25 years after 9/11, the millions of innocent Muslims killed in the “war on terror” still go unremembered

Muslim victims of US-led wars felt terror no different from that felt by those in the Twin Towers on 9/11. Their deaths were just as violent, yet their suffering is treated as something to be buried, ignored, or rationalized.

By Fareed Khan

A version of this article is also available on Substack.

Twenty‑five years after the 9/11 attacks, Americans will once again gather in New York City at the side of the former World Trade Centre, at the Pentagon, and in the quiet fields of Shanksville, Pennsylvania to honour the 2,977 lives lost on that terrible day. The ceremonies will be solemn and nationally televised. Political leaders will speak of unity, resilience, and the sanctity of innocent life. News networks will replay archival footage of the Twin Towers burning before they collapsed, they will interview survivors, and remind the public of the trauma that reshaped the country.

Yet as these commemorations unfold, another truth—far more uncomfortable, far more morally urgent—remains absent from the public consciousness. For a quarter century, the United States and its allies have waged a global campaign that has killed more than 4.5 million Muslims, made refugees of more than 38 million, and devastated entire societies from Iraq to Libya to Pakistan. According to Brown University’s Costs of War project, US‑led wars since 2001 have killed Muslims on a genocidal scale and created one of the largest refugee crises in modern history. These victims receive no annual remembrance, no televised tributes, no official mourning. Their deaths exist in a political void.

This disparity is not accidental. It reflects a hierarchy of human worth embedded in Western political culture—a hierarchy in which Muslim lives are treated as expendable, forgettable, and undeserving of grief.

A war on terror that became a war on Muslims

In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, fear and anger swept across the United States, creating a political climate in which grief quickly fused with militarism and vengeance. Rather than limiting its response to the perpetrators of the attacks—Al‑Qaeda—the US launched a decades long global military campaign that rapidly expanded far beyond any plausible definition of counterterrorism. Afghanistan was invaded and occupied for two decades. Iraq was invaded and its civilian infrastructure destroyed. Drone warfare was normalized in Pakistan, Somalia, and Yemen. Libya was bombed into a failed state. Syria was destabilized. Across each of these nations, the overwhelming majority of those killed were civilians who had no connection to the crimes of September 11th.

The human toll of these decisions has been staggering. In Iraq alone, more than one million Iraqis were killed as a direct result of the US invasion and occupation in the first few years of the Iraq War, according to multiple studies, with later estimates placing the number of Iraqi dead as high as 2.4 million by 2018. The US drone program—marketed as a precise, surgical tool—killed 40,201 people across Afghanistan, Pakistan, Somalia, and Yemen in extrajudicial murders, including at least 25,835 civilians whose deaths were never acknowledged by the American administrations responsible. When all theatres of conflict are considered together, US‑led wars since 2001 have killed millions of people, with death toll numbers that dwarf the 9/11 death toll by more than 1,500 times, yet they occupy no space in Western public memory.

Despite the scale of this devastation, the victims of the “war on terror” remain unnamed, unacknowledged, and ungrieved by those that killed them. Their deaths are treated not as human tragedies but as abstractions—statistics buried in academic studies, collateral damage rationalized as unfortunate but necessary, and lives erased from the moral landscape of Western political consciousness. This erasure is not incidental. It reflects a deeper ideological pattern in which Muslim suffering is rendered invisible, and the humanity of Muslims is consistently devalued in Western discourse.

How the war on terror reshaped global norms

The expansion of the war on terror reshaped global norms around acceptable violence, legality, and accountability. It normalized forms of warfare that operate outside the laws of war and the international rule of law—drone strikes conducted without due process, assassinations based on secret intelligence, and military operations justified by elastic definitions of “imminent threat.” It entrenched a worldview in which entire Muslim‑majority societies were framed as breeding grounds for extremism, making mass violence against their citizens not only permissible but also justifiable.

This worldview created a geopolitical environment where Western military action became both continuous and unrestrained. It allowed governments to wage war indefinitely, without public debate, without legislative scrutiny, and without acknowledging the toll of innocent human lives. It also ensured that Muslim casualties would remain invisible, because acknowledging them would require confronting the moral consequences of policies pursued for decades, and facing calls for those who instigated the attacks to be held legally accountable.

The normalization of this violence also produced a dangerous precedent. It signaled to other nations that the erosion of international law was acceptable if framed through the language of counterterrorism. Countries with their own political agendas began adopting similar tactics—mass surveillance, extrajudicial killings, indefinite detention, torture—claiming they were merely following the example set by the world’s most powerful democracies. In effect, the war on terror became a global template for repression, and weakened the very institutions designed to protect civilians, thereby undermining the credibility of human rights frameworks, and emboldened authoritarian governments to pursue their own campaigns of violence under the guise of “national security.” The result was a world in which the boundaries of lawful warfare blurred, accountability mechanisms collapsed, and the suffering of Muslim populations became both normalized and politically inconsequential.

The inequality of grief

Every September 11th, American leaders have spoken of the “innocence” of the 9/11 victims and the “evil” of terrorism. They speak of the “duty to remember.” But they do not speak of the Afghan wedding parties bombed by US aircraft killing hundreds at a time. They do not speak of the Iraqi families obliterated by US missiles resulting in children losing their limbs along with their parents and siblings. They do not speak of the Pakistani grandmother killed while picking vegetables in her garden with her grandchildren being blown to bits. They do not speak of the Yemeni children killed in drone strikes, their body parts scattered across an obliterated playground.

These victims experienced terror no different from the terror felt by those in the Twin Towers on 9/11. Their deaths were just as violent, just as sudden, just as undeserved. Yet their suffering is treated as politically inconvenient—something to be buried, ignored, or rationalized.  This is not merely neglect. It is a form of dehumanization.

The inequality of grief is one of the most revealing moral failures of the past quarter century. It exposes the racial hierarchy embedded in Western political life—a hierarchy in which the deaths of nearly 3,000 Americans are commemorated annually with solemn ceremony, while the deaths of more than 4.5 million Muslims are treated as mere background noise. It reveals a profound hypocrisy in Western claims to value human rights and universal dignity. And it demonstrates how easily the language of counterterrorism can be weaponized to justify mass violence against entire populations deemed foreign, threatening, or expendable.

