What It's Like Being Muslim in New York After the 'Ahmad Khan Rahami' Bombings

BROOKLYN, NY — First thing on Monday morning, Sept. 19, New York City officials sent out an emergency alert to millions of New Yorkers' cellphones: "WANTED: Ahmad Khan Rahami, 28-yr-old male. See media for pic. Call 9-1-1 if seen." Upon Googling his name, NYC residents learned that Rahami, a native of Afghanistan granted U.S. citizenship in 2011, was suspected of planting a homemade bomb in Chelsea on Saturday night that injured 29 passerby, and of attempting to detonate additional explosives on the streets of NYC and New Jersey in the hours that followed.

By midday Monday, Rahami had been arrested after a bloody shootout with local cops in Linden, N.J. By that afternoon, city and federal officials were calling Rahami's alleged bombing spree "an act of terror," and his mindset the likely product of Islamic radicalization in the Middle East.

Throughout the day, as the investigation into Ahmad Khan Rahami unfolded, Patch spoke to Muslim residents in the southern Brooklyn neighborhoods of Sunset Park and Bay Ridge about their immediate reaction and experience. Here's what they had to say.

Mohamed Bahe, imam at the Madine Muslim Community Center (MCC) in Sunset Park

"Thank goodness nobody was killed," Bahe, who has lead the MCC for two years, remembered thinking when he heard about the Chelsea bombing. Then he admitted his second thought: "I hope the guy's not Muslim."

"It's like, here we go again," Bahe said. NYC's Muslim community is already on edge, he said, given recent acts of violence against local Muslims. Now, they have to worry about someone lashing out indiscriminately in response to Saturday's bombing, Bahe said.

"Not everyone is going to be a philosopher," Bahe said. Instead, he said, some may think: "Damn, these Muslims are at it again."

He and his community can spend months or years doing good for the neighborhood, the imam said, but "it takes one story like that, and you're back at it from square one."

Bahe said he feels conflicted when asked to speak out against violence committed by other Muslims.

"If I condemn something, it's like I have an association with it," he said. "It definitely gets annoying in a way, but that's what it is."

At the same time, however, the imam said his community must "go at these issues head on." What is needed, he explained, is a "safe space" where young people can ask questions about what their faith demands of them, when violence is justified, etc.

Currently, Bahe said, too many members of local mosques and Muslim community centers are afraid to have controversial discussions like these. A "climate of fear," he said, causes them to worry about drawing the attention of the authorities. (Although the imam noted he has an excellent relationship with his local police precinct.)

Many community members don't even want to mention "the J word," or jihad, he said.

Another example: Mosques in the U.S. routinely record their entire services now, Bahe said, in case a snippet of a sermon is leaked and taken out of context. "This kind of climate doesn't give us much breathing space," he said.

The result, he said, can be dangerous. "Once you become silent on this, you're going to let others claim certain aspects of our religion" — aka, those who may choose to turn confused or questioning youth into the "crazies among us."

Amin, 27, and Mufid Hizam, 30, students from Yemen who have lived in the U.S. for years

"This is a tragedy by itself, but here I have to be concerned it might be a Muslim involved," Mufid said Monday of the Chelsea bombing.

Mufid described Rahami, the suspected bomber, as a "heinous individual." But he also admitted to asking himself: "Why do I have to feel guilty for something somebody else was doing?"

After Saturday's bombing, Amin, too, said he wondered to himself: "What kind of look am I going to get in school?"

"I know a question would rise up: 'Do you know this guy?'" Amin said.

After the Sept. 11 attacks, Mufid said he remembered a young woman asking him, with apparent sincerity, if he knew Osama bin Laden. He laughed at the memory.

"They are concerned when they see someone who looks like 'those people,'" Amin said. This is especially frustrating, he said, because he personally believes ISIS should in fact be called the "anti-Islamic State," because their teachings are contrary to Islam as he understands it.

"Especially in the last year, when I go outside, I do think I have to be more cautious," Amin said, as anti-Muslim attacks "could happen to anybody."

Mufid disagreed — sort of. "I don't feel as such," he said. The diversity of New York City makes for a more nuanced understanding among residents, he said. Then he added: "The concern is there, but I can't let that stop me from doing what I would do."

Qasem Mohmmad, 62, immigrant from Palestine in 1985

By Monday afternoon, Mohmmad hadn't yet gotten news that the suspected Chelsea bomber had been arrested. When he was told Rahami was a Muslim American from Afghanistan, his face drooped, and he cursed.

"I feel really terrible," the retired limousine driver said. "Why? It's complicated. I feel bad because he's a Muslim and I'm a Muslim, even though [the bombing] had nothing to do with Islam as a religion."

"If they have hate in their heart, they can find some verse in the Koran and they apply that," he said of Islamic extremists. "It's not right." Nothing in the Muslim faith, he said, "asks or orders the faithful people to harm each other in any way."

But Mohmmad said his sadness ran even deeper than that. He explained that he felt he had to "do something about it, something to help the community, for the security of New York."

"All of us are responsible," he said. "All of us own New York."

Mohmmad said law enforcement officers had once come knocking at his door as part of an investigation.

"I understand this is their job. They don't know me but they have to find out," Mohmmad said. But "deep down," he admitted, "it hurts me that I have to be in this position. That idiot who committed that crime, he created it for me."

Mohmmad said he thought too many immigrants remain isolated when they come to the United States — often prevented from integrating into broader society due to their limited English. The government should do more to reach out to newcomers in their native language, he said, and make more efforts "to explain American society."

Isolation, he said, "creates frustration" — which then "comes out through these kinds of acts in some [people]. The negative way is always the easiest way to take it out."

Sammy M., 28, American of Palestinian and Italian heritage

"It saddens me," Sammy said Monday of the bombing in Chelsea. "I don't think anyone deserves to be oppressed, killed, hurt. And it's sad."

Despite the fact that he's a proud American, Sammy said he's overheard other residents telling him to go back to his country.

"This country doesn't belong to one set of individuals," he said — and that reality, he said, helps make America free. "I'm an American," Sammy said. "I love this country."

While various acts of anti-Islamic hate have been in the news lately, Sammy said that overall, he feels safe in New York. "You always find great people everywhere," he said.

And to combat negative perceptions of Muslims created by apparent acts of Islamic extremism like the Chelsea bombing, Sammy said it's important to speak out in the name of true Islamic teachings, which call for charity toward others.

"You speak with kindness, with patience," he said. Radicals like the suspected Chelsea bomber are "loose screws," he said, who need to be educated.

"A lot of [their] hate is derived from ignorance," Sammy said.

Photos by John V. Santore