Looking Over My Shoulder 

Tuesday, September 11, 2001, seemed like any other day at Midwood HS until I sat down in my 4th period government class, around 9:15 a.m. 

“Did you hear what happened?” asked my teacher. He was distraught, completely opposite from his usual outgoing, happy attitude. “Two planes just crashed into the World Trade Center,” he said. 

Shock. That’s the only word to express how I felt. I just sat there in disbelief. 

Suddenly one of my classmates walked in and announced, “Another plane crashed into the Pentagon. And the World Trade Center just collapsed.” Like a stampede, all the people in the class ran up from their desks and crowded the windows to see what used to be our view of the Twin Towers. 

Black Smoke Across the Sky 

Those towers were the only part of the Manhattan skyline we could see because not even the buildings in Brooklyn could block them. But at that moment, the only thing we saw and smelled was black smoke across the sky. During the next period, the smoke became so strong, the fire drill lights started blinking. 

I got out of school around 11 a.m. because of my internship, but I hurried home instead. I looked around the house for my father, but he wasn’t there. I was worried, because my father works on Water Street, not too far from the World Trade Center. 

But because he works at night and rarely in the morning, I tried to reassure myself that he must be fine. I was still anxious about him though, probably because I was alone. 

My Uncle Worked There 

I called my mother to tell her that I was fine, only to find out that my uncle, Mohammad Islam, actually worked in one of the towers. Just before my heart started pounding, my mother spoke two words that I’ll forever be grateful for: “He’s fine.” It was such a huge relief. 

My father came home 15 minutes later, and soon we were bombarded with phone calls from relatives in California, Texas and other states, asking if we were all right. 

Over the next couple of days, I felt like I was on an emotional roller coaster. At first, I was obviously in shock and disbelief. Later that day it was numbness, which soon turned into sadness. 

Anger at the Terrorists 

But the most powerful thing I felt, which came on Wednesday, was anger. I was furious at whoever was insane enough to kill so many innocent lives and ruin so many others. 

I soon learned the hijackers were believed to be Muslims. I didn’t give them any sympathy for that, even though I’m Muslim myself. I think the terrorists learned some other book instead of the Islamic holy book, the Quran. 

Nowhere in the Quran does it condone terrorism or killing people. Their actions were disrespectful to Allah (God) and to millions of Muslims around the world who are now being associated with these insane people. 

Fear in My Brother’s Eyes 

Soon I found myself not only being afraid of another terrorist attack, but for my family’s and my own safety in my neighborhood and school. The next day, I heard on the news about attacks in America against Arabs and Muslims. 

It scared me to death, thinking that I’d have to go back to school the next day in a building where some might hate me and “my people.” I worried we might have a Columbine-style shooting at my school and that I or other Muslim students would be targets. 

But I wanted to be strong for my 10-year-old brother, who had so much fear in his eyes. “Are there people in my school who hate Muslims too?” he asked. My parents and I just told him not to be scared and that nothing would happen to him. 

People watch me when I take a book from my bag. I feel like saying, ‘People, I’m not gonna take out a bomb, OK?’

‘Kill Them All’ 

Our fear was not irrational, though. The day we went back to school, my government teacher told the class that a student in another class had said, “We should kill them all,” when asked about his feelings towards Muslims. That made me feel completely unsafe. 

My father tried to reassure me after school that I’d be fine since I don’t wear a hijab (a head covering) and the traditional clothing. It didn’t make me feel any better. 

I was still scared, thinking that people needn’t care about what I wore in order for them to dislike me. The color of my skin and the way I look would be enough for them to decide how they felt. 

When school resumed after the attack, my brother’s classmates asked him where he’s from and what religion he believes in. It bothered him. He felt that they were implying that he was one of the “bad guys.” 

It upset me that my brother had to deal with this. Even though he’s young, he’s not so young that he doesn’t understand things. 

And in some of my classes that week, students lashed out against Arabs and Muslims after seeing the footage of Palestinians rejoicing over the attacks. I overheard some classmates saying they believed that all Muslims were happy about it, that they’d do it again and that no one could be protected from them. They concluded that all Muslims believe in terrorism. 

Too Shy to Speak Up 

I don’t think my classmates knew that I’m Muslim. Their comments bothered me, but I didn’t want to have a confrontation in the middle of class. 