The devaluation of Muslim life

Why is there no annual commemoration for the millions of Muslims killed in the war on terror? Why is there no official recognition for the 38 million refugees created by the US led war on terror? Why aren’t the names of any of these victims carved into memorials, and why are none of their families interviewed by Western news organizations? Why are their stories not taught in schools?

The answer is uncomfortable but unavoidable. Their lives are not valued equally, neither by the governments who caused their death nor by the Western media organizations that dutifully tell the stories of 9/11 victims while ignoring the story of the barbarism of those who joined the US in its global war.

Ignoring the millions of innocent victims of America’s war on terror implies that their lives have lesser value in Western eyes than those of American victims of terrorism. The fact that these victims are overwhelmingly Muslim underscores how deeply anti‑Muslim bigotry has become embedded not only in Western political culture but also in the news media systems that shape public perception. This devaluation did not emerge organically. It was constructed—deliberately, repeatedly, and strategically—through a political narrative that required a compliant media infrastructure to make war palatable to the public.

 

For a war of such scale to be justified, sustained, and normalized, it had to be sold. And it could only be sold if the public was conditioned to see Muslim lives as inherently less worthy of empathy, protection, or moral consideration. That conditioning required a steady stream of Islamophobic narratives—stories that framed Muslims as threats, as extremists, as enemies of civilization. Political leaders supplied the rhetoric while media institutions amplified it.

This partnership between political power and media influence ensured that the dehumanization of Muslims was not merely a by‑product of war but a prerequisite for it. By saturating public discourse with narratives and images of violence committed by a tiny minority of extremists, while erasing the far greater violence inflicted on Muslim civilians by Western militaries, the media helped construct a worldview in which Muslim suffering was invisible, Muslim death was inevitable, and Muslim humanity was negotiable.

This inequality of grief reveals something profound. It reveals racism, because the victims are overwhelmingly non‑white. It reveals inhumanity, because their suffering is treated as collateral damage rather than human tragedy. And it reveals hypocrisy, because the West claims to champion human rights while ignoring the largest civilian death toll of the 21st century.  If the West truly believed in universal human dignity, it would commemorate all victims of terror—whether killed by non‑state actors or by Western militaries. 

Real equality would mean acknowledging that the terror experienced by a child in Fallujah is no different from the terror experienced by a worker in the North Tower. Real equality would mean recognizing that the grief of a Somali mother is no different from the grief of a New York widow. Real equality would mean commemorating the millions killed by US bombs, missiles, drones, and invasions with the same solemnity afforded to the victims of 9/11.

If the West is sincere in its commitment to human rights, then it must expand its circle of mourning. It must honour not only the victims of one act of terrorism, but the victims of the state terrorism carried out by the US and its allies in response to the 9/11 attacks. It must recognize that all innocent lives have equal worth.

Whether such a remembrance happens on September 11 or another day is immaterial. What matters is the moral principle, that all victims of terror deserve to be remembered.

© 2026 The View From Here. © 2026 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.

West’s response to 9/11 expanded its decades long war on Muslims at home

The West built a security apparatus based on bigotry and paranoia where Muslims citizens were treated as foreign dangers in their own countries.

By Fareed Khan  
A version of this article can be found on Substack.

This is Part II of a two part analysis about the West’s decades long war against Muslims.

As the United States and other Western nations mark the twenty‑fifth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks this week, they must confront a truth that has long been buried beneath patriotic ritual and political convenience. The Western response to 9/11 did not simply target foreign battlefields, it stigmatized and vilified Muslims living within Western societies themselves, deepening a war on those observing the Islamic faith, that had begun decades earlier. What followed was not only a military campaign abroad but a sweeping political, cultural, and legal assault on Muslim citizens at home.

Post‑9/11 policies made this domestic front unmistakable. Muslim communities in the US, Canada, and Western Europe were treated as internal enemies, subjected to suspicion, surveillance, and discriminatory laws that cast their faith as inherently incompatible with Western values. Anti‑Muslim narratives became embedded in government policy, shaping everything from immigration enforcement to counterterrorism doctrine. The War on Terror was not simply fought in Kabul, Baghdad, or Mogadishu—it was waged in airports, schools, hospitals, workplaces, and mosques across Western societies, where ordinary Muslims found themselves viewed not as neighbours or citizens but as potential threats.

In the US, this pattern did not begin in 2001, but rather has deep historical roots with the surveillance of Black Muslim communities stretching back to the 1930s, when the FBI targeted them with what the historical record describes as surveillance and infiltration campaigns. These efforts had nothing to do with terrorism, and shows that Islam was treated as a political danger long before it was framed as a national security threat. The post‑9/11 era did not invent this hostility—it expanded it, institutionalized it, and applied it to the millions of Muslims who made the US and other Western countries their home.

After 9/11, this domestic war expanded dramatically. Muslims across the US, Canada, the UK and other European nations were placed on secret watchlists and routinely flagged when attempting to board flights, despite having no criminal history and no evidence of wrongdoing. The scale of this targeting was staggering. In the US the Council on American‑Islamic Relations reported that of the watchlist entries they were able to review, they estimated that more than 1.47 million of those—over 98% of those on the list—were Muslims. Members of the American Muslim communities were also subjected to aggressive entrapment operations and a wave of anti‑Sharia legislation designed to portray their faith as inherently subversive and incompatible with Western values has been put forth by various state legislatures. Together, these policies created a climate in which Muslims were systematically dehumanized and the Islamic faith itself was cast as a threat.

In the aftermath of 9/11 new recruits within the FBI were taught from their first days that the enemy was not merely a fringe group of disaffected individuals and extremists, but Islam itself. This framing shaped every aspect of domestic counterterrorism after 9/11. Airport profiling of Muslims became routine, and FBI informants were dispatched into mosques to monitor ordinary religious life, treating worshippers as potential terrorists rather than citizens.

Massive surveillance programs—over which there were numerous lawsuits against the FBI by Muslims—blanketed Muslim communities, reducing people living their faith to data points in a security apparatus built on suspicion rather than real evidence. In this climate, Muslim citizens across the West were routinely treated as foreign dangers in their own countries, marked as suspects in a war that had little to do with genuine security and everything to do with racialized fear.

