From 9/11 to Today: Reliving the De-humanization of Arabs during the Gaza Genocide as a Notre Dame student

Note: This article was written prior to the communications blackout on October 27th. Since then, the death toll has risen to over 8000 Palestinians.

The Hamas attack on October 7th left many Arabs in despair, myself included. We were horrified by the deaths of 1,400 civilians and the 200 hostages captured by Hamas. As a looming fear within us began to rise, we knew the worst was coming for the Palestinian people. Media outlets blasted headlines stating the attacks by Hamas were “unprecedented”, completely ignoring the 75-year occupation on Palestinian territory. There was no mention of the 1948 Nakba when Palestinians were forcibly displaced from their homes, no mention of the illegal settlements in the West Bank, nor the 16-year blockade of the Gaza Strip now referred to as an open-air “prison”, implying that the Palestinian people are criminals for existing in their own homeland. In my experience though, Arabs have never been granted the right to context.

Two days after the Hamas attack, the Israeli government declared that Palestinians in Gaza will not receive food, water, fuel, and electricity. I stated my support for the Palestinian people on social media and immediately began receiving messages of backlash resembling those of the media: “Do you condemn the attacks by Hamas?”

To answer this question, I reflect on my own experiences. My mother’s family is from Afghanistan and faced discrimination as a result of the September 11 attacks by Al-Qaeda for years, even though they have been living in the United States since 1980. I am also old enough to remember September 11th. I was attending a private Muslim school in Maryland and we were sent home. In 2003, two 17-year olds planted a 31 foot high cross on my school’s lawn and set it on fire. When I was 17 years old, I wrote a poem called, “I am not 9/11” and detailed my feelings of being punished for the actions of Al-Qaeda. Last year, a fellow Notre Dame student played a cartoon video of an explosion while a voiceover yelled, “Allahu akbar” (God is great). My family members will tell me to whisper if I’m speaking Arabic at the airport. From 2001 to 2021, I grew up watching the United States military repeatedly intervene in Afghanistan, and fail. President Joe Biden withdrew troops two years ago, only to leave a power vacuum in place, and for the Taliban to takeover.

I share this story because I am too familiar with innocent people suffering the consequences of a militant organization. The Afghan people are no longer part of the American psyche even though we made Afghan civilians pay the price of September 11th by invading their homeland in the search for Al-Qaeda members. As a result, 46,319 Afghan civilians died. And now, I ask the same question for the Palestinians. For how long will the Israeli government make Palestinians in the West Bank, where Hamas has no presence, and Gaza pay for the October 7th attack? Air strikes have rained down on Gaza for 16 days. Hospitals, mosques, churches, residential buildings, and refugee camps have been bombed. To date, 5,000 Palestinians in Gaza have died, 1.4 million people are now homeless, and 90 Palestinians in the West Bank have been killed by the Israeli Defense Forces. While the death toll continues to climb, the media is still debating the conditions of a “proportionate response” to the Hamas attack. Even after the war in Afghanistan, it appears the international community is still very comfortable with violence in the Middle-East. You still see us as less than human and undeserving of justice.

Two weeks ago, I attended the panel “The Israel/Palestine Escalation: The Current Chapter of a Long History”on campus and walked out equipped with a list of items we must demand from the U.S. and Israeli government: 1) an immediate ceasefire, 2) the urgent delivery of humanitarian aid to Gaza, 3) the return of the hostages, 4) the condemnation of war crimes conducted by Hamas and the Israeli government, and 5) an end to the Israeli occupation on Palestinian territory. My peers and I conversed in the hallway afterwards to exchange our feelings of grief and glimmers of hope. However, hope was quickly dissolved when someone walked by me, spit at my feet, and called me a dirty animal. Why? Because I was wearing a Keffiyeh, a traditional Palestinian scarf. Days later, Wadea Al-Fayoumi, a 6-year old Palestinian-American boy, was stabbed 26 times by his neighbor. The resurgence of attacks on Arabs resembles those I have witnessed since 2001.

Attending the University of Notre Dame has been a challenge, especially, being the only Arab individual in the psychology department. I have echoed these sentiments time and time again to students, staff, and faculty. Even though I never met Jude Ash, a Syrian clinical psychology and peace studies doctoral student, I know the loneliness I feel would have been curbed by his presence. His death was a tragedy for those who knew him. For myself, it is the loss of a potential friend. There are no mental health resources for Arabs on campus. No one has asked us, “What does it feels like to be called a terrorist your entire life? To have people listen to you speak Arabic with resounding fear? To endure “randomly-selected” security checks when you go to the airport? And to live in the United States who has served as the catalyst of political violence in your home?” Since September 11th, 2001, I have never found a therapist who specializes in the racism and collective trauma experienced by Arabs.

So, to answer the question the readers are wondering — I condemn all war crimes including the withholding of food, water, and medical supplies from occupied territories. I condemn the kidnaping of hostages. I condemn the murder of innocent civilians. I condemn collective punishment. And I condemn all acts against humanity that bring us further away from both justice and peace.