It’s been 25 years since 9/11. I could tell you where I was that day, but as a Muslim and a journalist, I’ve spent far more time thinking about every day after it. About the wars and policies America pursued across Afghanistan, Iraq, Yemen, Somalia, Libya, Syria, Palestine, Iran — and right here at home against Muslims and people racialized as Muslim.
(For the Chicago chapter of that story, please watch Assia Boundaoui’s brilliant The Feeling of Being Watched, about FBI surveillance of her Arab and Muslim community in Bridgeview that began even before 9/11 and chillingly foreshadowed today’s expansion of surveillance and immigration enforcement.)
When I was a baby journalist in those early post-9/11 years, Muslims were everywhere in the media — but mostly as terrorists or oppressed women, shown as threats to America or proof of its supposed civilization. I earnestly believed journalism could make “the other” more relatable and build bridges between people who might otherwise never understand each other.
That’s a big reason I moved to Egypt in 2011 to report from “the Middle East” (SWANA) during the Arab Spring. Reporting alongside Arab journalists taught me to ask: Who gets to define the story, and whose perspectives establish reality? I learned to complicate narratives and center the people most affected — not to be a “voice for the voiceless,” but to pass the mic to people deliberately silenced.
I was also interested in more than conflict. Alongside the protests, I shared the art, music, poetry, humor and joy people were creating. That’s how I ended up working for Peeta Planet, an Arab and Muslim-produced travel show built around cross-cultural exchange: The hosts had noticed I was telling a fuller story about the region than the one dominating headlines.
The thesis of my career was already taking shape: Culture can build bridges across borders that politics and mainstream media reinforce. And apparently, I’ve been trying to build those bridges for a while!
Little-known fun fact: The Brown Line is not my first attempt at media entrepreneurship! Ten years ago, I founded Travel Moor — basically a Lonely Planet for socially conscious Muslims across the diaspora. I wanted stories and immersive experiences that went beyond halal food, hijabs, and rich Gulf Arabs, challenged the Western gaze on our homelands and helped Muslims engage more deeply with one another and the places we visited, through a decolonial lens.
I also noticed that the best cultural knowledge was circulating through WhatsApp chats, Facebook groups, listservs and word of mouth. The stories existed; they just stayed inside the circles that already knew where to look. (Hmm…sound familiar??)
Reading my 2016 pitch for Travel Moor now feels a little uncanny. Different format, same premise: Storytelling and IRL experiences can bridge cultural divides.
I carried the journalism principles I learned in Egypt back into newsrooms after Travel Moor. But after following the coverage of Gaza over the last few years, some of the limits of journalism felt harder for me to ignore. As Oct. 7 was repeatedly compared to Sept. 11, I kept thinking about another Oct. 7: the day the U.S. invaded Afghanistan in 2001. And I kept asking the same questions: Whose suffering becomes visible? Whose version of events gets treated as authoritative? Who gets to define what the story even is?
Then I started finding some of the truth-telling and bridge-building I had always wanted from journalism somewhere else: In art. And community gatherings.
At a talk by Palestinian artist Linda Abdullah in 2024, I was moved by how her art made Palestinian lives visible in a way I wasn’t seeing in the news. One deceptively simple piece depicted hundreds of Palestinian babies killed in Gaza. She created it at a moment when an unsupported claim that Hamas had beheaded 40 Israeli babies was ricocheting through the media — a contrast that sharpened for me whose suffering was being made visible and whose wasn’t. Art gave her a way to acknowledge Palestinian lives without waiting for a newsroom to do it. She just…painted them.
But Linda’s art was only part of what moved me. The room mattered too.
I heard Linda talk about the history and grief embedded in her work, then heard other people connect her family’s history of displacement to their own. I started noticing the same exchange across Chicago at Black film screenings, Latino dance performances, immigrant art exhibits.
These weren’t just “events.” They were spaces where people could counter erasure and stereotypes by telling their own stories on their own terms — and where people across communities could listen and connect.
I kept leaving them thinking: Why don’t more people know about this? When organizers invite the wider public in, why doesn’t that invitation travel beyond the usual circles?
And I realized the questions I’d first learned to ask as a Muslim were much bigger than Muslims or Arabs. American media tends to silo us: Muslim. Black. Latino. Asian. “Foreign.” But in these cultural spaces, I keep seeing the connections those boxes hide — across colonialism, war, displacement and resistance.
That’s what a “Global South lens” means to me. No, our experiences aren’t interchangeable. But looking across them reveals relationships we miss when we only see one community at a time.
