Muslim American Reflections on 9/11
By Saadia Khan
Yesterday we commemorated the 21st anniversary of 9/11. For many of us, it's a time for introspection. Every year we remember 3,000 lives lost, their loved ones, and the first responders and vow to "Never Forget." But as a Muslim American, I dread 9/11 because I’m pressed to relive those few years after where I was constantly defending myself, my ethnicity, and my religion in conversations and spaces I entered. While my memories of that fateful day are scattered, the disarming effects to my sense of self and belonging are still tender.
I had just moved to the US and lived on a college campus near Cambridge, MA. I remember my sister's frantic phone call, insisting I switch on the TV, and when I did, at that moment, I knew our lives had changed for the worst.
As a newcomer to America, my affiliation with the Twin Towers was admittedly not as strong, but I felt deep despair and sadness. I remember for days, I could not get out of my bed. I cried and mourned the victims quietly. Simultaneously, I felt guilt and shame because the perpetrators shared my religion. And little did I imagine I would have to carry the burden of being a Muslim in America for years to come.
9/11 and the U.S. government’s response to the atrocity instantly and irrevocably relegated Muslim Americans to the status of outsiders. There was no time to grieve for the lives lost and the world that has come to past because of this tragedy because I and other Muslim Americans became the “other” —not the Americans who fell victim to this terrorist attack. The prevailing narrative to this day is to suspect Muslims before anything else.
According to a report released by the Council on American Islamic Relations (CAIR) and the University of California Berkeley's Center for Race and Gender, the hate toward American Muslims and Islam has become a multimillion-dollar business. The report names 74 groups it says contribute to Islamophobia in the US. Of those groups, it says, the primary purpose of 33 "is to promote prejudice against, or hatred of, Islam and Muslims."
According to a 2019 article published in The Week titled "The GOP is the party of Islamophobia," "conservatives have been campaigning against Islam — not just the religion's extremist adherents, but the religion itself — ever since 9/11. They've questioned the loyalty of Muslim Republicans. They've tried banning Muslim refugees from entering the United States. In communities across the country — from New York to Tennessee to California — they've taken extraordinary steps to block the construction of Muslim houses of worship. Some have even contended that Islam is not a religion but an authoritarian ideology."
Recently the self-proclaimed extremist Laura Loomer lost a Florida GOP primary challenge against House incumbent Dan Webster by a slim margin, which is a testament to how many GOP voters are OK with electing an openly Islamophobic public official.
Personally, there have been so many incidents since 9/11 in which my family and I faced a range of xenophobia, from soft bigotry to blatant Islamophobia.
Once, our realtor in Denver, CO, a staunch Christian, came unannounced to our house to convert my husband and me to Christianity and salvage our souls from the "cult," an ironic euphemism if you ask me.
On the eve of the 2008 Presidential elections, our neighbor in Denver, an older lady who seemed relatively harmless and had babysat my infant prior, came to our house to watch the election coverage. She was an ardent Obama supporter; however, she was furious that people thought "Obama was a Muslim." How could people say that about such a decent man," she exclaimed, not realizing this microaggression vilified my religion in praise of Obama.
John McCain took a similar stance during a 2008 election rally when a woman called Obama "an Arab" and, therefore, ineligible for the presidency. "No ma'am, he's a decent family man, citizen, that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues, and that's what this campaign is all about," McCain said to applause.
Neither John McCain nor my neighbor realized that they inadvertently equated Muslims to lesser humans by suggesting that decency is mutually exclusive with being a Muslim.
Airport trips can be nerve-wracking for many, but they carry special meaning for us as Muslims. Against all probability, we are always pulled out for a "random check." While most adults have reconciled with that fate, my kids, born and raised in the United States of America, were singled out for additional screening a couple of years ago. That experience traumatized me beyond words. As a mother and witness to this unfair treatment, I felt powerless to defend my children.
Discrimination is not limited to personal interactions.
For example, many TV shows, movies, and media depict Muslims as barbaric and uncivilized. And then there are governmental policies that target Muslims from home raids, renditions, The NYPD Muslim Surveillance Program, to the Muslim ban & incidents of entrapment by the FBI.
Hence right before the anniversary of 9/11 and on the day of, a host of emotions always resurface, ranging from sadness, humiliation, and anger to the feeling of being a stranger in a strange land.
Usually, I let the day slide, and I stay cooped up in my house. However, after two decades of silence and shame this year, I decided to express my feelings. It was an overdue catharsis. So I decided to lay it all out for America. The humiliation, the guilt by association, and the mental trauma that has accompanied this fateful event since.
So through all this pain, I want to reiterate we have endured personal and collective suffering. It's time for all of America to unite and heal.
