A 9/11 Story

As it is already September 11, 2009 in Dubai. I felt compelled to write and post this right now.

There was a house in the corner of a street in a small city of a well known Muslim country. In the living room of that house, the TV set was showing images—repeated images of an event that had just taken place. Two commercial airliners had flown into the World Trade Center. There were huge clouds of smoke coming out of the World Trade Center. There was confusion on the streets in New York. However, there was rejoicing in this house—not unlike many other houses on that street, in that city, in that country and in that region.

The people that were rejoicing in that house weren’t just fundamentalist Muslim jihadists who held Ak-47s in one hand and Qurans in the other. The people that were rejoicing included teenagers, the youngest of whom was 16 years old. They were jumping with joy and repeating, “Palestinians have finally hit the great Satan. Allah has punished those infidels.” Just around that time the towers came tumbling down. “Yes!” the ‘teenagers’ exclaimed. That was what they were hoping for—the symbol of New York City’s success to come tumbling down “because of the wrath of Allah”. “The symbol”, they thought, “of the Jewish power and control in America was finally destroyed.” To them it truly was a victory of the Palestinian people and the Muslims world over. Where the images displayed on TV over and over of burning buildings and then the videos played of those buildings as they were falling were a source of pain, suffering, sorrow and agony in America, those same images and videos were a source of pleasure for the occupants of this house.

Sweets were distributed on that same street right after that news had reached all the neighboring houses. People hugged and congratulated each other. They were fully aware that thousands of people had died, but so what? “They deserved it”, everyone exclaimed. As everyone came together united to stand up for the Union in America, the same way people came out on the streets, united, for their cause all over the Muslim world chanting, “Death to America”. Muslims had brought the war to America, the strongest nation in the world and they had done so loud and clear.

What happened after that is irrelevant for now. What I can say here is that that day in September is one some of us will never forget. Each of us has their own reason to remember and relate to that day and I just wanted to share mine. I just happen to have a very special relationship with that 16 year old teenager in that house in the corner of that street in a small city of a well known Muslim country. I know every thought that was going through that young man’s mind and I can never get myself to forget that because that 16 year old teenager, who jumped with joy at the deaths of 3000 innocent Americans when the World Trade Center came down was none other than “Avenging Apostate” who is writing this post right now.

It’s true that I am a different person now. It is true that I have changed. But I have never been able to forgive myself for my reaction on that September day. It has been 8 years since that happened but I still can’t get myself to watch the 9/11 videos without shedding tears, because it still reminds me of how I felt back then—because it still reminds me of the worst crime I have ever committed against the people that have never done me any harm. People that when I was in trouble stood by me. People that were brave enough to baptize me when no one else was willing. It was these people that I once hated that helped me complete my transition from my old ways to my new life.

Today, I salute the American people for who they are but I do so with my head bowed in shame and guilt for who I used to be. May God bless and keep the United States of America.