Aerial view of New York City in 2001, with the World Trade Center Twin Towers prominent

Photograph by Carol Highsmith, Library of Congress. Public domain.

September 11, 2001, will always be a day that changed a great deal for Americans. Overnight, nothing was the same — politics, family life, conversations, even the way kids played and interacted with the world shifted. How we saw other countries changed too. Our alliances, the places we supported, the interests we had abroad — everything was flipped upside down. What we thought we knew about friends and enemies changed, both abroad and at home.

But one of the most profound shifts was how Muslims and Islam were suddenly seen as the enemy. A war that started overseas quickly became a war right here in our neighborhoods. Muslim communities went from being just another part of America to being seen as the “other,” the bogeyman. And it wasn’t just on 9/11 — the impact has been lasting. Twenty-three years later, the victims of 9/11 aren’t just the families who lost their loved ones that day. It’s also the Muslims who have been vilified, attacked, and marginalized ever since.

While President George W. Bush said, “Our war is not against Islam,” the reality played out very differently. Islam became the war, and Muslims were turned into targets — both here in the U.S. and around the world. The pain and loss of 9/11 are real, and as American Muslims, we mourn alongside those families every year. But the ramping up of Islamophobia — a fear of Muslims, an irrational fear of our faith, of who we are — has been the fallout of that day, too.

Even now, we hear politicians who are supposed to know our laws and our Constitution — who are supposed to know better — claim that if Muslims are elected to office, Sharia law will somehow overtake entire cities or states. The idea of a Muslim president still makes some people panic. It’s the same prejudice that Catholics once faced, and it’s what the Jewish community has faced for generations — discrimination, hate, and suspicion. And now, it’s happening to Muslims.

But this isn’t just rhetoric. It’s real. It’s dangerous. Lives have been lost because of it. Take the three Muslim students in North Carolina — Deah Barakat, Yusor Abu-Salha, and Razan Abu-Salha — murdered in their own home in 2015 by a neighbor who couldn’t see past his hate. Or Wadee Alfayoumi stabbed to death in 2023 by his landlord simply because he was Muslim. These aren’t isolated incidents. This is the reality Muslims live with in America every day. Even programs that were supposed to empower young people, like Countering Violent Extremism (CVE), ended up targeting Somali Muslim kids right here in Minneapolis — making them feel like suspects in their own schools and communities. These are the costs of fear and division.

When we say, “Never forget,” we must ask: Who are we remembering? Who gets counted as American enough to deserve justice? Until we, as a country, live up to the values of love, unity, and equality that are supposed to bind us together, justice will remain an unfulfilled promise.

It’s been 23 years of heartache, grief, and struggle. Let’s honor the victims of 9/11 not just with words, but by turning this day into a moment of real reflection. What am I doing to confront the fear and hatred that divides us? How am I building bridges in my community instead of adding to the division? Especially in this election year, when political rhetoric is tearing at the fabric of what makes this country great, we need to be the change.

Let’s make 9/11 not just a day of remembrance, but a day to ask ourselves: What are we doing to ensure this never happens again, to any community, ever?