Islamophobia in Canadian politics

Canada mirrored this trajectory in its own political culture and policymaking. The country’s political establishment has long aligned itself with US and Israeli geopolitical interests, even when doing so meant supporting policies that harmed Muslim populations abroad and marginalized Muslim communities at home. As documented in the historical record, Canada has defended Israeli military actions in Gaza despite empty claims of being a defender of international law. In the case of Gaza it has ignored genocide warnings from dozens of human rights organizations, appointed individuals with well‑documented Islamophobic records to senior advisory positions, and consistently treated Muslim concerns as politically inconvenient. This pattern is not incidental or peripheral—it illustrates the structural nature of Islamophobia in this country. It reflects a political culture where anti-Muslim bigotry is normalized, where Muslim lives are routinely delegitimized, and where the rights and dignity of Muslim communities are willingly sacrificed to maintain geopolitical alliances and domestic political support from certain unsavoury elements of the electorate.

This structural Islamophobia was laid bare in early 2017 during the debate over Motion M‑103, a symbolic, non‑binding motion calling on Parliament to condemn Islamophobia and study systemic discrimination against Muslims. The motion landed on the House of Commons agenda only weeks after the murder of six Muslim worshippers at the Quebec City mosque, yet the Conservative Party and the Bloc Québécois mounted a vehement campaign against it. Their opposition stood in stark contrast to the House of Commons’ passage of a similar motion—M-587 condemning antisemitism—which was adopted in 2015 without controversy or partisan division. Unlike the antisemitism motion, M‑103 was met with a wave of lies and disinformation by right wing media commentators and political voices. Conservative politicians falsely claimed it would suppress Charter‑protected freedom of expression, criminalize criticism of Islam, or even “bring Sharia law into Canada,” despite the motion having no legal force and containing no language that could restrict rights. The hysteria surrounding M‑103 revealed how readily anti‑Muslim fearmongering could be weaponized for political gain, and how even symbolic recognition of anti‑Muslim hatred was treated as a threat to the nation’s identity. It exposed a political culture in which Muslim suffering—even after a mass murder—was minimized, dismissed, or turned into an opportunity for partisan exploitation.

And then there was the reaction to the appointment of Amira Elghawaby as Canada’s Special Representative to Combat Islamophobia in February 2023—a role eliminated by Prime Minister Mark Carney in February 2026. It revealed how deeply anti‑Muslim prejudice is embedded at the highest levels of Canadian politics. Quebec’s government, the Bloc Québécois, and the Conservative Party all demanded her resignation because she criticized Quebec’s Bill 21—a so-called “secularism” law rooted in anti‑Muslim bigotry—in an op-ed she co-wrote with Jewish community activist Bernie Farber. The leader of the Bloc even demanded the role be eliminated entirely, despite Muslims being the only faith community in Canada to be victims of hate motivated murders on three occasions in 2017 in Quebec City, in 2020 in Toronto, and in 2021 in London, Ontario.

This political hostility is not accidental. It reflects a culture in which Islamophobia is normalized and weaponized, especially when it aligns with political nationalism or electoral agendas.

Canada’s complicity in the war against Muslims is not abstract or distant, it is written directly into the suffering of Canadian citizens whose lives were shattered by policies rooted in Islamophobia and unquestioning alignment with US security doctrine. In the aftermath of 9/11 Maher Arar was detained and tortured in Syria after Canadian officials shared false intelligence with the US that branded him a threat. Abdullah Almalki, Muayyed Nureddin, and Ahmad El Maati were also illegally extradited to prisons in Middle East countries, where they were tortured because Canadian agencies fed foreign governments misinformation that cast innocent men as dangerous extremists. Then there is Omar Khadr, a Canadian child soldier abandoned by his own government and left to languish in America’s Guantanamo Bay prison, where he was repeatedly tortured with Canadian complicity, despite Canada’s legal obligations under the UN child soldier protocol.

These cases were not accidents or isolated failures. They were the predictable outcome of a political culture that treated Muslim citizens as expendable in the pursuit of geopolitical alignment and domestic political convenience. As the historical record makes clear, the fact that the government officials who were responsible for the horrors these men suffered were not held legally accountable is a stain on Canada that will never be washed away.

This pattern of discrimination is not confined to foreign policy or intelligence operations. It is embedded in Canadian law itself. Quebec’s above-mentioned Bill 21 stands as one of the most explicit examples of state‑sanctioned Islamophobia in Canada. By banning hijab‑wearing Muslim women from teaching, policing, or serving as judges, the law targets a single religious, stripping them of opportunities and excluding them from public life. It violates the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, yet federal leaders have repeatedly refused to challenge it, or use federal powers under the Constitution to overturn it, choosing political expediency over defending the fundamental rights of Canadians. Bill 21 makes clear that Islamophobia in Canada is not a fringe sentiment or the product of a few extremists—it is woven into legislation, upheld by political elites, and justified through right wing narratives that portray Muslim identity as incompatible with the nation’s values. In Canada, as in the broader Western world, Islamophobia is not merely a social prejudice, it is a structural reality that Muslims have to navigate on a daily basis.

The Palestinian exception

Nowhere is the war on Muslims more visible than in Gaza (over 90% of Palestinians are Muslim). Israel’s genocide against Palestinians in the enclave—supported diplomatically, militarily, and politically by the United States, Canada and other Western allies—is the most transparent and documented genocide of the modern era. Yet Western governments treat Palestinian suffering as politically inconvenient rather than morally urgent.

Palestinians are uniquely denied the rights and protections routinely extended to other oppressed peoples globally. Western leaders generally condemn human rights abuses everywhere except Palestine. Civilian deaths are publicly and officially mourned everywhere except Gaza. This is not accidental. It is ideological and it is based in a racist mindset.

Decades of Israeli hasbara propaganda, repeated ad nauseum by Western media, have conditioned Western publics to see Palestinians as extremists and Islam as incompatible with Western civilization. The Israeli propaganda effort, beginning in the late 1960s, aggressively promoted narratives portraying Muslims in the Middle East as irrational enemies bent on destroying Western civilization. These narratives aligned perfectly with Western geopolitical interests, resulting in the “Palestinian exception”—the clearest expression of how Western political culture has been conditioned to treat Muslim lives as less than human.

