“Hate crimes have not been limited to Muslims”
A COLUMN By: Johanna Elattar, image from FOX 12
In times of tragedy, people naturally seek answers. They look for reasons, explanations, and even someone to blame. But too often, this search leads to misplaced anger and hostility directed at innocent communities, compounding the pain already inflicted by the original incident.
The recent tragedy in New Orleans has once again raised questions about how our society reacts to violence. For Muslim-Ameicans like myself, these moments bring not only grief but also fear—not just of the tragedy itself but of the backlash that follows. History provides countless examples of how entire communities are vilified for the actions of individuals, perpetuating cycles of prejudice and violence.
One stark example is the wave of anti-Muslim hate crimes that followed the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. According to the FBI, incidents targeting Muslims skyrocketed from 28 in 2000 to 481 in 2001—a staggering sixteenfold increase. Mosques were vandalized, hijab-wearing women were harassed, and families like mine lived in constant fear. My own elderly mother was attacked, by a complete stranger, on the streets of New York City, chosen at random because she wore a visible symbol of her faith.
This pattern of backlash is tragically consistent. After the November 2015 Paris attacks, anti-Muslim hate crimes surged in the United States. Advocacy groups like the Council on American–Islamic Relations (CAIR) reported a spike in threats, violence, and discrimination against Muslim Americans, further isolating communities already reeling from global tragedies.
Hate crimes have not been limited to Muslims. During the COVID-19 pandemic, anti-Asian hate crimes swept across the U.S., fueled by inflammatory rhetoric labeling COVID-19 as the “Chinese virus.” Innocent people were attacked in grocery stores, on public transportation, and even in their own neighborhoods, blamed for a virus that knows no race or nationality.
The most heartbreaking aspect of this cycle is the human toll. In February 2015, three Muslim students—Deah Barakat, Yusor Abu-Salha, and Razan Abu-Salha—were murdered in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, in what many perceived to be a hate crime. Their deaths highlighted the very real danger of anti-Muslim sentiment and the profound cost of misplaced blame.
The problem lies in the dangerous and false notion that entire groups of people are responsible for the actions of a few. This belief not only exacerbates division but also prevents us from addressing the real causes of violence—whether they be mental illness, social isolation, or extremist ideologies.
Media narratives often fuel these biases. During the pandemic, framing COVID-19 as a “Chinese virus” contributed directly to anti-Asian violence. Similarly, when media outlets hastily connect acts of violence to religion without nuance, they reinforce harmful stereotypes that embolden prejudice.
In small towns like Hornell, where many of the doctors are Muslim, the contradiction is painfully clear. Patients place their trust in these professionals to care for them and their families, yet outside the clinic, some harbor unfounded prejudices against people of the same faith. This disconnect highlights the absurdity and harm of stereotypes, showing how prejudice blinds us to the humanity and contributions of others.
As a Muslim American, I feel the weight of these stereotypes every day. Each act of violence falsely tied to my identity makes it harder to live freely and openly. But I also know that silence is not the answer. By sharing these stories and drawing parallels to other communities, I hope to foster empathy and understanding.
The tragedy in New Orleans should serve as a wake-up call—not to vilify entire communities but to dig deeper and ask meaningful questions. What are the root causes of violence? How can we work toward solutions that unite rather than divide us?
It’s time to stop drawing dividing lines in the aftermath of tragedy. Instead, let’s stand together to create a society where no one has to live in fear because of their faith, ethnicity, or identity.
Johanna Elattar is a Hornell NY based writer with a diverse background as a proud Muslim American. In addition to her this opinion piece, she excels at special interest, and local community news. Contact her anytime, americangrrl70@gmail.com
