NYC's Muslim, Sikh communities reflect on facing stigmas after 9/11 terror attacks

More than 60 Muslims from the New York City area were killed in the terror attacks on Sept. 11, 2001.

They were victims of the same attacks that would forever change the way many immigrant communities were seen.

The 9/11 terror attacks were carried out by extremists who claimed they were acting in the name of Islam, but Muslim New Yorkers say it counters what the Quran teaches them, saying that deadly day does not represent the Islam they know and practice.

"To be targeted as a Muslim and knowing the stigma that is there," said Imam Safraz Bacchus, who studied Islam theology in Egypt.

Bacchus is a spiritual leader at Madjid Al Abdin in Richmond Hill, Queens, and a healthcare chaplain. He says for years, names were hidden, hijabs were removed, turbans were targeted, adults questioned their faith and children questioned their own identities.

"People start to hide their names so that they would not be targeted as Muslims or labeled as a terrorist," he said.

For Sikhs, the aftermath carried a different kind of pain as they were often mistaken for Muslim because of their turbans and beards.

"I grew up in denial for part of my life. Much of my life, I was getting haircuts just so I could assimilate, just so I could fit in," community activist Japneet Singh said.

As a young child, he says he carried a hatred he did not yet understand.

"I was being called 'Osama.' I was being called 'towel head,'" Singh said. "Islamophobia doesn't just affect Muslim folks. It affects us as well."

Then came a generation born after 9/11 that inherited the conversation.

"I was exposed to online Islamophobic content," said Faran Sharif, a recent graduate of Baruch College. "There was a major identity crisis that I faced back then to the point I pitied my own existence and wished that I was not born into a Muslim family."

His family and commitment to faith would help him separate what he calls fact from fiction and ultimately save his life.

"I understand what my family, what my parents and all the other uncles and aunties had to go through during that time," Sharif said.

Now, a quarter century later, there are signs of a very different New York. Zohran Mamdani is the city's first Muslim mayor.

"I feel hopeful that having a mayor that they advocate not only for Muslims, but advocate for all," Bacchus said.

For Charlyn Douglas, a Brooklyn Muslim mother of two, that visibility matters.

"I remember being nervous when I first started my city job and I had to commute via the train during the month of September, and there was this self-awareness that I'm a hijabi on the train, but I overcame it," she said. "I wear my hijab proudly every day."

But representation doesn't erase the scars.

Bacchus grew emotional as he recalled a time he walked into a hospital room as a chaplain to provide spiritual care to a patient.

"He says, 'Are you here to kill me?' That left an impact on me," he said.

Bacchus says the path forward starts outside of the walls of the mosque.

"If I get to know you and you get to know me ... education is the key thing," he said.

Twenty-five years later, the scars have not disappeared, but neither has the sense of belonging.