Fifteen years after 9/11, US Muslims still living with aftereffects

My kids came home from school yesterday, two on the bus and one I picked up—grades third, eighth, and tenth. As we went through our usual rundown of “how was school?” my daughter (she’s in eighth) announced excitedly to me that in her International Studies and World History classes, there will be a unit on Islam.

“How do you feel about that?” I asked her.

“I think it’ll be cool. At least we’ll have an entire unit devoted to it where we can discuss things instead of everyone in the class looking at me anytime CNN Student News shows something bad about Muslims.”

“Do your classmates ever bully you or pick on you because you’re Muslim?” (This is not the first time, nor will it be the last time I’ve asked her this question. Last year, when her social studies teacher had the students watch the presidential debates, I worried what the impact of now-Republican presidential candidate Donald J. Trump’s anti-Muslim rhetoric would have on her in classroom discussions.)
“Noooo … not really. Sometimes kids say things in the hall or behind my back, but nothing I can’t handle,” she says.

I’m wary of her answer. Part of me wants to believe, and part of me is cognizant of the fact that she is 13 and not likely to tell me much. I’ve heard, read, and reported on too many stories of American Muslim kids being targeted or bullied for their faith to not be vigilant. The U.S. Department of Education just announced that it will start tracking allegations of bullying or discrimination of students based on their religion, “bringing new attention to what educators and advocates call a growing problem in public schools, particularly for Muslim students,” according to a Washington Post article.

There’s a small measure of comfort in knowing this. In 15 years of covering Muslims in America, I have reported, shared, and read too many stories of harassment, bullying, verbal and physical abuse, and yes, killing, of Muslims. Data tracking will be helpful to quantify the problem.

But, as we approach the 15th remembrance of the tragedy of 9/11, the larger questions for me are: What are the continuing aftereffects and reverberations a decade and a half later for Muslim and immigrant communities in America? Are we losing our place in this country due to the proliferation of mistrust and anti-Muslim rhetoric? Or, are the straits not as dire as they sometimes seem to be?

Back in the summer of 2001, I returned to the world of journalism after taking off nearly two years (marriage, illness, pregnancy, motherhood) and joined Cairo-based Islam Online as their arts and culture freelance reporter in New York. I spent my first month filing stories on the NYC Muslim arts scene.

The next month my career shifted dramatically and irreversibly, putting me on a path on which I still travel today. I stood in my apartment in midtown Manhattan, my one-year-old baby crawling over my feet, and watched in horror as planes flew into the Twin Towers. In those minutes I couldn’t fathom what was happening a few miles away from me. Then I grabbed my son and took the elevator up to the roof of our building to bear witness:

Huge, angry plumes of black smoke in the near distance. The wails of sirens and people filling the city. And a rubbery, burning stench that would linger over the city for days. While my husband mechanically went to work (as an internal medicine resident), our son and I stayed holed up in our apartment for three or four days, afraid to venture out.

Then war in Iraq loomed, and immediate protests began near Ground Zero. I didn’t bother telling my folks what I was doing—my father had already cautioned me that being a Muslim reporting on Muslims could make me a target for hate. I just left our baby with my husband and headed downtown to do my job: Report the news. Tell a story. Paint vivid pictures. Show the world.

In the 15 years since, the beat of Muslims in America has taken me from Islam Online to Beliefnet to my current position as the managing editor of the Muslim Channel at Patheos.com, with freelance work for Newsweek, Azizah Magazine, Illume, and many others. I’ve spent my career trying to gauge the pulse of post-9/11 Muslims in America.

In the current climate, Muslim activists are urging each other to “own our own narratives.” That’s an old mantra to me. But as hard as the American Muslim community tries to counter negative rhetoric or stereotypes, and no matter how many times activists and leaders have condemned various acts of violence, I wonder if we’re being heard in real and meaningful ways.

Five years ago, on the 10th remembrance of 9/11, I produced a series for Patheos on “Three Questions for American Muslims,” asking how things have changed 10 years later, how did 9/11 affect people inwardly and outwardly, and what do we want non-Muslims to know about us? Answers varied from talking about our diversity and patriotism (or right to not be patriotic) to moving past the cycle of condemnation.

In some ways, we seem to be stuck in this cycle of being made to explain ourselves, with poll numbers showing that too many of our fellow Americans view us negatively and with Trump and other right-wing pundits/politicians vilifying us, Latino, and immigrant communities. We see Wheaton College professor Larycia Hawkins lose her job for wearing a headscarf in solidarity with American Muslims, and we see three promising, beautiful, bright young students in North Carolina gunned down in cold blood while the police declare “parking dispute” instead of hate crime.

What with ISIS, San Bernardino, Paris, Brussels, and others, yes, there have been attacks perpetuated by so-called Muslims over the years. But then there are horrors like Sandy Hook, Emanuel African Episcopal Church, and other mass killings around the U.S. and the world that have nothing to do with Muslims. Take a look at this breakdown of which groups actually commit more acts of terror, killing, and violence.

It’s enough to make one weary, especially when you’ve been writing, reporting, editing, and producing this larger story all these post-9/11 years. But, as commentator and comedian Dean Obeidallah writes, “I’ve never been more optimistic about our future in America.”

I’d have to agree. Why? Because while there is fear and bullying, there is also strength, pride, kindness, diversity, activism, and a shared sense of humanity. There are American Muslims in every facet of American society, from the PTA to the local police force to Congress, the Olympics team, media, and more. There are the children—immigrants, first-generation, second-generation, and beyond. Kids like my own three, playing soccer, praying (or dodging) their prayers, going to school, struggling with algebra, eating pizza in the school cafeteria on Friday and kebobs, biryani, or maybe kunafa on Friday night with their families.

There are friends where you’d least expect it.

There is resilience. There is shared humanity.