Those connections feel especially urgent in Chicago, where entire cultural worlds can sit just a few stops apart and still run on separate tracks, divided by segregation — and even our algorithms.
The Brown Line grew out of wanting to help those invitations travel farther and give more Chicagoans reasons to cross paths.
Twenty-five years after 9/11, I’m still chasing what I hoped journalism could do when I was a baby reporter: Help us understand each other better. I’ve just learned that sometimes the bridge is a painting, a film screening, or even a dance floor.
🚇 Come see me IRL!
Speaking of building bridges: This afternoon, I’m speaking at Strength in the City’s oneSTRNGTH festival about The Business of Belonging — something I think about constantly while building The Brown Line: How do you foster authentic community without selling out your people or your values? Come join the convo with me IRL!
And now, the rest of your route through next weekend:
Friday, Sept. 11 | noon–3 p.m. | Loyola University Chicago School of Law | Free
Nearly 25 years after the U.S. invaded Afghanistan, hear from Afghan women’s rights advocates about what came after. A photo exhibit, film excerpt and discussion center Afghan women and girls fighting for education and basic rights.
Before we leave Afghanistan, follow the amazing Sayeda Qader, a Chicago-based Afghan poet, writer, and founder of a humanitarian aid organization in Afghanistan. Her work is exactly what I mean by people telling their own stories on their own terms. Start with her devastating poem “I will not write of war, but” and beautiful reflection “in Afghanistan, we dance,” then subscribe to her newsletter. She also hosts a wonderful Diaspora Writing Club, so keep an eye out for the next one.
Friday, Sept. 11 | 7–10 p.m. | Burnham Park, 1199 E. Oakwood Blvd. | $10 suggested
I went to the last Tarab Night by myself and ended up being invited onto a blanket by two women, who also shared their snacks and hookah with me. Omar Hattab’s singing is beautiful, but so was seeing people of all ages feeling the tarab — that almost ecstatic emotional pull of the music — as the sun set over the lake and Chicago skyline. Just a quintessential dreamy Brown Line Chicago summer night. This might be your last chance to experience it outdoors this year, so don’t sleep on this one!
Saturday–Sunday, Sept. 12–13 | Printers Row | Free
If you’re headed to Printers Row, I did some filtering for you: Look for Mark Turcotte + Mayda Del Valle, Kazim Ali, Viet Thanh Nguyen, Omar El Akkad and Fatimah Asghar + Sahar Mustafah — writers getting into diaspora stories, war, the meaning of home, and whose stories get to shape how we understand the world.
Saturday, Sept. 12 | noon–6 p.m. | Al Nahda Center, Oak Lawn
One of the talks is called “Being Muslim Doesn’t Make You Any Less Latino” — and honestly, why should it? Also on deck: “Palestine in Latin America,” Ojalá Supieras, a film on Mexico’s obscured Islamic history, and a mercado full of local vendors.
Saturday, Sept. 12 | 8–9:30 p.m. | Epiphany Center for the Arts, West Loop | Ticketed
Egyptian, Syrian and Palestinian musicians bring their histories together through new compositions and vintage Arab classics. Just another reminder that the places we so often encounter through war and geopolitics also carry traditions of beautiful music.
Saturday, Sept. 12 | 9 p.m.–2 a.m. | Chop Shop, Wicker Park | $30
My friend DJ Mochi sold me on this one in his latest newsletter. He described Nooriyah, who was raised between Saudi Arabia, Japan and the U.K., as “connecting dots between diverse global music cultures” (basically catnip for The Brown Line) and refusing to accept that certain sounds don’t belong together. Iranian American A. Parssi opens, live drummers join Nooriyah’s set, then Mochi and IGGY close out the night as Everywhere Between — so we’re dancing across borders until 2 a.m.
Sunday, Sept. 13 | noon–3 p.m. | Little Village Arch | Free
Celebrate Mexican independence where generations of Mexican Chicagoans have actually built community. This year’s theme, “United We Ride, Stronger Than Ever,” feels especially important while the community navigates fear and questions of who gets to belong.
Sunday, Sept. 13 | 2–5 p.m. | Ramova Loft, Bridgeport | Ticketed
Did Tonika Lewis Johnson and femdot plan this event just to prove the point of The Brown Line? Tonika’s genius Folded Map project brings Chicagoans from opposite sides of the city into the same room to confront how segregation creates radically different realities for Chicagoans living just miles apart on the same streets. There will also be interactive mapping, DJs, food and conversation.