The war on Muslims is not limited to Western foreign policy, it has become a global phenomenon. Across multiple regions, Muslim populations are facing systematic persecution that mirrors, reinforces, and is emboldened by Western silence. In north-west China, millions of Uyghurs have been interned in a vast network of concentration camps as the Chinese Communist Party tries to erase their faith and culture. In India, Hindu nationalist politics have fuelled escalating violence and discrimination against Muslims, with some political and religious leaders openly calling for the genocide of more than 200 million people. In Myanmar, Rohingya Muslims have endured a forty‑year slow‑burning genocide marked by mass displacement, state‑sanctioned atrocities, and more than 500 Rohingya communities being wiped from the map.

These violations of basic humanity have all drawn rhetorical concern from Western governments—statements of “deep worry,” calls for “restraint,” and carefully worded condemnations that never translate into meaningful action. Yet the very nations that claim to defend the “international rule of law” have done virtually nothing to stop the brutalization, displacement, and extermination of Muslims in these countries. Their condemnations are performative, not protective, signaling disapproval without imposing consequences. In practice, Western inaction has become a form of permission, allowing these regimes to continue their campaigns of repression with impunity.

The West’s refusal to uphold international law and defend basic human rights is part of the problem. Domestic anti-Muslim policies in the United States, Canada, and Europe that stigmatize Muslims, through surveillance, discriminatory laws, and narratives that cast Islam as a civilizational threat, send a powerful signal to other governments that persecuting their Muslim minority populations is perfectly acceptable. When Western democracies normalize Islamophobia at home, they give license to regimes with Muslim minority communities to escalate their own campaigns of repression. The global war on Muslims is not merely tolerated by the West, it is enabled by the very policies Western nations impose on their own Muslim populations.

Twenty‑five years after 9/11, the West must confront a truth it has spent decades avoiding—the War on Terror has in reality been a war on Muslims—militarily, politically, culturally, and economically. It has been waged in the deserts of Afghanistan and Iraq, in Tripoli and Damascus, and in the rubble that was once Gaza. But it has also been waged in Western airports, classrooms, workplaces, and legislatures, where Muslim citizens have been treated as suspects, outsiders, and threats within their own countries.

This war has reshaped global politics, destabilized entire societies, and normalized levels of violence and persecution that would have been unthinkable had the victims not been overwhelmingly Muslim. It has made Islamophobia politically and socially acceptable wherever Muslims are a minority. It is a bigotry that crosses borders, transcends political parties, and binds together governments that otherwise share little in common.

To continue pretending that this is anything other than a war on Muslims is to perpetuate injustice and inflict continual suffering. As the West marks the 25th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks it is time to name this war and end it, fully, honestly, and without equivocation.

© 2026 The View From Here. © 2026 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.

25th anniversary of 9/11 also marks 25 years of the West’s long war against Muslims

Since 9/11 Western wars have killed up to 4.7 million Muslims, and created over 38 million Muslim refugees—genocide level horrors that are never commemorated, or mourned the way 9/11 is.

By Fareed Khan
A version of this article can also be found on Substack.

This is Part I of a two part analysis about the decades long Western war on Muslims. Part II will be published tomorrow.

As the United States marks the twenty‑fifth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks in a few days, it is also marking something far more tragic and dangerous—twenty‑five years of a Western war that has overwhelmingly targeted Muslims. According to Brown University’s Costs of War project, between 4.5 million and 4.7 million Muslims have been killed in US-led wars since 2001, and 38 million have been displaced. These are staggering numbers—genocide‑scale numbers—that unlike 9/11 ceremonies, receive no annual commemoration, no solemn speeches, no national mourning. They exist in a political void, unacknowledged because acknowledging them would require admitting a truth Western governments have spent decades avoiding: the so‑called “War on Terror” has been, in practice, a war on Muslims.

 

This war has unfolded across continents—Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Pakistan, Syria, Somalia, Yemen—and across Western societies themselves, where Muslim citizens and immigrants have been surveilled, stigmatized, detained, tortured, and treated as perpetual suspects. It is a war that did not begin on September 12, 2001. Its roots stretch back to the Cold War, when the United States first began constructing the ideological and military architecture that would later be weaponized after 9/11 against Muslim nations.

And Canada, despite its self‑image as a humanitarian nation, has been deeply complicit—politically, militarily, and ideologically. Islamophobia is not an aberration in Canadian politics. It is embedded in policy, normalized in (right wing) media, and expressed openly by certain political leaders.

The West’s war on Muslims is not metaphor. It is measurable, documented, it continues today, and has expanded under every US administration since 2001.

The Cold War origins of the war on Muslims

The official narrative claims the “War on Terror” began after 9/11, as a defensive response to an unprecedented attack. But the historical record tells a different story.

Beginning in the 1980s, the United States waged a cold war against Iran in the wake of the 1979 Islamic Revolution, and the January 1981 release of American embassy staff held hostage by Iranian radicals. Washington was also quick to align itself with Iraq’s Saddam Hussein after he launched the invasion of Iran in September 1980, initiating the eight-year-long Iran-Iraq War. Throughout the conflict the US provided Iraq with billions of dollars in economic assistance, dual‑use technology, non‑US weaponry, military intelligence, and specialized training. The conflict—marked by trench warfare and mass civilian casualties reminiscent of World War I—killed more than a million people. Throughout the war, the US also offered diplomatic cover as Iraq deployed chemical weapons against Iranian soldiers and Kurdish civilians. This was not counterterrorism. It was geopolitical engineering, and Muslims on both sides paid the price.

In the 1990s, after the Persian Gulf War, the United States imposed crushing sanctions on Iraq that restricted everything from medicines to basic humanitarian supplies. The result was catastrophic—an estimated half‑million Iraqi children died prematurely as a direct consequence of these sanctions. When confronted with this reality during a 1996 60 Minutes interview, President Bill Clinton’s Secretary of State Madeleine Albright infamously declared that the deaths were “worth it” to achieve Washington’s geopolitical goal of containing Saddam Hussein. Her remarks exposed the underlying logic and anti-Muslim bigotry of America’s Middle East policy, a policy where Muslim suffering on an unimaginable scale was acceptable collateral damage in the pursuit of Western dominance.

These pre‑9/11 policies were not isolated. They were part of a broader pattern of bigoted policy, propaganda, and racialized paranoia that had already taken shape. The modern war on Muslims began to take shape in the late 1960s and early 1970s following the 1967 and 1973 Arab-Israeli wars, when that nation became the West’s primary military outpost in the Middle East and Western governments panicked over the economic impact of the 1973 Arab oil embargo. The crisis instigated by the actions of the Arab oil producing nations revealed a terrifying truth for Western elites—that a handful of Muslim-majority countries had the power to disrupt the West’s capitalist ambitions.

