What's really changed?
Muslims and Arabs reflect on life in Chesterfield five years after 9/11
By Katherine Peters CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Sayar

Half a decade after the atrocities of September 11, 2001, life in Chesterfield County has returned to normal-almost.

The shunning of and discrimination against Muslims or Arabs after 9/11 has alleviated, but Muslim and Arab Chesterfield residents still face sidelong glances and questions about their ethnicity or religion at nearly every turn.

However, for both the Muslim and Arab communities, the fear factor is slowly decreasing as Chesterfield and the nation continue to mend. Five years after the largest attack ever on American soil, local Muslims and Arabs are sharing what their lives have been like since 2001. Here's what they have to say:

Malik Khan

Malik Khan admits that Chesterfield Muslims led a separate life from the rest of the county prior to 9/11.

"[Interacting with the greater community] wasn't that high of a priority. That has changed," he says. "We're trying because our backs are against the wall." Khan, a process engineer for Philip Morris, is originally from Pakistan, and serves as chairman of the outreach committee at the Islamic Center of Virginia off Buford Road.

Today, "people get a little bit tense the moment they find out the person across from you is Muslim," he says.

Elli Morris/Chesterfield Observer Even though Farzana Abdul-Rahman hasn't experienced discrimination since 9/11, she still does not want her face to be photographed.

Muslims have begun to realize how much more they need to be involved in the county to help non-Muslims understand them, Khan says. Since 9/11, the Islamic Center has become involved with CARITAS, the Richmond Food Bank, Habitat for Humanity, and in simply reaching out to meet their neighbors.

"We want by our own actions to prove that we are part of the mainstream," he says. "It's a little bit more difficult for us [now]-but we have to be patient. We have to be understanding of what the country is still going through," says Khan.

Even with misunderstandings about the different factions of Islam, Khan says he was surprised at how much support the greater Richmond community provided after 9/11.

One older lady called him immediately after the terrorist attacks, and wanted to know if she could pick up groceries for any Muslims who were uneasy about being in public. "It was absolutely, extremely touching," Khan says.

Qutbuddin

"I thought we'd gone back 20 years with this particular incident, but we didn't," Khan says. He has seen the Muslim community continue to grow in the last five years, learning to reach out more while retaining its own characteristics and identity.

Khan, who has lived in the United States for over 30 years and is a naturalized citizen, is willing to "shrug off" the looks people still give him. His love for America and Chesterfield runs too deep to let looks bother him.

"My spiritual homeland is here-right here," he says.

Samah Qutbuddin

Although Samah Qutbuddin grew up Muslim, she had only just begun to wear the traditional headscarf, also called a hijab, to school when the terrorist attacks occurred. Before then, only her close friends knew she was Muslim, especially because she is Bangledeshi and not Arab.

"That year I thought I didn't pick the best year," says Qutbuddin, a senior at Monacan High School. Now, she's changed her mind. "Looking back on it, it was just a test on my patience. Despite the teasing and namecalling, I don't regret [my decision] one bit."

Elli Morris/Chesterfield Observer In the wake of 9/11, Malik Kahn says it's important for Chesterfield's Muslim community to reach out to non-Muslims.

Qutbuddin still receives comments about her scarf today, ranging from rude questions to accusations of being "Osama's sister" to disbelief that she was born a U.S. citizen in New York. Sometimes the questions are genuine inquiries about her religion. In all cases, she's learned to respond quietly, either providing information or turning rude comments into a joke.

For instance, during a summer heat wave, another teenager asked why she didn't just take off her headscarf. "I said, 'What are you talking about this, I have a whole air-conditioning system in here!'" she says, laughing. "The funny thing was, he actually believed me!"

Overall, Qutbuddin feels that her peers have matured with her since middle school. "They've grown comfortable around me," she says, "as I have with them."

As a Muslim, Qutbuddin has stayed away from the high school dating scene, but that doesn't prevent her from enjoying friends of all ethnicities and religions. She still enjoys "girl talk" with her friends at lunch and admits to celebrity crushes, particularly on Orlando Bloom.

Her hijab has had more positive influence than she first expected. "People have gained some respect for me with my hijab," she says. "Some people don't even cuss in front of me."

Still, she realizes it is her responsibility to show the community where she stands. "If you're a role model," she says, "then no one has any dirt on you."

Ishaq Sahhar

"Oh, I see your Hezbollah beard is growing back."

His friend's comment was meant as a joke, and Ishaq Sahhar, who is growing his beard back simply because he hates to shave, received it as such. Among those who know him well, that kind of banter is normal.

But he can see that some jokes only mask people's nervousness. "The fear factor after 9/11 is still there," he says.

