How American Muslims Are Responding To Rising Hate
SEATTLE — It has been 25 years since the Sept. 11 attacks, but for American Muslims, discrimination, attacks on mosques and anti-Muslim legislation remain a daily, personal reality. Parents think twice before sending their children to Sunday school. Congregants scan parking lots for unfamiliar vehicles. Mosques install solid-core doors where open ones once stood.
The Council on American-Islamic Relations says it received 8,683 anti-Muslim bias complaints in 2025, the highest number the organization has recorded since it began tracking such complaints in 1996.
CAIR also recorded 33 attacks on Islamic institutions that year. Meanwhile, a group of U.S. Congress members introduced eight bills referencing Sharia across both chambers of Congress between June 2025 and March 2026, giving legislative weight to anxieties that have long simmered in state politics.
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For a young, educated and diverse Muslim community, this moment demands a fundamental rethinking of how to worship together and how to keep each other safe. The physical walls of the mosque, long a source of spiritual gravity, are now understood as vulnerable.
Across the country, American Muslims describe moving from advocacy toward what they call active protection, determined that the adhan — the formal Islamic call to prayer — will still be called five times daily and that fellowship will continue undeterred by hate.
The shift described by mosque leaders and security officials across California, Michigan and Texas — from issuing statements of condemnation to building fortified sanctuaries — reflects what community members say was born of necessity rather than choice.
A shooting that changed a California community
That determination was tested on May 18, when two teenagers attacked the Islamic Center of San Diego. Authorities say the attack killed Amin Abdullah, a father of eight who served as the mosque's security guard and died trying to stop the attackers before they could reach a nearby school of 140 children. Mansour Kaziha, a caretaker of the center, and Nadir Awad, the husband of a teacher at the center also died.
Both teenage suspects died by self-inflicted wounds, authorities said.
The FBI investigated the attack as a hate crime and concluded the teenagers had been radicalized online. According to investigators, their writings referenced the mosque shooter who killed 51 people in Christchurch, New Zealand in 2019, and called for the "extermination" of Muslims.
The suspects also reportedly expressed hostility toward Somali immigrants and repeated unsubstantiated claims about immigration fraud, a possible link investigators say they are still examining. At least 30 guns were recovered from residences connected to the suspects, according to reports on the investigation.
“We have never experienced tragedy like that before,” said Imam Taha Hassane of ICSD. “It is extremely outrageous to target a place of worship.”
An internal survey conducted by the mosque's community after the attack found that 88% of respondents felt less safe, and 74% said they now worry about their daily life.
The response to the attack included expressions of solidarity that crossed religious lines. CAIR San Diego and ICSD organized a fundraising effort that the groups say raised $1.7 million for victims’ families within days. Interfaith groups and community leaders came to the mosque to pray, clean up vandalized property and reaffirm their support.
The attack has permanently changed how ICSD approaches security.
“We need to have well-trained personnel on the ground,” Hassane said.
The mosque has since tightened its access controls and hired additional trained security staff.
Michigan’s model of cooperation
The San Diego attack has also reshaped a broader national conversation about mosque safety. In May 2026, CAIR’s Michigan chapter launched its “Best Practices for Mosque and Community Safety” toolkit, developed with guidance from local police departments in direct response to what the organization describes as a rising tide of anti-Muslim threats.
Abdullahi Mohammed, a police officer in Michigan who worked on the initiative, described the toolkit as a self-assessment checklist covering physical security, personnel readiness, community relationships and emergency planning. It is designed to help mosques identify vulnerabilities such as isolated buildings, poor exterior lighting, and unsecured doors and windows, and recommends measures including perimeter floodlights, security cameras and reinforced vents.
“The toolkit is needed now more than ever because we're seeing an increase in threats against Muslim institutions,” Mohammed said. “It helps mosques identify their vulnerabilities before something bad happens."
He also pointed to a shift in how local law enforcement and Muslim communities are collaborating.
“I’ve seen a real shift in how mosques and police work together. More mosques are reaching out to us for safety assessments,” Mohammed said.
Beyond physical security, the toolkit urges mosques to form dedicated security committees, station trained volunteers at entrances during prayer, and develop clear emergency communication plans.
A central feature of the Michigan model is proactive engagement with law enforcement, including requesting formal facility safety assessments, an approach organizers describe as a partnership rather than a relationship built on distrust. To help fund these upgrades, CAIR has been guiding eligible mosques through the U.S. Department of Homeland Security’s Nonprofit Security Grant Program, which provides federal funding for security-related improvements at nonprofit facilities.
In Texas, the threat comes from the state
In Texas, Muslim community leaders describe a different and, they say, more difficult challenge: hostility originating from state government itself. Gov. Greg Abbott labeled CAIR a “terrorist organization” in November 2025, barred the organization from purchasing land in the state, and ordered the state's Department of Public Safety to open criminal investigations into the group.
Abbott separately ordered an investigation into what critics describe as nonexistent "Sharia courts," a move civil rights advocates say was intended to stoke fear rather than address any documented legal practice.
That environment, community members say, has frayed the kind of trust that underpins police cooperation. In Texas, mosque leaders say safety cannot come through partnership with the state government, so communities have turned instead to litigation and independently organized security measures.
Two Texas CAIR affiliates filed a federal lawsuit against Abbott and Attorney General Ken Paxton, arguing that the terrorism designation violated their constitutional rights to free speech and association.
The lawsuit is central to the community's response, but it comes at a cost, according to organizers: Money that might otherwise fund youth programs, Islamic schools or security upgrades is instead directed toward legal fees. Mosque leaders describe an added emotional burden in deciding whether to publicly align with CAIR and risk further state scrutiny, or to adopt a lower profile.
Grassroots vigilance has filled part of the gap left by that fractured trust. In Austin, following the vandalism of three area mosques, CAIR-Austin Operations Manager Shaimaa Zayan described the incidents as “targeted attacks meant to instill fear and division.”
She said the psychological impact on the community was significant: "Hundreds of Muslims already saw these symbols on our facilities, so it was really disturbing for them."
Zayan pointed to a pattern of intimidation she said has escalated over the past year.
“In 2025, a couple of men showed up in crusader outfits with a megaphone to intimidate Muslim families. This year, Muslim women wearing hijab were threatened by weapons at the [University of Texas] campus,” Zayan added.
She has called for increased police patrols and has urged Islamic centers across the city to adopt the security measures outlined in CAIR's safety guide.
Across the nation, Muslim communities’ specific safety tactics differ by region, shaped in large part by whether local and state government functions as a partner or, as in Texas, an adversary. But across every account gathered for this story, mosque leaders describe the same underlying goal: ensuring that a place built for peace does not become one defined by fear.
This story was published in collaboration with Egab.
Umar Ibrahim Agaie is a writer, researcher and urbanist.