The response in subsequent years was swift—coups, occupations, sanctions, propaganda, and alliances with dictatorships and authoritarian leaders. The ideological groundwork for justifying post-9/11 wars was laid long before the attacks of September 11, 2001.

The expansion of a pre‑existing project

After 9/11, the US did not suddenly invent a new Middle East policy, it simply widened and intensified one that had been decades in the making. The invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq were presented as defensive wars, necessary to protect Americans from future terrorist attacks, conveniently ignoring the fact that the citizens of those nations had been abused and manipulated by the US and its allies for years. But these wars rested on a much older ideological foundation—a long‑standing Western narrative that cast Muslim societies as inherently violent, irrational, and barbaric. That narrative made it easy for Washington to sell the Iraq War to Americans on the basis of lies and fabrications about weapons of mass destruction—claims that were later proven false but had already served their purpose. By the time the first bombs fell on Kabul and Baghdad, the emotional and political groundwork had been laid. A worldview had taken hold within the West where Muslim-majority societies were portrayed as perpetual sources of danger, instability, and civilizational threat. Within that worldview, military intervention did not need to be justified with evidence, it only needed to be framed as the next logical step in containing an imagined Islamic menace that threatened Western civilization.

For generations, Western publics were conditioned to absorb and accept whatever anti‑Muslim narratives that came their way. Long before 9/11, the cultural groundwork had already been laid. Since the earliest days of Hollywood, Western popular culture churned out hundreds of films that caricatured and dehumanized Arabs and Muslims, teaching audiences to see Muslim societies as violent, backward, and alien. As documented by scholar Jack Shaheen in Reel Bad Arabs, these portrayals were never mere entertainment—they functioned as cultural indoctrination, normalizing the idea that Muslims were foreign, dangerous, inherently unstable, and barbaric.

By the time the War on Terror began in the fall of 2001, Western publics had already been desensitized to decades of Muslim suffering at the hands of Western nations. They had been trained—through movies, news coverage, political rhetoric, and academic discourse—to view more than 1.6 billion people as a civilizational threat against whom mass violence was not only permissible but necessary. In that climate, even the blatant lies used to justify the Iraq War were readily believed, because they fit seamlessly into a narrative that had been cultivated for years. This cultural conditioning made it easy for Western publics to accept the slaughter of Muslims abroad and the mass surveillance of law‑abiding Muslims at home, leaving a legacy of distrust and fear.

The consequences of that conditioning are evident in both the scale and the character of the violence that followed. In the twenty‑five years since 9/11, US-led wars have killed up to 4.7 million Muslims and made refugees of more than 38 million, a level of destruction, chaos and human suffering that would have been politically unacceptable without Western publics already primed to see Muslim lives as expendable. What happened was not an unforeseen tragedy but the predictable outcome of a worldview in which Muslim societies had long been portrayed as backward, disposable, and merely providers of critical resources or geopolitical assets whose governments could be manipulated to the advantage of the West.

The devastation of entire nations across the Middle East and North Africa was not an accident. It was the direct result of policies pursued with full knowledge of their outcomes. Washington and its allies understood that invading, occupying, and destabilizing multiple Muslim‑majority countries would shatter political systems, collapse economies, and tear apart social fabrics. They knew it would turn vast regions into permanent refugee corridors, but they simply did not care. Countries such as Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Somalia, Libya, and Yemen were not merely attacked—they were pushed into such profound instability that their pollitical and social institutions destabilized, their infrastructures disintegrated, creating openings for extremist groups like ISIS, and their populations were left to navigate Western inflicted chaos that continues to weaken their societies to this day.

At the same time, new forms of warfare were normalized. Drone strikes—marketed as precise tools for eliminating “suspected terrorists”—became routine, even though the overwhelming majority of those killed were civilians, and they operated outside any meaningful legal framework. Torture, once universally condemned, was openly justified as a necessary instrument of national security. Secret prisons were established across multiple continents, places where innocent people were detained, brutalized, and denied due process. And while Muslims abroad were subjected to military violence, Muslims in Western countries faced their own form of warfare—mass surveillance, entrapment operations, discriminatory policing, and the constant presumption of guilt.

None of this emerged spontaneously after 9/11. The War on Terror was not just a sudden response to an unprecedented attack—it was the continuation and expansion of a project that had been decades in the making. The cultural narratives that dehumanized Muslims, the political ideologies that framed Islam as a civilizational threat, and the foreign policies that treated Muslim‑majority nations as disposable had all been firmly in place long before the Twin Towers fell. The 9/11 attacks did not create the war on Muslims, they merely provided the pretext for accelerating it and making it state policy in many Western nations. What changed after 9/11 was not the underlying ideology, but the speed, scale, and brutality with which it was finally unleashed on Muslims around the world.

© 2026 The View From Here. © 2026 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.

War to hit US soil next year claims China’s Nostradamus . . . here are his five terrifying 2027 predictions

Trump, Jiang Xueqin claims, believes God gave him a mission to save America. Winning a war in Iran is optional. The real goal would be to keep power and secure a third presidential term in 2028.

By Fareed Khan

A version of this article can be found on Substack.

I only occasionally repost the work of others. The article below this introduction was published yesterday (September 4, 2026) in the Daily Mail deserves wide circulation. It profiles Jiang Xueqin, a Chinese‑Canadian educator and political commentator popularly dubbed “China’s Nostradamus,” who has issued five stark predictions for 2027—warnings that, if realized, would plunge the world into economic and political turmoil not seen since the 1930s.

Jiang foresees a severe global downturn, rising international conflict, large‑scale natural disasters, and political instability across major powers in the coming year. The article notes that several of his earlier prophecies came true, giving his new predictions heightened attention online. More importantly, his warnings do not exist in a vacuum—they mirror the assessments of economists, security analysts, climate researchers, and sociologists who have been sounding alarms about systemic political and econoimic fragility for years. Jiang’s predictions resonate precisely because they articulate what many experts have been too cautious to say plainly: the world is entering a period of profound instability, where multiple crises can collide and magnify one another. Economic anxiety, geopolitical fragmentation, and rapid technological disruption have already weakened social cohesion and eroded trust in political and media institutions in Western democracies. In such an environment, even a single shock can cascade across borders. Jiang’s message is not simply speculation; it is a reflection of structural vulnerabilities that are visible to anyone willing to look honestly at the state of the world.

