Dearborn's Muslims Fear a Fort Hood Backlash

A week and a day after the massacre at Fort Hood, Texas, there's a palpable sense of unease among the 400 men and women gathered for Friday prayers at the American Muslim Center in Dearborn, Mich., 1,350 miles away. In his sermon, lay preacher Hani Ayyad is careful not to mention Major Nidal Malik Hasan by name but repeatedly inveighs against "those who try to hijack our deen [faith], who distort, tarnish and darken it." Worshippers know exactly who he means.

Ayyad, a charismatic 37-year-old with a sonorous voice, seems to be speaking for, not to, the congregation as he laments, "It's becoming harder and harder for us to raise our head and say, 'I am a Muslim.'" Many nod in agreement when he says, "There are very difficult times out there." (See pictures of Hasan's apartment.)

Muslims across the country fear that the massacre, which left 12 of Hasan's fellow soldiers and one civilian dead, has increased what they say is widespread hostility toward their community. But it is surprising that Muslims in Dearborn should be fearful. After all, it's hard to imagine an American town where Muslims could feel less threatened: Dearborn (pop. 100,000) has 10 mosques in the area, more than any other city of comparable size. Muslims have had a presence in the Detroit area since the 1920s, when Henry Ford brought over thousands of workers from the Middle East to operate his giant River Rouge plant. People of Middle Eastern origin make up a third of the population; public schools close for Muslim holidays. (See pictures of Muslims marking the end of Ramadan.)

Equally, the American Muslim Center could hardly be less threatening. The imam, Mohamed Mardini, is a moderate cleric with strong ties to city and state officials; when the CIA hosted a dinner in Dearborn recently, he sat at the head table with Director Leon Panetta. Mardini invites non-Muslims to drop by and observe prayers and holds interfaith discussions in his office. His mosque doesn't even look out of place among the suburban homes along Outer Drive: the building used to be a Bible church.

Even so, fear of anti-Muslim demonstrations or violence persuaded some worshippers to skip Friday prayers the day after the massacre. "I told my kids to stay home," says Faheem Qureshi, 48, an engineer at Ford Motor Co. "When something like this happens, you take no chances." Marwan Wehbe, 43, a manager at a national restaurant chain, agrees: "There's a feeling there's going to be a backlash." Some worry that law enforcement may not be on their side; they cite the killing of a controversial Detroit imam during an FBI raid of his mosque last month. (See TIME's photo-essay "The Troubled Journey of Major Hasan.")

But if the massacre sent some into their shells, it sent the community's leaders into a frenzy of action. As soon as media reports named Hasan the shooter, Mardini began to contact imams across the Detroit area to coordinate a response, consulting national groups like the Council on American-Islamic Relations and the Islamic Society of North America (ISNA). The consensus: condemn the massacre with no reservations, and offer support for the victims and their families. ISNA launched the Fort Hood Family Fund and by Nov. 17 had collected $45,000. Mardini went further, offering prayers for those killed and injured. "It was important for everyone to know that we're grieving as Americans," he says. (Read TIME's cover story about Hasan.)

Did it work? Mardini notes that there have been no reports of heinous attacks on Muslims anywhere in the U.S. "Our worst nightmare has not come true," he says.

But as the worshippers stream out of Mardini's mosque, one man finds a package at the door. It is a hardbound Koran, in English, and it has been defaced with silver spray paint. Folded inside is a sheet of paper, bearing a message written in childish capitals: "Islam is a disease. Muslim immigrants are the virus ... Every Muslim should be kicked out of the USA."

Surprisingly, the letter seems to leave the worshippers largely unaffected. Some are even mildly relieved. "Oh, this is like egging a car," says Kader Alcodray, 38, a businessman. "Whoever did this is obviously a coward, so I don't feel threatened," agrees Qureshi. "I'd be worried if he came in here with an Uzi."

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