On a crisp October afternoon in 2024, the Sharhan family’s world changed in an instant. Amirah Sharhan, a Yemeni American mother living in the Dearborn-Detroit area, was preparing dinner when her seven-year-old daughter, Saida, burst through the front door, clutching a napkin to her neck. Beneath it was a deep, bleeding cut—a wound that would require 20 stitches and leave emotional scars far deeper than the physical ones. According to The Guardian, Saida had been at a nearby playground with her grandmother when a local man, 73-year-old Gary Lansky, approached, grabbed her, and slit her throat with a knife. The attack, Amirah believes, was no random act of violence. It happened just two days after the anniversary of the Israel-Hamas war in Gaza, and she is convinced her daughter and mother were targeted for being visibly Muslim.
“My mind flipped. I didn’t know where I was,” Amirah recalled in an interview with The Guardian. “My son was screaming: ‘Don’t die! Don’t die!’ I didn’t even know how to dial 911.” The horrifying scene has since replayed in Saida’s dreams; she wakes up screaming, haunted by visions of the park filled with blood and the attacker threatening to return. “She told me it’s the same dream all the time – the park is full of blood and [the attacker] telling her: ‘I’m coming back for you,’” Amirah said. “I don’t feel safe any more,” she added, “like I used to.”
Lansky was arrested shortly after the incident and, by January 2025, found competent to stand trial for assault with intent to murder and other charges. Yet, notably, he was not charged with a hate crime. This omission sparked outrage among Muslim and Arab American community leaders, who see it as part of a broader failure by authorities to address violent Islamophobia. In Dearborn—the first majority-Arab-American city in the US—this sense of abandonment has only grown in recent years, as threats and hostility have become more frequent and more brazen.
The Sharhan family’s ordeal is not an isolated case. Across the United States, Islamophobic incidents have surged since October 2023. The Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) reported a record 8,658 complaints last year, ranging from verbal harassment to physical attacks. Several high-profile cases have involved Muslim children being targeted. According to The Guardian, Dearborn and neighboring cities have seen repeated threats, including phone calls vowing to “burn down” mosques and social media posts encouraging violence against Muslim worshippers. In one instance, a Texas man threatened to burn down Dearborn and its mosques, while a Virginia man was arraigned on terrorism charges for threatening to attack a local mosque.
Right-wing media, particularly Fox News, have amplified tensions in Dearborn. Recent coverage has focused on mosque noise complaints and disputes involving Arab American leaders, fueling hostility and, some residents argue, encouraging further threats. The political climate has become so charged that even voting patterns have shifted. Arab Americans in Dearborn, who make up about 55% of the city’s 106,000 residents, delivered 42.5% of the 2024 presidential vote to Donald Trump—more than any other candidate—helping secure Michigan as a crucial swing state. Yet, with ongoing violence in Gaza and a perceived lack of support from both major parties, some Arab Americans are now reconsidering their political allegiances.
Faye Nemer, founder of the Dearborn-based Mena American Chamber of Commerce, explained to The Guardian that many in the Arab American community supported Trump in 2024 in hopes he would be a “president of peace.” But that optimism has faded. “We’re cautiously optimistic about this ceasefire deal [but] it’s become somewhat problematic – what was promised during the campaign cycle versus what we’re seeing occur on the ground,” Nemer said. She believes a shift is underway: “I think they are in for a rude awakening come the midterm elections. There should be some introspection there.”
Defiance, however, remains. Despite fear and disappointment, Dearborn residents have continued to protest the war on Gaza and to stand up against hate. In September, dozens marched in the city’s streets to demand an end to the bombardment of Gaza and the detention of members of the Global Sumud Flotilla by Israel. Michigan’s lieutenant governor, Garlin Gilchrist, has been outspoken, calling Israel’s war on Gaza a genocide—making him one of a small but growing number of US politicians to use such language. Gilchrist is running for governor in 2026, and his stance has resonated with many in Dearborn.
The rise in hate crimes is not limited to the United States. In England and Wales, police-recorded hate crime rose for the first time in three years in the year ending March 2025, according to the Home Office. Racial hate crimes increased by 6%, from 77,901 to 82,490, while religiously motivated hate crimes rose by 3%, reaching their highest annual total on record at 7,164. Anti-Muslim hate crimes saw a particularly sharp increase, up by almost a fifth—from 2,690 to 3,199 offences. The Home Office noted a “clear spike in these offences in August 2024, which coincides with the Southport murders on July 29 and subsequent disorder across several English towns and cities.”
Interestingly, while anti-Muslim hate crimes rose, religious hate crimes targeted at Jewish people (excluding the Metropolitan Police’s figures, which were not included due to a change in recording systems) fell by 18%, from 2,093 to 1,715. The Metropolitan Police, however, recorded 40% of all religious hate crimes targeting Jewish people in the last year, suggesting the overall numbers may be higher. Other categories of hate crime, such as those based on sexual orientation, disability, and transgender identity, actually saw decreases in the same period.
Back in the US, the rise in hate crimes has affected more than just the Muslim community. Reports of antisemitism have also surged. A recent report found that more than half of American Jews say they have faced antisemitism in the past year. Jewish institutions have increased their security budgets in response to threats, and the community remains on edge following a string of violent incidents—including a deadly attack on a UK synagogue just last week. Mark Oppenheimer, of the John C Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University in St. Louis, noted in an email to The Guardian that, “Since the Pittsburgh synagogue bombing of 2018, in which 11 Jews were killed at worship, there have been anti-Jewish attacks in Poway, California (at a synagogue), Jersey City, New Jersey (at a kosher grocery store), at a rabbi’s house in Monsey, New York, and at the Coleyville, Texas, synagogue.”
As violence against faith-based organizations increases, so does the anxiety of those who attend them. Carl Chinn, head of the Faith Based Security Network, told the Washington Post: “No matter what level of violence you look at, violence against faith-based organizations is increasing.” For families like the Sharhans, that reality is all too personal. Saida has transferred schools and no longer visits the playground where she was attacked. The wounds—physical and emotional—have yet to heal. Amirah’s words echo the fears of many: “I don’t feel safe any more, like I used to.”
Through trauma, anger, and shifting political tides, communities in Dearborn and beyond are being forced to reckon with what safety, belonging, and justice truly mean in a time of rising hate.