The truth is that our leaders would rather stick their heads in the sand and pretend none of Jiang’s predictions could materialize rather than prepare for what is to come. But the 2020s have already shown how quickly the unimaginable becomes reality. We have lived through a global pandemic that crippled economies and exposed the fragility of supply chains. We have witnessed a mad man leading the most powerful nation in the world sowing political and economic chaos. We have observed democratic backsliding in powerful nations, watched unprovoked wars destabilize energy and food supplies, and seen inflation, debt, and economic turmoil, push the global economy closer and closer towards a deep recession. These events are linked, and are symptoms of deeper systemic political and economic decay. The decade has felt like a historical echo of the 1930s, one where political extremism is rising, global institutions are faltering, and international norms are eroding. It is not alarmist to say that the world is drifting toward a dangerous inflection point, it is simply acknowledging what is already unfolding.

This is why Jiang’s warnings should not be ignored. They are not predictions of an alternate reality—they are extrapolations of the one we are already living in. The pandemic revealed how unprepared governments were for a foreseeable crisis. The wars of the 2020s showed how quickly regional conflicts can disrupt global trade and push millions into poverty. Climate‑driven disasters have become more frequent and more destructive, overwhelming emergency systems and displacing entire communities. Meanwhile, technological change—AI, automation, cyber warfare—has created new vulnerabilities that governments are barely coping with. Jiang’s prophecies, dramatic as they may sound, are aligned with the trajectory of a world that has ignored warning signs for too long.

The deeper danger is complacency. When leaders dismiss credible warnings, societies lose the opportunity to prepare, adapt, and mitigate harm, and its the bottom 99% who are most profoundly affected. History shows that crises do not become catastrophic because they are inevitable—they become catastrophic because those in power refuse to act until it is too late. 

Jiang’s predictions should not be treated as fringe speculation but as a wake‑up call. They highlight the urgent need for political courage, international cooperation, and long‑term thinking—qualities that have been in short supply throughout the 2020s. If governments continue to ignore the structural risks Jiang identifies, they will not just fail to prevent the turmoil he describes, they will accelerate it, and there will be global consequences.

The world is standing on the edge of an era that could define the next century, the same way that the Great Depression and World War II defined the last 90 years. Jiang’s warnings, whether prophetic or analytical, demand attention because they force us to confront uncomfortable truths—our political, economic, and social infrastructures are brittle, our leaders are reactive rather than proactive, and our societies are more polarized and vulnerable than at any time since the 1930s. To dismiss these warnings is to gamble with the future. To heed them is to acknowledge that the world still has time—barely—to change course and build towards a more optimistic future.

© 2026 The View From Here. © 2026 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.

John Turner was right in 1988. Canada-US free trade has become a threat to our sovereignty

Turner understood that Canada’s infrastructure—its east-west trading routes, its regulatory systems, its resource management—had been deliberately designed to resist US continental pressure.

By Fareed Khan 
A version of this article can be found on Substack.

In 1988, during what became known as Canada’s “free trade election,” Liberal Leader and former Prime Minister John Turner issued a warning that was dismissed by many at the time as alarmist, emotional, or simply outdated. Turner argued that binding Canada’s economy to that of the United States through a free trade agreement would, over time, erode Canadian sovereignty, undermine economic independence, and place the country at the mercy of American political whims. His words—delivered with unusual moral force during the English-language leaders’ debate—were not merely campaign rhetoric. They were a diagnosis of structural vulnerability.

Today, nearly four decades later, Turner’s warning has been vindicated with almost eerie precision. Canada now finds itself in the crosshairs of a trade war launched by US President Donald Trump, whose administration has imposed 50% tariffs on roughly $20 billion worth of goods and openly mused about absorbing Canada as the “51st state.” The very interdependence and market access that free trade advocates celebrated as a triumph of globalization has today become a weapon of coercion. Prime Minister Mark Carney is now confronting the consequences of a political decision made long before his time—an error Turner tried to warn Canadians about.

But Turner’s warning should not only be seen as one for Canada, but also as a warning that America’s friends and allies across Europe and Asia should have heeded. The political and economic instability now radiating from Washington demonstrates that globalization, when built around a single dominant power, can be a conduit for coercion and economic blackmail rather than cooperation. The world is learning that lesson the hard way.

Sovereignty lost by degrees

During the 1988 election debate, Turner delivered one of the most memorable rebukes in Canadian political history. He accused Prime Minister Brian Mulroney of reversing 120 years of nation-building “with one signature of a pen,” warning that once Canada surrendered control over its economic levers through an all encompassing trade deal, then “political independence is sure to follow.”

Turner’s critique was not abstract. He understood that Canada’s infrastructure—its east-west trading routes, its regulatory systems, its resource management—had been deliberately designed to resist US continental pressure. Free trade, he argued, would undo that architecture and replace it with a north-south dependency that would eventually leave Canada exposed.

Mulroney dismissed Turner’s concerns as overwrought, calling the agreement “a commercial document.” But Turner insisted: “That document relates to every facet of our life.”

He was right.

The Canada-US Free Trade Agreement of 1989, followed by NAFTA in 1994, created one of the largest integrated economies in the world. By 2000, the NAFTA economy reached US$11.7 trillion—far surpassing the European Union’s US$7.8 trillion. By 2025, the Canada-US-Mexico GDP had grown to US$32.9 trillion, compared to the EU’s US$21.24 trillion.

Canada prospered—but at a cost. Today, nearly three‑quarters of its exports flow south to a US economy ten times its size. Over time, supply chains fused, investment patterns aligned, and regulatory systems converged. For years, this tight integration looked like a triumph of modern globalization. But Turner saw what others missed. Interdependence is not equality. It is exposure. And the recent eruption of tariffs and trade threats by Trump has confirmed just how accurate his warning was.

Turner’s prophecy comes true

The first tremors appeared during Trump’s initial presidency (2016–2020), when Canada was sidelined in trade negotiations in favour of a US-Mexico bilateral deal. But the real earthquake struck after Trump’s return to office in 2025.

