9/11, the Holy Land Five, and the Children We’re Raising in Its Aftermath

Dressing My Daughter for 9/11 Remembrance Day and Remembering the Holy Land Five

I opened my daughter’s dresser drawer this morning and stared at her clothes. The school had instructed us to dress the kids in red, white or blue in honor of 9/11. My daughter hated red and blue—she is a pinks, purples, yellows kind of kindergartener.

I stood at her closet longer than I should have, fingers brushing against dresses, leggings, tiny sweaters. Blue, red, white—the colors felt heavier than fabric. I thought about my own first September 11th memorial year in 2002—the year I turned 18 and started college. How those same colors bled across TV screens, lapel pins, and bumper stickers, announcing a new America. I was trying to make sense of who I was as a Bangladeshi Muslim American woman at a time when people like me were suddenly suspect.

Back then, the flags multiplied overnight—waving from car windows, taped to deli counters, stitched onto backpacks. They weren’t symbols of comfort; they were warnings. I remember lowering my eyes in subway cars, memorizing my father’s advic…