September 11, 2001, Twenty Years Later: A Reflection From a New Yorker

The Tribute in Light in Lower Manhattan

Last weekend, we passed the 20th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. As a native New Yorker who was in New York on that day, I find it hard to believe that twenty years have already passed since then.

I talk about that day from a variety of different perspectives. I talk about that day from the perspective of someone who suddenly lost two friends, as two of the firefighters I used to talk with as a little child died on 9/11. I talk about that day from the perspective of a New Yorker, since I was a resident of Queens when the attacks happened (and even saw some of the smoke on my street). I talk about that day from the perspective of a seven-year-old, as there are certain things I remember vividly and certain things I don’t remember at all because I was so young when it all happened.

But in this blog post, I want to write from the perspective of someone who lives in a neighborhood and a city that became a ground zero for anti-Muslim and anti-Sikh violence ever since the attacks, even if I didn’t realize it for years.

I want to write from that perspective because I want people, including people who don’t think of Islam favorably, to realize just how destructive these anti-Islamic sentiments (and by extension anti-Sikh sentiments, as Sikhs are often mistaken for people practicing Islam) could be.

It is the sort of sentiment which led to someone trying to throw a Molotov cocktail into a mosque not long after 9/11.[1] It is the sort of sentiment which led to Muslims in my area being spat upon and harassed by passers-by, only to get unsympathetic responses from the very people supposed to protect their public safety (as well as others’ safety): the police.[2] It is the sort of sentiment that led my own mom to receiving dirty looks and muttered comments once when she wore her winter scarf in a way that some mistook as her being Muslim. And it is the sort of sentiment that became so pervasive in America that President George W. Bush felt the need to denounce anti-Muslim harassment happening in the days after 9/11.[3]

Sikhs have become victims of this anti-Islam sentiment, often because many Sikhs (and particularly Sikh men) wear turbans, and because of the wearing of turbans Sikhs are often mistaken for Muslims. As a result, Sikhs have also been victims of anti-Islamic sentiment even though they don’t practice Islam. As a result, Sikhs in my neighborhood were beaten up over and over again in the months and years after 9/11. One noted story of a Sikh beating in my neighborhood happened while he was heading back from a Sikh temple where he prayed for 9/11 victims.[4]

The hatred directed at Muslims and Sikhs was so bad that people from those two religious groups honestly feared going out after 9/11, and at times still have to be cautious when they are out. It got so bad that some of the Sikhs in my neighborhood, after 9/11, felt they needed to wear buttons saying “I am a Sikh American” in order to try and “prove” to a skeptical audience that they were every bit as deserving of being out and about as anyone else. It was so bad that a kid who took karate with me—a kid from a Muslim family—had to drop out of karate classes and minimize the amount of time they spent out in public for months after 9/11 because the family of the kid was that scared of going out in public.

Do I mourn for all those lost on 9/11? Absolutely. I mourn for all who lost their lives on that day, including the two firefighter friends of seven-year-old me. But I also mourn because of the anti-Sikh and anti-Muslim sentiment that has been directed at so many innocent people since then, and still carries on to this day. And I believe others should mourn for that, too.





Addressing the Pittsburgh Synagogue Shooting

Tree of Life Synagogue Image
The Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. This was the site of a mass shooting on October 27, 2018. By CTO HENRY [CC BY-SA 4.0 (, from Wikimedia Commons.
This past week has been filled with hate, so much so that I have changed blog topics three or four times in the past six days just to reflect all the bad news (President Trump’s rhetoric on “caravans” coming to the United States, the packages sent to prominent Democrats, and now the synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh). Honestly, all of the horrid news of recent days left me wanting to write everything and write nothing, all at the same time.

But here I am, the night before I usually publish my Tuesday blog posts, writing on the most recent piece of bad news: the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

I honestly can’t put into words how awful this tragedy was. A group of people worshiping peacefully (just as I worship peacefully in my own religion on a weekly basis) were put into a state of fear, injury, or death (depending on the individual) from an anti-Semitic individual.

Speaking of anti-Semitism, I think that we need to use this time after the shooting to reflect on anti-Semitism.

Namely, it is high time that those of us who have our heads in the sand about the presence of anti-Semitism in the United States take our heads out of the sand.[1]

Anti-Semitism is quite visible and has been given way too much legitimacy. Those who doubt me can look at the record number of white nationalist candidates running for office this year, including candidates who deny the Holocaust (and at least one candidate who, horrifyingly, was at least at one point a member of the American Nazi Party).[2] Those who doubt me can look at the fact that anti-Semitism was rising sharply in the United States, even before the Pittsburgh shooting.[3] And finally, those who doubt me can look at the violence involving neo-Nazis in Charlottesville, Virginia last year and see how the President of the United States said that there were “good people” on the side of neo-Nazis.[4] Anti-Semitism was around before 2017 and 2018, but it has certainly not gone away, and indications are that it has grown. We cannot ignore this anti-Semitism in the United States, and if we ignore it, then it will be to the peril of Jews across this country.

