American Muslims From 9/11 to Mamdani and Abdul

A quarter of a century ago, few among America’s Muslims, estimated today at nearly six million people, or roughly 1.5 percent of the population, could have imagined that September 11, 2001, when al-Qaeda destroyed New York’s World Trade Center towers and struck part of the Pentagon outside Washington, would reshape their political, social, and security environment for decades to come.

Almost overnight, American Muslims went from ordinary citizens living their lives like millions of other Americans to the objects of collective suspicion and scrutiny on a scale rarely seen in modern American history.

Today, twenty-five years later, the contrast is striking. The same community that was once placed under surveillance and surrounded by suspicion now appears to be entering the most significant period of political ascent in its history—a shift recently embodied by the victories of Zohran Mamdani and Abdulrahman El-Sayed.

In the aftermath of the September 11 attacks, American Muslims found themselves forced to defend their religion, their identity, and even their loyalty to the country.

Surveillance programs targeted mosques and Muslim organizations, legislation such as the Patriot Act expanded the government’s security powers, and places of worship and Muslim gatherings increasingly came to be viewed through a security lens. Tens of thousands of Muslim men were also subjected to mandatory registration under federal monitoring programs.

In this climate, many young Muslims who might otherwise have considered entering politics chose not to, fearing that their religious identity could be weaponized against them in an election campaign.

Even donating money to a political campaign could feel like a risk in a way it had not before. Many came to believe that any candidate described as being “close to Muslim circles” would automatically lose the support of a substantial segment of voters. The result was that an entire generation of American Muslims grew up seeing political participation as a source of danger and trouble best avoided.

This fear was not merely an individual psychological response. It was reflected in the remarkable scarcity of Muslim candidates and the near absence of prominent Muslim voices in Congress and local government throughout much of the first decade after the attacks. For years, the election of an official with an Arab or Muslim name was treated as something exceptional.

But history does not stand still. Over the following two decades, American Muslims quietly and persistently rebuilt trust with the broader society—not primarily through grand speeches, but through the gradual accumulation of visibility and contribution.

Muslim doctors played prominent roles during the COVID-19 pandemic. The number of hijab-wearing teachers increased in public and private schools. Thousands of Muslims served in the U.S. armed forces around the world. And in 2016, American Muslim athlete Ibtihaj Muhammad won an Olympic medal in Rio while competing in hijab.

These developments, among many others, gradually weakened the stereotypes that September 11 had embedded in the American public imagination.

Second- and third-generation American Muslims played a particularly important role in this transformation. Born and educated entirely in the United States, many grew up seeing themselves as fully American and feeling little obligation to constantly prove their loyalty—unlike earlier immigrant generations that had long carried the burden of being perceived as newcomers.

The war in Gaza marked the beginning of a new phase, rapidly and dramatically reshaping the political participation of Muslims and their allies. Images of destruction, daily killings, and the rising death toll pushed a broad segment of young Americans—Muslim and non-Muslim alike—into the streets in protest and, increasingly, toward the ballot box.

Opinion polls have shown a noticeable shift in American attitudes toward the Palestinian question, with growing numbers of Americans, particularly younger voters, expressing greater sympathy for Palestinian suffering than in previous years. This collective moral anger, which crossed religious and ethnic boundaries, helped create an electoral alliance between Muslim voters and progressives from a wide range of backgrounds.

Against this backdrop, two cases have come to symbolize the political journey of American Muslims over the past quarter-century. The first is Zohran Mamdani’s victory in the New York City mayoral race, making him the first Muslim to hold the office in the city’s history. The second is Dr. Abdulrahman El-Sayed—widely known as Abdul—securing the Democratic nomination for Michigan’s U.S. Senate seat, putting him on a path that could make him the first Muslim American senator if he wins the general election on November 3.

Significantly, neither man concealed his religious identity or his views on the war. Instead, both incorporated them openly into their political message. That represents a clear break with an earlier generation of Muslim politicians, many of whom preferred extreme caution and avoided discussing religion or Middle Eastern issues for fear of the potential electoral cost.

Yet this political rise does not mean the battle has been won. Alongside the growing visibility of Muslims in American politics, civil rights organizations have recorded new highs in Islamophobic incidents. Complaints documented last year alone exceeded approximately 8,700 cases—the highest figure recorded since systematic monitoring began nearly three decades ago.

President Donald Trump and Vice President J.D. Vance have also shown no hesitation in directing attacks at Muslim candidates. This pattern of political assault focused directly on religious identity demonstrates that, despite all their gains, American Muslims are still often treated as a community required to repeatedly prove its innocence rather than simply as citizens exercising an ordinary political right available to everyone else.

The question facing American Muslims today is no longer whether they will continue their political journey. That question has already been settled. The challenge is how they can capitalize on the current electoral momentum while also confronting the waves of backlash that are likely to continue.

History suggests that the political ascent of minorities is often followed by a counterreaction from forces that perceive such progress as a threat to their traditional position—before that minority’s presence eventually becomes normalized as part of the broader national fabric.

The real measure of success, therefore, will not simply be how many seats Muslim candidates win in one election cycle or another. It will be whether they can establish their presence as an ordinary, permanent, and inseparable part of the American political and social fabric.