In August 2026, the United States imposed sweeping 50% tariffs on Canadian steel, autos, lumber, honey, dairy, and other goods—tariffs that even members of his own party at the federal and state levels admitted they had not requested. The Trump administration then introduced language in trade negotiations that would have required US approval for any future Canadian trade deals—a condition that would have effectively placed Canadian trade policy under Washington’s control.

Carney walked away from the talks, calling the demand “a question of sovereignty.”

British Columbia Premier David Eby was more blunt: accepting such terms would have reduced Canada “to the economic equivalent of the 51st state.”

Turner’s warning had come full circle.

Economic interdependence as a weapon

Economic interdependence has become the defining fault line of the current crisis between Canada and the United States. What Prime Minister Mark Carney is confronting today is not simply a trade dispute or a clash of personalities with Donald Trump. It is the culmination of a structural imbalance that has been building for decades—an imbalance rooted in America’s dominance over the global financial system, technological infrastructure, and supply chains. The Trump administration’s coercive tactics against Canada are not an aberration. They are part of a broader pattern of American behaviour toward allies and adversaries alike, enabled by the extraordinary reach of US economic power. What Turner feared in 1988—that Canada would one day be unable to chart its own course because its economic lifelines ran through Washington—has now become a lived reality, that Canada is quickly trying to reverse.

Washington’s ability to weaponize financial networks is perhaps the most potent example. American Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent’s threat to exclude foreign partners from the American financial system if they maintain ties with Iran was not merely diplomatic pressure, it was a demonstration of how deeply global commerce depends on US dollar infrastructure. Because most international trade, debt settlement, and cross-border banking rely on dollar clearing, the United States can freeze assets, block transactions, and cripple national economies with administrative decisions that require no multilateral approval. The European Policy Centre has warned that this creates “single points of failure” across Western economies—points controlled entirely by Washington. In effect, the US dollar has become a geopolitical lever, one that can be pulled at any moment to discipline allies or punish adversaries.

Secondary sanctions amplify this vulnerability. Even companies based in allied nations can be penalized for trading with states targeted by US sanctions regimes, because the transactions inevitably pass through American-controlled systems such as SWIFT or US correspondent banks. European governments have spent years attempting to build alternative payment channels—most notably INSTEX—to allow them to conduct independent foreign policy without risking American retaliation. Yet these efforts have largely failed, demonstrating how deeply entrenched US financial dominance remains. As one senior EU official put it, Europe has discovered their vulnerability—that “sovereignty without financial autonomy is an illusion.”

The same dynamic exists in global supply chains. The United States can disrupt critical manufacturing inputs, energy exports, and technological components through abrupt export controls or regulatory delays. The Small Wars Journal notes that this leverage is particularly acute in sectors where the US dominates upstream production, such as advanced semiconductors, aerospace components, and specialized industrial machinery. When Washington tightens access, entire industries in partner nations can be thrown into crisis overnight. The Biden administration used similar tactics against China, and Trump has now turned them against Canada and Europe. The message is unmistakable—supply chains are not neutral economic structures—they are instruments of state power.

American tech dominance weaponized

Technological dependence adds another layer of vulnerability. American firms command a massive share of global tech profits, cloud infrastructure, and artificial intelligence capacity. This gives Washington indirect control over digital services, data flows, and cybersecurity frameworks worldwide. European governments have grown increasingly anxious about this imbalance, prompting efforts to develop local cloud systems, digital currencies, and anti-coercion mechanisms designed to reduce exposure to US pressure. The New York Times has reported that European leaders now openly discuss “digital sovereignty” as a strategic priority—a term that would have been unthinkable two decades ago. The EU’s push for GAIA‑X, a federated cloud system designed to reduce reliance on American tech giants, is a direct response to fears that Washington could one day weaponize digital infrastructure the same way it has weaponized financial networks.

Canada’s confrontation with Washington is unfolding against this backdrop. Carney has framed the crisis as a test of whether middle powers can preserve sovereignty in a world where economic integration has become a tool of coercion. His warning that “America is trying to break us so that they can own us” was not hyperbole but a recognition of the structural reality Canada faces. Scholars such as University of Toronto professor Nelson Wiseman argue that Canada is providing “the biggest test yet” of whether middle powers can resist great‑power economic pressure—and whether others will follow. The Atlantic Council has similarly cautioned that US coercive behaviour is straining alliances and accelerating global efforts to diversify away from American systems. Canada, in other words, has become the proving ground for a new era in international relations—one in which nations must decide whether they will remain dependent on American systems or build the capacity to stand apart from them.

What Canada is experiencing is not merely a bilateral dispute. It is a structural crisis in the global order—one that exposes the illusion at the heart of post–Cold War globalization. Policy makers believed that economic interdependence would create stability, prosperity, and shared interests. But Turner understood something they did not—globalization built around a single dominant power is not interdependence. It is asymmetric dependence. And the United States has now demonstrated that it is willing to weaponize that dependence even against its closest allies.

© 2026 The View From Here. © 2026 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.

Donald Trump — the greatest threat to Canada since Hitler (Part III): Fighting for our future

Trump has declared an economic war on Canada . . . It is part of a strategy to weaken Canada’s sovereignty and absorb it into the US.

By Fareed Khan

A version of this article can found on Substack.

This is part III of a three part series on the existential danger the United States under Donald Trump poses to Canada.

Canada finds itself at a historic crossroads — a moment of profound consequence not only for its own future, but also for the stability of the democratic world. For decades, Canadians have viewed the United States as a close ally, and a neighbour bound by shared values and intertwined economies. Today, that assumption is collapsing in the face of Donald Trump’s trade and tariff war against Canada and his expansionist political agenda. Canada is now the front line in the global fight for an international economic and political order that has created prosperity, and maintained eight decades of peace. If this country falls, others will fall behind us. Under the circumstances the stakes could not be higher.]

Trump’s return to the White House in January 2025 transformed a once‑predictable bilateral relationship into a volatile confrontation. His economic war, his threats of annexation, and his openly authoritarian instincts represent the greatest danger Canada has faced since Adolf Hitler. That comparison may sound extreme, but many Canadians now believe it is warranted. Trump’s actions — sweeping tariffs, political interference, and rhetoric that frames Canada as a subordinate territory — have forced Canadians to confront a reality that would have been unthinkable only a few years ago.