Sunday, Sept. 13 | 3–7 p.m. | Irish American Heritage Center, Albany Park | Ticketed
If you heard me rave about this one on City Cast Chicago’s September events episode, I meant it. Seraj is celebrating 20 years of building libraries and cultural spaces across Palestine with an afternoon of Palestinian food, music, storytelling, a souk and Visualizing Palestine — basically a fundraiser built around everything a library can hold besides books: memory, culture, and community.
Tuesday, Sept. 15 | 5:30–8 p.m. | IMAN, Chicago Lawn | $29
Such a beautiful cultural crossover: Chinese Muslim calligrapher Haji Noor Deen is teaching a Sini-script workshop that blends Arabic and Chinese traditions, and you’ll make postcards for a public installation honoring the Chicago Freedom Movement. Art, faith and Black Chicago history all in one.
Wednesday, Sept. 16 | 5–7 p.m. | IMAN, Chicago Lawn | Free
And if Haji Noor Deen’s workshop gets you thinking about how art can push back against erasure, come back to IMAN the next day to ask what happens when art becomes organizing. This free hands-on session looks at how creativity and community power can move people from making something to making change.
🚇 Stay on board for next weekend!
Friday, Sept. 18 | 6–10 p.m. | AMC River East, Streeterville | Ticketed
Now this is the South Asian representation I want more of: not just more visibility, but a more inclusive idea of who gets to be “South Asian” in the first place. The BAFTA-winning Boong, from Manipur in Northeast India, opens the festival with the director in person and a Manipuri dance troupe on the red carpet. I love that a region rarely centered in mainstream Indian culture gets to be the star for once.
Saturday, Sept. 19 | 2–5 p.m. | Chinese American Museum of Chicago, Chinatown | Free
Turns out a tiny garden can tell a whole migration story. Ten diaspora artists explore how Chinese communities have turned scraps of urban land into places to grow food, preserve memory and care for each other — touching on everything from food sovereignty to what it means to make a home somewhere new.
Saturday, Sept. 19 | 3–9 p.m. | Devon & Washtenaw, West Ridge | Free
Remember when everybody South Asian had to come to Devon for their groceries, clothes, movies, music, gossip…everything? But as families and businesses moved to the suburbs, some of that energy went with them. Deevona is trying to bring it back — taking over the block with nostalgic diaspora SWANA sounds and a dance party in the street.
Sunday, Sept. 20 | noon | Fleet Fields
Come kick a ball, eat, cheer from the sidelines or just hang out. Proceeds support Dheisheh Refugee Camp in Bethlehem, but the gathering itself feels more like a Sunday in the park than a benefit.
Sunday, Sept. 20 | 1–3:30 p.m. | Meet at Bueno Days, Little Village
The last time this crawl was planned, organizers had to cancel because of ICE activity in La Villita. Now that it’s back, you can stroll the neighborhood, eat your way through local street vendors, and put some money directly into the hands of the people who keep the community fed.
Sunday, Sept. 20 | 4–8 p.m. | Maria’s Community Bar, Bridgeport | $40
A party with a purpose, but thankfully still an actual party: Chicago chefs, music, a Marz drink and a live Boletín Migrante conversation about immigrant workers’ rights. Your ticket supports Public Media Institute’s People Power Fund and Raise the Floor Alliance.
Sunday, Sept. 20 | 7–8:30 p.m. | Dorothy, West Town | $13–$29 sliding
Make some noise for Nepal with queer Nepali artist Ankit Khadgi. They’re leading an open mic featuring drag, Bollywood dance, poetry and live music — and turning the whole night into a fundraiser for families affected by flooding in Nepal. It’s celebration and solidarity in the same room, which feels like a pretty good way to close out the weekend.
🚇 Keep riding
And that’s still not everything happening around Chicago. I’m constantly adding Global South-rooted art, music, film, food, fundraisers, and other community gatherings worth crossing the city for to The Brown Line events calendar. Bookmark it for the next time you’re wondering what to do. You can submit events, too.
And if this issue made you think of somebody who should be plugged in, too — forward this newsletter to them. The whole point of The Brown Line is helping these invitations travel beyond the same circles.
Finally, if The Brown Line has helped you discover a new artist, organizer, community space, restaurant or part of Chicago, consider becoming a paid subscriber (or VIP: Very Important Passenger, as I like to say). Your support helps fund the extremely un-algorithmic work of finding all this stuff, figuring out what’s actually worth your time, and telling you why it matters.
Until the next stop,
Your conductor, Ghazala