreating to the break room to escape the hateful remarks. Growing up in a predominantly Muslim community in New York, I was fortunate to avoid the severe discrimination faced by many Muslims across the country.
I remember a friend of my father’s, another visibly Muslim man, being attacked and beaten by Islamophobic assailants while walking home from the mosque. This incident deepened my fears. I remember thinking, if this can happen in my community, what are other Muslims across the country facing? Traveling around the country with my father became increasingly frightening. Stops in small towns left me anxious as I watched people’s reactions, worried someone might say or do something harmful. Despite this, my father wore his beard proudly, undeterred by the hostility.
The media around us focused extensively on the impact of 9/11, often addressing the tragedy in terms of national loss, security concerns, and broader geopolitical implications. However, there was a significant omission in this narrative: the surge in anti-Muslim hate crimes and discrimination that followed.
While the country was grappling with the immediate aftermath of the attacks, many Muslims and those perceived to be Muslim faced a different kind of crisis – one marked by heightened prejudice and violence.
It wasn’t until high school that I fully began to understand the ramifications of 9/11 for Muslim Americans. We faced constant surveillance, with undercover NYPD and FBI agents infiltrating our mosques, community centers, and even my college’s Muslim Student Association. Muslims became scapegoats, portrayed as the enemy in an “us vs. them” narrative, rather than as a diverse group with different experiences and contributions. Many in the Muslim community felt compelled to constantly prove their loyalty and patriotism to the U.S. The hostility was not limited to Muslims alone, but extended to anyone perceived to be Muslim, including Sikhs, Hindus, and others who wore visible religious symbols.
Reflecting on my experiences as a Muslim in post-9/11 America, I see how they have profoundly shaped my approach to engaging with and encouraging others to respect religious differences today. The pain and isolation my family and I felt in the aftermath of 9/11 are a poignant reminder of the importance of empathy and understanding in our interactions.
In the years since, I have come to realize that while 9/11 was a defining moment, the lessons it offers are not limited to its immediate aftermath. They extend into our daily lives, reminding us of the need for compassion and open dialogue in addressing religious differences. My journey has taught me the value of actively listening to and engaging with others’ lived experiences. It is crucial for us to acknowledge and respect the diverse narratives that shape our communities. By sharing our stories and understanding those of others, we foster a more inclusive environment where differences are celebrated rather than feared.
As we move forward, let’s use our shared experiences to encourage respectful and meaningful conversations. Embracing our shared humanity and remaining mindful of the struggles and triumphs of others helps bridge divides and build stronger, more compassionate communities.
Khadijah Ally, Tanenbaum Communications Associate