This does not mean that I have a solution that ends all anti-Semitism, and this does not mean that I expect my readers to have a solution to end anti-Semitism (though if anyone does have a roadmap for totally ending anti-Semitism nation-wide and worldwide, God Bless and Godspeed). However, we cannot even begin to think about solving a problem if we are blind to the problem in the first place. And right now, I fear that too many of us are blind to the fact that the anti-Semitism shown in the recent Synagogue shooting is not an isolated incident. It is part of a pattern of widespread anti-Semitism that is only growing in the United States.

Note: This post was written the night before it was published, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes that I made.

[1] I am not mincing words this week.




“Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”? When (and If) to Say Which One

I am a Christian. Therefore, with all due respect to whomever I date or marry someday (if God calls me to do that), Jesus will remain my most important love in my life.

And yet, I believe that that saying “Merry Christmas” to someone is not always the right thing to say during this season of the year.

My previous sentence is controversial to many Christians, some of whom are good friends of mine. From my understanding, much of the controversy involves the desire to “keep Christ in Christmas.” There is a fear that, by replacing “Christmas Greetings” with “Holiday Greetings,” our society will forget the reason for the season: Jesus Christ.

And you know what? If you’re talking with someone else who you know is Christian, or someone else who you know celebrates the holiday (whether the person is Christian or not), “Merry Christmas” is the appropriate thing to say. So for me, a Christian, I am perfectly content with the “Merry Christmas” greeting, though I wouldn’t get upset if someone said “Happy Holidays.”

Speaking of “Happy Holidays,” that type of greeting is most appropriate to say when you literally have no clue what holiday or holidays someone is celebrating. Through the “Happy Holidays” greeting, you are saying something which covers whatever holiday someone else is celebrating, whether it be Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, New Year’s Day, some combination of the four, or none of the four.[1] Furthermore, by saying “Happy Holidays,” you avoid giving a holiday greeting that offends someone’s religious sensibilities (for example, saying “Merry Christmas” to an observant Jew who does not believe that Jesus was the Messiah is unwise). In the end, as controversial as the “Happy Holidays” greeting may be among some Christians, that greeting is actually meant to be sensitive to the fact that not everyone shares my beliefs.

In some instances, neither “Merry Christmas” nor “Happy Holidays” is an appropriate greeting to say to someone. This may come as a shock to people who are passionate about the debate between the two greetings. If you’re talking with someone who you know is Jewish, “Happy Hanukkah” is the most appropriate greeting. While I know some Jews who celebrate Christmas as a cultural holiday, I also know other others whose religious sensibilities would be offended by someone saying “Merry Christmas.” Therefore, “Happy Hanukkah” is the proper greeting for a Jewish friend or family member.

In all instances, when we give holiday greetings to people, we should give the type of greeting which corresponds to the religious sensibilities of said person, even if you don’t share all of the person’s values. And, if you don’t know the religious sensibilities of the person you’re talking to, “Happy Holidays” is probably the best catch-all greeting to give at this time of year.

[1] In instances when someone doesn’t celebrate any of the holidays, you can still give a “Happy Holidays” greeting. From my family’s experiences, people who don’t celebrate any of the major holidays still respond respectfully to “Happy Holidays.”

Our Judgement of People on Based on Religion

I was in New York City on September 11, 2001. I was only a second grader at the time, but I was there, and I remember many details about that fateful day. I remember seeing the terrorist attacks on television. I remember my coming home from school really early and not really understanding why that was the case. And I remember the grief my parents felt that day.

However, today, September 12, marks the anniversary of the start of another tragedy, a tragedy that became evident by September 12, 2001, and continues today. The tragedy is that Muslims are marginalized, or even attacked, because people associate that religion with terrorism, and Sikhs are marginalized or attacked because various head coverings make others think that Sikhs look Muslim. It’s a tragedy that started when people first found out that the hijackers committed terrorism in the name of a very warped version of Islam.

Now I trust that none of us are the ones directly committing these tragedies against Muslims and Sikhs. But I worry that many of us, myself included at times, are enablers of hatred against Muslims and people who look like Muslims.

I hear this enabling all the time.

Every time someone talks about Islam being a barbarous religion, that person is enabling hatred of Islam. Every time someone talks about Islam is a religion of hate, that person is enabling hatred of Islam. Every time someone talks about all Muslims as if they’re all on a quest to destroy the United States, that person is enabling hatred of Islam.

I could continue the list, but by now I think my readers get the point. The point is that, while none of us may be directly behind the anti-Muslim and anti-Sikh violence, anti-Muslim rhetoric, or even silence in the face of others’ anti-Muslim rhetoric, can create motivation for people to commit violence against Muslims and people who are mistaken as being Muslim (often Sikhs).

So at this point, maybe some of you are expecting me to tell everyone to be careful with the words all of us say. Now yes, I agree that we should generally be careful with the words we say, because the last thing that any of us wants to do is to somehow give fuel to violence.

But I am calling for something more. Namely, I am calling for everybody to stop judging people based on what religion they are, and instead look at how individuals live out the religion (or lack of religion) they have. If someone is a Muslim who advocates for basic human rights around the world, then that’s great! If someone is a Christian who is big into war, that’s not so great, even if I share the same religion as the other Christian.

Martin Luther King, Jr. tells us “not to judge by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” In the context of judging people based on religion, I suggest a quote similar to Dr. King’s: we should not judge people by the name of their religion, but by the content of their character.