Heartbreak of feeling like an outcast

Two days before the war in Afghanistan began, I picked up a black Sharpie and began writing in my Winnie the Pooh journal.

I started the entry by scribbling: “I hate those (expletive) terrorists,” on top of the page. Less than a month had passed since 9/11 and I was still processing it. I know people look back on the days after the attacks as a time of unity and comfort, but that wasn’t my experience as a eighth grader in South Florida.

As a 13-year-old Iranian American teenager, I didn’t understand how my country’s acceptance of me became conditional. I was somehow deemed a threat, and it didn’t make sense.

In the wake of the attacks, my classmates brought up internment camps, and I got called a “sand N-word,” along with other slurs. Teachers and my friend’s parents started making “jokes” about bombing the region, and using words like “barbaric” to describe people from the area.

I also started getting called upon to make presentations about Islam in some of my classes. I had to answer questions about the religion, which I still find funny because I’ve never declared myself to be a Muslim.

To prepare, I would read up on the religion and keep close tabs on the news. I didn’t want to leave a question unanswered, or allow for lies to be spread.

All these details of my childhood came flooding back when I picked up my journal, and it hurt seeing the tear marks on an entry made on Oct. 5, 2001. It was heartbreaking, seeing sentences like “how can people hate each other,” and “why is the world like this,” written in shaky handwriting.

The next few entries were no better. They consist of me worrying about how the economic impacts of the attacks were hurting my parents’ business, and this fear I had of opening a letter with anthrax. And it turns out, I wasn’t alone in this pain. For the past few days, I’ve been talking to Muslim millennials about 9/11 and their feelings about the day. Many of them said they felt they had to grow up too soon, and they also felt like outcasts.

Those feelings of fear, helplessness and uncertainty still linger within Muslim communities.

And while the airport is associated as being the backdrop of most of this anguish — with people with ties to Muslim countries being pulled aside for extra security screenings — the reality is that everyday life became difficult.

The FBI reported a spike in anti-Muslim hate crimes following 9/11, which includes assaults and acts of intimidation. As a result of this, some Muslim women stopped wearing their hijabs in public. Others began flying American flags to show their support for the country, almost like a shield.

I started to feel uncomfortable when people asked me about my background, because I knew things could turn violent. I still get uneasy when I’m asked that question, especially from strangers.

Being Iranian American, I was already aware of the history of anti-Iranian sentiment in this country stemming from the 1979 hostage crisis. I knew we started calling ourselves Persian to avoid racism, and that President Jimmy Carter cleared the way for a national registry of Iranian students.

I was just naive enough to think that was all in the past.

When the George W. Bush administration enacted the National Security Entry-Exit Registration System in 2002, which required all males 16 and older who were noncitizen visa holders from 25 majority Muslim countries to register with the government and regularly check in, I knew it was history repeating.

So, when President Donald Trump signed an executive order calling for a Muslim ban in 2017, I was shocked to see protests against the ban at airports and other ports of entry. Moments like that give me hope, that maybe there is some progress to be made in the face of discrimination.

Then again, there is currently a debate over Afghan refugees, and if they should be welcomed in the country. I can’t say how much progress is being made. What I can do is journal and continue to cover immigrant communities and tell our stories, and just like I used to do in school, I’ll keep informing people about the world around them.

And yes, I really still hate those terrorists.

FILE Workers and heavy machinery continue the cleanup and recovery effort in front of the remaining facade of One World Trade Center at ground zero in November 2001. The clearing of the debris took months.

COURTESY OF PARADISE AFSHAR Paradise Afshar and her dog, Iverson, cover Hurricane Irma in 2017 at WPLG, Miami’s ABC affiliate. Afshar joined The Atlanta Journal-Constitution’s newsroom in June.

COURTESY OF PARADISE AFSHAR Jalal Afshar with Atlanta Journal-Constitution reporter Paradise Afshar during a layover in England, on their way to the United States.