Canada must begin by acknowledging the truth: Trump has declared an economic war on Canada. His tariffs, threats, and interference are not isolated incidents or negotiating tactics. They are part of a coordinated strategy to weaken Canada’s sovereignty and absorb it into a US-dominated sphere of influence. This is not speculation. It is the conclusion Canadians themselves are drawing.

Recent polling shows that 55% of Canadians now view the United States as the greatest threat to national security — more than China or Russia. Another poll found that 58% believe a US military invasion is plausible in the near term. These numbers represent a profound shift in public consciousness. Canadians are not reacting to abstract theories or distant hypotheticals. They are responding to Trump’s explicit statements, his aggressive policies, and the unmistakable trajectory of his administration.

The fear is not irrational. Trump has repeatedly mused about annexing Canada as the “51st state.” He has threatened to “cripple” Canada’s economy if Ottawa does not comply with his demands. His administration has imposed tariffs designed not merely to extract concessions, but to destabilize Canada’s economic foundations. And his political allies have openly encouraged separatist movements within Canada as a means of fracturing the country from within.

In this context, Canada must respond with unity, courage, and decisive action. The time for polite diplomacy and cautious statements has long passed. The threat is real, immediate, and unprecedented. Canada must adopt a national strategy equal to the scale of the danger.

One of Canada’s most potent tools lies not in the size of its military, but in the collective purchasing power of its people. Canadians buy hundreds of billions of dollars in American goods every year, a flow of commerce that has long benefited US industries. But that advantage can be turned into leverage. A coordinated boycott — already emerging organically across the country — has cost American businesses billions. This pressure is not merely a gesture of disapproval, it is a strategic act of self‑defence. By reducing demand for US products, Canadians can impose real economic consequences on American industries, particularly those in politically sensitive regions where Trump’s support is strongest. Economic pressure applied consistently and deliberately can force political recalculations in Washington in ways that diplomatic statements alone cannot.

Canada also holds decisive advantages in resources the United States cannot easily replace. Potash, energy, and critical minerals form the backbone of US agriculture, manufacturing, and technology. These are not commodities that can be sourced overnight from alternative suppliers. By adjusting export levels, pricing, or supply routes, Canada can raise costs for US consumers and industries — especially in red‑state farm regions already weakened by Trump’s own tariff policies. This is not retaliation for its own sake, it is a necessary defensive measure to counter Trump’s economic aggression and to remind Americans that Canada is not a passive actor in this conflict. Strategic use of these resources can shift the economic balance and force Americans to confront the consequences of Trump’s destabilizing agenda.

Canada’s vulnerabilities extend well beyond economics. Our military dependence on the United States has become a strategic liability — one Donald Trump has already demonstrated he is willing to exploit. The planned purchase of 88 F‑35 fighter jets, a $19‑billion acquisition with a lifetime cost of $74 billion, would effectively place Canada’s air‑defence capabilities under U.S. control. Canadians understand this risk with polls showing that more than 70% percent favour Canada buying Sweden’s Saab Gripen rather than the F‑35.

The problem is structural. The F‑35’s software architecture, mission data files, and maintenance systems are all controlled by the American defence contractor Lockheed Martin. In any crisis, Canada could find itself unable to obtain spare parts, essential maintenance, or the technical support required to operate its own aircraft independently. Defence experts warn that the US could disable Canada’s fleet simply by withholding software updates or restricting access to critical systems.  This danger is not theoretical. Denmark and Germany have already raised similar concerns about their own F‑35 programs, underscoring that the vulnerability is baked into the platform itself — and shared by every nation that relies on it.

Canada must therefore pursue defence autonomy, which means cancelling the F‑35 program beyond the initial jet purchase and exploring the alternative that ensures operational independence. It means investing in domestic defence production, strengthening the Canadian components of NORAD, and expanding partnerships with European, Japanese and South Korean defence contractors. Sovereignty cannot be defended if the tools of defence are controlled by a foreign power — especially one whose leader has openly threatened Canada’s territorial integrity.

But Canada cannot confront Trump’s authoritarian project alone. The US under Trump has placed targets on the backs of Europe, Japan, South Korea, Australia, and other democratic nations. These countries have faced tariffs, diplomatic pressure, and threats designed to force compliance with Washington’s agenda. Canada must work closely with these allies to coordinate economic, diplomatic, and technological resistance. A unified democratic front can counterbalance US pressure and prevent Trump from isolating Canada. The world is watching how Canada responds, and many nations would very likely stand with us if we lead with conviction.

Internal unity is equally essential. Canada’s domestic divisions — particularly Alberta separatism — are vulnerabilities Trump seeks to exploit, and has already tried to. Regional polarization and political fragmentation weaken national cohesion and amplify foreign interference. Canada must confront these internal threats with honesty and resolve. National unity is not merely a political slogan. It is a strategic necessity.

Canadians themselves must also take an active role in defending the country. The public must speak out, organize, and demand decisive action from their leaders — similar to the sort of action Mark Carney took when he rejected the US attempt to pressure Canada into a coercive trade deal. Civic mobilization can shape policy, stiffen political resolve, and counter disinformation. The defence of democracy is not the responsibility of governments alone. It rests with citizens who refuse to allow their country to be intimidated, destabilized, or undermined by foreign aggression.

Canada’s future depends on our willingness to defend our sovereignty, our values, and our democracy. Trump’s authoritarian project threatens not only Canada, but the entire post World War II order that has prevented another global war for eight decades. His ideology — rooted in nationalism, exclusion, and unchecked power — is incompatible with the principles that define Canada and other democratic nations. If Canada stands firm, we can help lead the world in resisting this rising tide of authoritarianism. Canada has done it before. During World War II, Canada played a critical role in defending democracy against fascism. Today, the threat is different but no less dangerous. The battleground is economic, political, and informational — but the stakes are the same — freedom, sovereignty, and the future of democratic governance.

If Canada falters, the consequences could very well be catastrophic. A weakened or destabilized Canada would embolden Trump’s authoritarian agenda, undermine the alliance of global democracies, and reshape the geopolitical landscape in ways that threaten peace and stability. The world cannot afford a Canada that is intimidated, divided, or subdued.

The time to defend our country — its sovereignty, its values, and its future — is now. Canada must rise to meet this moment with clarity, courage, and unwavering resolve. History will judge how we respond.

© 2026 The View From Here. © 2026 Fareed Khan. All Rights Reserved.