Imad Hamad remembers 9/11

 Personal Reflection — September 11, Twenty‑Five Years Later

Imad Hamad is the Executive Director of the Dearborn, Michigan-based American Human Rights Council (AHRC). On the morning of September 11, 2001, Hamad was a passenger on a flight that departed Detroit at 8:30 a.m. heading toward Reagan National Airport, leaving him suspended in the air during the unfolding tragedy. His essay reflects on the immediate post-9/11 unity he experienced as an Arab-American civil rights advocate, contrasting it with the harsher societal and political divisions felt a quarter-century later.

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September 11 will never fade from my memory. I was 45 years old then—old enough to grasp the magnitude of what was happening, yet young enough to believe the country would learn from its pain and grow stronger. Twenty‑five years later, at age 65, the memories remain vivid, and the emotions still carry weight.

That morning, I was in the sky during the attacks. My flight departed Detroit at 8:30 a.m., heading toward Reagan National Airport—with the Pentagon, one of the targets, directly in its flight path. Suspended in the air, unaware of the full horror unfolding below, the confusion and fear inside the aircraft were overwhelming. That sense of helplessness, that shock, has stayed with me for a quarter of a century.

In the days that followed, life changed instantly for people of Muslim faith and Arab origin in America and across the globe. Suspicion, accusations, and collective blame became part of daily reality. “Guilt by association” and “guilty until proven innocent” were not abstract ideas — they were lived experiences. The terror attack was unprecedented, and so was the surge of anger and hate that followed. It shook the foundation of the values we believed defined this nation.

Yet even in that painful moment, something powerful emerged. Messages of support outnumbered messages of hate. Doors opened. Dialogue grew. Trust was built. Public safety became a shared responsibility, and communities worked together to prevent hate from turning into harm. A sense of unity emerged — a belief that, despite the horror, people stood together. “United We Stand” wasn’t just a slogan; it was a lived reality.

Today, at 65, that unity feels distant. The divisions are deeper. The tone is harsher. The acceptance of hate is more casual, more open, and more alarming. The resurgence of racism and hostility burns with a sharpness that feels fresh, not historical. It is painful to witness, especially after believing that the worst chapter of backlash and discrimination was behind us.

The contrast between being 45 then and 65 now is stark. At 45, I carried shock, fear, and uncertainty. At 65, I carry memory, perspective, and a heavy awareness of how fragile dignity and humanity can be when hate resurfaces. The renewed rise of hatred is not just a social trend — it is a personal reminder that the work of justice, respect, and human dignity is never finished.