Sahhar, a database administrator at MCV and attendee at Bon Air Baptist Church, has a complicated history. His father is from Jerusalem, and his mother is an Armenian from Turkey. He was born in Baghdad, and saw two revolutions and two civil wars by the time he was 16. Now, after 30 years in the United States, he is a U.S. citizen.

After 9/11, "People wanted me to take sides," he says. "It was, 'We think you're with us, so why don't you help us [by volunteering your Arabic skills for the FBI]?'"

But Sahhar felt no need to take sides-he already had a full-time job, and supported America that way. "I just rode it out," he says.

"I am an Arab and an American at the same time," he says, recognizing that his cultural ties and loyalties can coexist without conflicting. "The [ethnic culture] is what makes America rich."

Still, he takes heed of current events like the recent attempted transatlantic hijackings and disappearance of 11 Egyptian students. "Weekly and daily events bring up the fear factor," he says.

Especially with the reappearance of his beard, Sahhar finds people give him a second glance more often than not. In some ways, he doesn't blame them, since "you don't always know the difference between the terrorist and the good guy."

And there lies the difficulty. "Being scared forces you to be fanatical," he says. "And if you're going to see a bogeyman in every Muslim, a bogeyman under every rock..." He pauses and shakes his head. "You can't live like that."

Nargis Sayar

Nargis Sayar is part of two separate worlds-the United States and Muslim Afghanistan. Although she and her family members are American citizens, they still cherish the place and relatives they left 12 years ago, and recently went back to visit.

"It's a really, really pretty place. The media makes it so bad and shows all the bad parts and the poor people," she says. She recalls beautiful houses on par with upscale Chesterfield neighborhoods. "Nobody realizes that what they see on TV is what's in their mind... People just jump to conclusions."

After 9/11 and even today, attending James River High School is sometimes awkward for Sayar. "People look at you and glance at you. They think you're not watching, but you are," she says.

"It's really annoying sometimes, [but now] it doesn't really hurt me. One person's mistakes and stupidity don't count for a whole race and religion."

As an American citizen, she understands the emotions behind people's rejection. No one discounts 3,000 lost lives. "At first, the hurt was just really bad," she says.

Brightening, she adds, "But time heals everything... Now, it's getting better and better, and people are more open-minded to know about [Islam]."

In some ways, the attention has been a mixed blessing. Whereas Sayar feels her religion went unnoticed before, now people take interest.

"People find out more about you, and they get really interested," she says. Recently, people have asked her where she gets the beautiful traditional clothes she wears for religious festivals, giving her a chance to explain the outfits' purpose. "If people are curious about our background, ask us," she says. "We're very sociable people."

After high school, Sayar plans to attend college at Virginia Commonwealth University, preparing for a career in nursing. "I really like kids, and I want to be a pediatric nurse," she says. "Everything else is kind of dull to me."

If this is extreme, then it's extremely different from bin Laden.

Farzana Abdul-Rahman

For the first week and a half after 9/11, Farzana Abdul-Rahman did not leave her house for anything. The carnage and pain left by Muslim extremists made her fearful of other's reactions to her as a Muslim in traditional clothing, though she grieved with the nation as well.

She finally left the house with her husband to welcome an Afghan orphan girl at the airport. "I was very nervous. Here I was, a Muslim, at the airport. Everyone was looking at me."

But she soon realized she had nothing to fear. "I did not have one bad experience," she says.

"I know that people recognize me more, wearing the scarf, and going out," she says. "People would talk to me more [with the headscarf on]" after 9/11. But she admits, "I don't know if it's because they're more scared or more nice."

As a stay-at-home mom with three children, ages 17 months to six years, most of her public interactions have been in the all-American locations of supermarkets and malls. At times, people in the grocery store have pushed her cart for her when she is there with her children.

"It is always a positive reaction," she says.

People still stop Abdul-Rahman just to talk. Most recently, a woman stopped her in a McDonald's, and explained that her son had died in a road bomb in Baghdad. "I said, 'I'm so sorry,' and she said, 'That's okay, I'm glad that you're here and you're happy and you're safe.'"

Abdul-Rhaman was amazed and grateful at the woman's story. "I was about to cry for her, and how she shared her wounds with me," she recalls.

Although Chesterfield saw few hate crimes against Muslims or people of Middle Eastern descent after 9/11, the county is not yet truly unified. The greater community is comprised of many smaller ones, and all are slowly rebuilding relations that had never been questioned before September 11, 2001.

Five years later, fear still lingers on both sides - fear that is not of Chesterfield's own making. But slowly, sidelong glances and rude shudders are fading. Slowly, both Muslims and non-Muslims are learning what it is to look up and see not a religion or ethnicity, but a neighbor.