I didn’t speak up in part because I’m shy. It was only the second week of school and I didn’t know many people in my class. I didn’t want to start out being defensive. (Even when things are normal, I’m pretty quiet in class.) 

Also, it was only a few people who had negative things to say, so I didn’t let them bother me too much. I believe that most people aren’t ignorant and they know better than to judge a whole group by some people’s actions. 

But some ignorant people are violent. By this time, I’d read about people who shot worshippers in a Texas mosque and a firebomb that was thrown at an Arab-American community center in Chicago. 

At school, I kept hearing about attacks against students in other schools. Someone said that Arabic students at Lincoln HS were beaten up with baseball bats. My teacher had heard about two teachers in Connecticut who beat their Arabic students as well. I didn’t know whether any of these stories were true, but they still frightened me. 

I also heard stories about Arabs assaulted while walking in their neighborhoods. I began to worry about my parents. Both work very late and come home by themselves. “What if something happens to them on their way home?” I thought. 

Threatening Phone Calls 

Learning about threatening phone calls that my cousin Sabrina got only escalated my fear. She lives in Old Mill Basin in Brooklyn, not too far from my neighborhood. The caller had cursed at her and her mother and told them to leave the country. 

I figured the caller must’ve looked at the White Pages, found the Arabic-sounding names and then called and harassed them. That possibility unnerved me because the phone book also gives the address of residents. I worried that ignorant people might show up on my front step. 

Sabrina, 16, and another cousin of ours, Orin, 14, both of whom go to Midwood, were just as frightened as I was, if not more. Their parents didn’t want to leave them home alone anymore, and to my surprise, they didn’t want to be alone either. They’d always enjoyed their independence before and liked having time alone. 

“I heard about young girls getting abused and that scares me,” said Orin. “I’d rather be around adults and surrounded by people. Now my parents either take me with them when they go out or leave me at my cousin’s house.” 

Walking While Brown 

My older cousin, in Boston, said that things had changed for her too. She said she’d started to notice racial differences for the first time, like that she was the only non-Black person of color at work. 

In her 23 years, it hadn’t bothered her before, but in the days after September 11, she felt like she stood out. People stared at her when she walked down the street. 

I know what she means. More than five weeks after the Twin Towers came down, I still feel uncomfortable in public. People on the subway or the bus generally never noticed me before September 11, 2001. Now I turn some people’s heads. 

They watch me when I take out a book from my bag. I feel like saying, “People, I’m not gonna take out a bomb, OK? There are insane people out there. I’m not one of them. I’m just as worried and nervous about another attack as you are!” 

My Uncle’s Attacked 

Some of my fears were realized when my uncle Munir Hassain was attacked on October 5. He was outside the store where he works on Church Avenue in Brooklyn, when two guys came by asking if he had money. 

He said no and they started pounding his head. They didn’t have any weapons, but they were wearing big, sharp rings that cut his forehead and the back of his head. 

After seeing him, his manager called the police. Paramedics came and bandaged his head. His face swelled up, and he suffered pain and bleeding for days after. 

The police said that it wasn’t a bias attack, but I find that hard to believe. Why would someone single him out on Church Avenue at 2:30 p.m. when there were so many different people shopping there? 

People carrying shopping bags would’ve been better targets if the attackers just wanted money. Why pick a South Asian man in the middle of work? Now I think I’m angrier than I am afraid. 

Lighting Candles Together 

It’s frustrating to be grieving for so many lost lives and to be looking over my shoulder at the same time. 

I felt a little better when my friends, family and I lit candles at home on the Friday after the attack, to remember those who lost their lives. 

I participated in the candle memorial because I love America. Even though I was born in Bangladesh, this is where I’ve grown up for the last 10 years. This is where my brother was born. This is where I have my memories of the happy times and the sad. 

Can’t Let Them Get to Me 

At first, I felt that Americans were united against Muslims, but my opinion changed somewhat after seeing Islamic leaders help conduct memorial services at the National Cathedral and Yankee Stadium. 

I know that there are people who still look suspiciously at people of Middle Eastern or South Asian descent, but I can’t let every one of them get to me (even though they sometimes do). I have hope that the bias attacks will eventually stop, and that one day I won’t have to fear for my family and myself.