On the morning of September 11, 2001, as the nation grappled with the shock of terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, many Muslim and Arab Americans in Chicago faced an immediate and unsettling backlash amid widespread fear and uncertainty. Omer Mozaffar, then 29 and now a Muslim chaplain and Islamic studies lecturer at Loyola University Chicago, recalled the tense atmosphere during his early commute downtown. He described an eerie feeling and quickly understood from a bystander that the World Trade Center had been struck, igniting both national panic and personal concern for his safety.

In addition to the collective anxiety about potential new attacks, many Muslim and Arab Americans experienced heightened hostility and threats. President George W. Bush spoke out against such misplaced blame in the days following the attacks, emphasizing that “Islam is peace” and condemning acts of bigotry as un-American. Nonetheless, reported anti-Muslim hate crimes surged dramatically nationwide, with incidents rising from 28 in 2000 to 481 in 2001, according to a 2002 Human Rights Watch report.

Chicago was not exempt from this wave of hate. The Arab American Action Network on the Southwest Side faced an arson attack after receiving threatening calls and emails. Similarly, St. John’s Assyrian Church of the East was set on fire less than two weeks after the attacks, resulting in significant damage. In southwest suburban Palos Heights, authorities charged a man with a hate crime for assaulting a Moroccan gas station attendant, a violent act he attributed to anger over the attacks.

Amid these challenges, Muslim and Arab communities also mobilized to counter rising prejudice. Mozaffar became a frequent speaker, delivering thousands of talks across Chicago to churches, synagogues, and businesses to foster understanding about Islam. Organizations like the Council on American-Islamic Relations worked to encourage reporting and documentation of hate crimes, while local allies offered support, exemplified by gestures such as flowers left at mosques with messages of solidarity.

Despite initial decreases in hate crime reports during the late 2000s and early 2010s, incidents of Islamophobia and anti-Arab sentiment have resurged in recent years. The 2016 U.S. presidential election marked a noticeable turning point, with inflammatory remarks against Muslims by candidates including Donald Trump, who stated in a 2016 interview that “Islam hates us” and more recently referred to some political opponents as “jihadists.” These developments have contributed to a broader climate in which hate rhetoric has become more normalized, according to Sufyan Sohel, senior adviser and general counsel for the Chicago office of the Council on American-Islamic Relations.

Reflecting on the post-9/11 period, Sohel noted that while hate was present, it was largely a fringe phenomenon amid a broader sense of national unity and collective healing. Today, however, persistent divisions and negative rhetoric from some public officials convey a message to Muslim and Arab Americans that they are not fully accepted as part of the nation. Mozaffar expressed hope that grassroots efforts focused on personal engagement and reconciliation might bridge divides in the absence of leadership promoting inclusion at higher levels. “If I had the time, I would literally sit face to face with every single person in Chicago,” he said, emphasizing the importance of mutual understanding to counter ongoing prejudice.