Feature
Shahzia Sikander, Wafaa Bilal, Rina Banerjee, and others share stories from the day of the attack and the vicious campaign of Islamophobia, racism, and surveillance in its wake.
Documentation of Wafaa Bilal, and Counting… (2010), a 24-hour performance in which he tattooed one dot for every Iraqi and American casualty in the war (the former represented by UV ink visible only under black light, the latter represented by red ink). His brother, Haji, was killed in 2004 by a missile at a checkpoint. (image courtesy the artist)
Each year, on September 11, New Yorkers honor those who lost their lives in the 2001 attacks on the World Trade Center, as well as the lingering impacts felt in the days and years that followed. This era was marked by mourning, reconstruction, and a rapid surge in Islamophobia and surveillance, which profoundly changed society. Iraqi-born artist Wafaa Bilal observed, “I sensed at once that the comfort and security Americans had long taken for granted were gone.”
Bilal is among numerous artists from Muslim, South Asian, and Southwest Asian and North African communities whose lives were forever changed by the U.S. government’s response to the 9/11 attacks, including the enactment of the PATRIOT Act and the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan. Twenty-five years into the “never forget” era, Hyperallergic invited artists, curators, and cultural workers to reflect on how that day influenced their lives. Here are their accounts.
Note: These narratives may contain elements of violence and trauma, so please read with caution. —Lakshmi Rivera Amin, associate editor
Wafaa Bilal, artist
“When the second plane hit, I realized it was no accident, and immediately felt that the sense of safety Americans had taken for granted was gone. Having lived through the Iran–Iraq War, Desert Storm, and years in conflict zones, the images on the screen brought back familiar memories. My first thought was to contact hospitals to donate blood. My heart went out to the victims and their families, but once it became clear who was responsible for the attacks, I anticipated a backlash against Muslim and Arab communities. And it happened. While walking through downtown Chicago, people called me ‘Bin Laden.’ Middle Easterners felt fear, and Muslim women were apprehensive about wearing hijabs in public.
I hoped the U.S. would take a moral stand rather than letting fear dictate its actions. That was not the case. Political leaders used 9/11 to justify multiple wars, including an invasion of Iraq, a nation unconnected to the attacks. In 2004, during the Iraq War, I lost my brother Haji. The architects of these wars fell into the very trap the attackers had set: letting violence lead to more violence, fear lead to more fear, and division deepen when another path was possible.”
Shahzia Sikander, artist
“Following 9/11, Muslim and South Asian identities became more visible under surveillance and suspicion. The image of the ‘Muslim woman’ was used as a justification for war. In response, I created ‘Pleasure Pillars.’ Its central head, a blend of feminist thinkers and poets adorned with ram’s horns, embodies pleasure, sensuality, and confidence, countering the portrayal of Muslim women as fragile or in need of rescue. This head floats above the torsos of Venus and Devata, and dancers from Mughal and Rajput art. I emphasize not only the enduring nature of these visual traditions but also the resilience of the women who uphold them. I later incorporated a fighter jet, representing not just war but the collision of temporalities it brings: South Asian and Persian art, diasporic movement, gendered narratives, and the ever-present reality of imperial violence. As Gayatri Gopinath noted, ‘Its bodies remain fractured, composite, and illegible, with histories spiraling and overlapping rather than moving in a straight line.’ What remains, 25 years later, is what she terms ‘the promiscuous intimacies of our shared pasts and presents.'”
