It has been a long 25 years. Even now, conflict, tensions, grief, responsibility and how to commemorate 9/11 all remain contested. On one recent night, a post on Facebook informed me the 9/11 families were petitioning to prevent my mayor, Zohran Mamdani, from attending the 25th anniversary commemorative event. I hate this time of year.

When I think back, some faces come to mind. The cut and bruised face of the Sikh taxi cab driver who volunteered to drive me and my eight-week-old son to submit DNA at the makeshift 9/11 family centre. His manner was gentle as he helped me with the infernal infant car seat. His eyes were kind, but encircled by bumps and cuts. I asked him what happened to him. He said he was walking home late from his shift in Queens, and a group of men encircled him, called him a dirty terrorist, and beat him up. “Ma’am, I tried to tell them, I am no terrorist.” It hurt my heart.

I see the faces of the South Asian 9/11 widows I visited in their dingy New Jersey apartment complex. Their legal immigration status evaporated with their husbands. They were entirely alone. Their families could not come to America to visit. Despite their status as 9/11 families, they were routinely harassed on the streets by hate-filled stalkers shouting: “Go home, terrorists.”

On a work trip to India in 2002, the Delhi taxi driver asked me where I was from. “9/11 never happened,” he said, “It’s all made up.” In the back seat, I receded into the now familiar hole........

© The Irish Times