9/11- My Response

9/11 My Response

         I was always a princess. I always wore dresses and tried to act like a lady, even when I was sandwiched between two brothers, attempting to fight them off. I was special too. I was the only daughter of two parents who happened to be doctors and a family that almost entirely practiced medicine. My family owned apartment buildings and villas and people looked upon them with respect. I spoke two languages fluently, always switching between Arabic and English equally. As I clutched my mother’s hand Americans would smile, fascinated by the elegance of such a small child. They would complement my dress or the tiny flowers my mother had clipped into my hair…

         But then came the damned day that condemned me to a life of prejudice and hate. I was working at our glass dinner table in our apartment in Cairo, Egypt when the phone rang. I ran to the phone, seeing as at the age of five it was so cool to answer the phone. I picked up and it was my father’s brother and he was asking for my…. mother?  I was quite confused, as my mother didn’t often speak to my uncles from the other side of the family. I walked into my mother’s bed room slowly and crawled onto my mother’s bed. She was sleeping of course, exhausted after another tough day at work. I was tempted to just tell my uncle she was sleeping but he seemed so serious, an emotion her never expressed towards me. So I woke my mother up and told her Amo Ayman wanted to speak to her. She mumbled a couple of words and fidgeted a bit before she was able to get to her feet. She walked out of her room and picked up our only phone. I sat back down at our dinner table and watched her speak. Within the first couple of seconds of their conversation her face had shifted and disfigured. Emotions of worry, shock, and fear deformed her face and colored her voice. I didn’t know what was happening but I knew my father was involved. My mother got off the phone quickly and ran to her room where she wore her robe and covered her hair. She then ran out of our front door and down the stairs to her brother’s apartment, and I followed her. She knocked on the door and he let us in quickly, panic so obvious in his eyes. I felt tears starting to form in my eyes. I didn’t know what was happening but my uncle who has long dealt with the craziest of people in his field of work was panic-stricken and I knew that couldn’t be a good sign.

         My uncle’s television was on but this time not the silly cartoons I always watched with him. I didn’t see little kids playing or singing, instead, I saw buildings crumbling and flames igniting. I saw people jumping out of the twin towers and heard women screeching. I saw mothers crying and fathers dying. As I watched this, fear overcame me. For what type of species can do such a thing? Can kill hundreds without feeling guilt? Where was my father in all of this? Was he ok? Or did he too jump out of the tall building?

         My mother muted the TV and picked my uncle’s phone up attempting to reach my father. The international phone lines however were not working properly and we were not able to connect to the United States. That night was possibly one of the most stressful nights in my life. Not knowing whether or not I still had a father was painful. I sat down next to my mother all night waiting for my father to pick up and when he finally did I couldn’t speak with him as international phone calls were expensive in Egypt and my father could not dial our number at that time from the states.

         When I finally went to school, I forgot everything that had happened. I knew that people has died and I knew that bad people had kill them. But I was only five and I couldn’t have possibly known how this terrifying event would shape my future.

         But everything changed from that point forth. I was Muslim and Arab and came from a family with the last name Aly and therefore was a threat to world peace. It did not matter that I was only five years old or that I was in Cairo when it all happened. Nothing mattered. I was still a terrorist.

         From that point forth, I have not once not gotten pulled aside in the airport. It has become so normal for me to go through metal detectors more than once, when in fact the machine never beeped. It has become normal for me to be pulled aside in front of a large crowd to be patted down simply because I choose to cover more that what is socially acceptable. Walking down the street, people will stare at me, their eyes full of hate and disgust. But why? I couldn’t have possibly provoked such strong negative emotions being only sixteen. To me, it seems so irrational. One fourth of the world’s population today is Muslim. That is, hundreds, upon thousands, upon millions. Yet somehow we are all looked upon through a couple of individuals who have committed such terrible crimes. I am viewed as a terrorist when in fact I was only five years old when the 911 attacks occurred.

         There are many disturbed people in the world. People who are sadistic and enjoy the look of vulnerability and pain they find in the eyes of people before they die. These people should be locked up, punished, or even executed. Whatever the law permits. However, they should not condemn an entire race, ethnicity, or religion to a life of inequality and hate. I am as much of an American as the next European American. I was born in the United States and my parents have contributed to the economy of this country. Both my parents have chosen careers that help mankind. Hundreds of people live today because with gods will of course my parents were able to wake up in the middle of the night and speed to the hospital. Because they have sworn an oath in front of themselves and god to better mankind. So why are we judged through a couple of lunatics? Are the Austrians discriminated against because Adolf Hitler chose to commit his hideous crimes? Or are the French criticized because Bonaparte wanted to take over the world? So why is it that we have to suffer? We can’t we be seen as the individuals that we are? But that is how prejudice works.





I suppose I should just get over it.