After 9/11,
a More Conscious Life
By Laila Kazmi-Barsotti
Seattle
As we marked the fifth anniversary
of that fateful day of Sept. 11, 2001, which changed
our world, once again I reminded myself that we
cannot go back to the pre-9/11 America but we
can build a better and more conscious America.
As a Pakistani-Muslim immigrant American, it is
this thought that gives me hope in spite of untrustworthy
political leaders, increasing racism, and the
current cycle of violence around the world. It
is a hope that derives from the actions of millions
of Americans who have shown the willingness to
look beyond wartime propaganda and often one-sided
media coverage of events and extended a hand in
support to fellow Americans of a different religion.
I arrived in the United States as an immigrant
at the young age of 13, more than 20 years ago.
My parents moved us here, leaving our native Pakistan,
so each of us children could have a life of peace
and security, a quality education, and a chance
to succeed.
For the most part, this country has given me all
of that and I have appreciated the freedoms I
have enjoyed here.
As a woman, I would not have had the same opportunities
had my parents decided to stay in the country
where I was born. I would have had to fight much
harder for my rights. In fact, it might not have
even occurred to me that I could demand my rights.
Yes, I was always proud of being an American —
an immigrant American.
Then, that dreadful day of 9/11 occurred and the
world changed; America changed. The horrendous
murders of thousands of innocent Americans left
the world in shock and a state of mourning.
On that day in 2001, I, a new mother, sat in my
living room and cried. I cried for the innocent
victims, I cried for man's ability to cause so
much harm, and I cried for my 2-month-old daughter
whom I had just brought into a violent world.
The months following 9/11 were especially difficult
for Muslims in America. All the freedom and cultural
diversity we had come to know as the mark of life
in this country started to slowly slip away. We
were caught between those who held all Muslims
accountable for the violent acts of one group
and those who were the self-proclaimed saviors
of Islam, the "Islamic fundamentalists,"
as they became known.
Until 9/11, the religion that I had been born
into and the degree to which I practiced or didn't
practice it had been my own personal affair. Growing
up, we were taught about Islam by my parents.
However, the larger belief had always been prevalent,
that ultimately a person's religion was between
him and his God.
Since 9/11 and the subsequent "war on terror,"
Muslim Americans have found themselves having
to constantly defend their religion. We have often
felt like outsiders in our own country. Many became
targets of racial profiling, false imprisonments
and unjust scrutiny of the law.
All Muslims were held accountable for 9/11. And
to some degree, it is justified. We have to be
accountable, along with the rest of the free world.
All of us are accountable for ignoring the utterly
hopeless conditions in which people in parts of
the world are living. Conditions that were sometimes
created or supported by our own government. Desperate
conditions, that gave birth to the hatred that
caused crimes like 9/11. Muslims, Christians,
Hindus, Jews, we had all ignored them. We are
all accountable.
And so post-9/11 has been a time of awakening
for everyone. Even though many have condemned
all Muslims, still many others have reached out,
creating opportunities for dialogue and understanding.
Scores of Muslim-American writers, artists and
activists, as well as ordinary citizens, have
stepped up to the plate with realization that,
like any other ethnic minority in America, in
order to have our voices heard, we have to participate
more actively in our society, media and politics.
So we spoke up against religious extremism, we
joined the millions in marches of protest when
our government decided to wage a pre-emptive war
on Iraq.
When our government ignored the protests, we went
to voting booths to practice our democratic rights
as a responsibility to both our country and our
future generations.
For me, America is still home. It is home for
my children — by now two of them. Our lives
have become more complex but that only means we
have to live even more consciously, ask even more
questions, foster a culture of understanding,
and be aware of what our government is doing around
the world in our name.
We live in a country that is home to people from
all over the world. That is our strength.
(Laila Kazmi-Barsotti is a Seattle-based freelance
writer and the founder of www.Jazbah.org, a Web
site honoring the achievements of Pakistani women.
She can be reached through her Web site, www.lailakazmi.com.)
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