As we approach the 25-year anniversary of the September 11th attacks, many of us are remembering where we were that day and how profoundly it changed us—not only as individuals, but as a country and a society. Personally, that reflection also returns me to the organization I was part of at the time, and to a mission that was being tested in real time.
Looking back now is especially meaningful for me because on September 11, 2001, I worked for Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service—now Global Refuge.
The organization was under the leadership of Ralston Deffenbaugh, Jr., and I was an administrative assistant for what was then Children’s Services, which managed the unaccompanied refugee minors and family reunification programs, and for Legal Services. That role was my first experience working with immigrants and refugees. Before starting at LIRS in December 1999, the boundaries of my world were mostly the boundaries of Baltimore, Maryland. LIRS widened that world for me.
I was also in my third trimester of pregnancy with my second daughter. On September 11th, I was very ill and had stayed home from work, watching the day unfold from a distance while feeling deeply connected to the people and mission I had come to care about.
What I remember most about that time is that staff were carrying several emotions at once. They were afraid for friends and loved ones, especially because LIRS had been located in New York City before moving to Baltimore in 1999 and many colleagues still had deep ties there. They were worried for our country and for what the attacks would mean for our collective safety and future. And, of course, they were worried about the impact we all knew these events would have on the work of welcome.
Those concerns were well-founded. In the aftermath of September 11th, refugee admissions were halted, travel was redirected, and for a time there was real uncertainty about whether the processes that move refugees from years of displacement into resettlement would resume.
We also saw heightened suspicion directed toward people perceived as “other.” That suspicion affected the families and individuals we served, and it extended to colleagues and neighbors as well, regardless of their actual citizenship status or personal story.
For seasoned staff, the backlash was painful but not entirely surprising. For me, it was a shock to the system. I had come into the organization just before the resettlement of the Lost Boys of Sudan, an experience that became formative for me as a nonprofit professional. I had seen the public respond to that effort with tenderness and admiration. After September 11th, I saw how quickly a public narrative could turn toward suspicion, fear, and division.
In those years, LIRS shaped me in ways I did not fully understand at the time. It taught me that mission-driven work is not only about programs or policies, but about standing with people when public sentiment is uncertain, when systems are strained, and when welcome becomes harder to offer. That lesson stayed with me throughout my career as I continued working with missions serving marginalized communities and people from around the world. I often found myself returning to what I first learned at LIRS: that the dignity of people seeking refuge should never depend on the politics of the moment.
Public sentiment toward refugees and immigrants has always shifted with policy, politics, and moments of national fear. As Global Refuge CEO Krish O’Mara Vignarajah has noted, history reminds us that we have been here before. But what has endured across these cycles is the work of this organization and the people who continue moving it forward.
When I left LIRS in 2008, the organization was expanding its services to protect undocumented children and serve people crossing the southern border. From the sidelines, I watched with gratitude as Global Refuge continued to meet the moment again and again, including when the organization rallied to welcome thousands of Afghan neighbors forced to flee after the U.S. withdrawal.
Now, as we mark 25 years since September 11th, I find myself back on the staff of this great and longstanding organization with deep gratitude. A great deal has changed since that day, in our country, in the world, and within Global Refuge itself. But one essential thing remains the same: the commitment to welcome. Whether it is a family rebuilding their lives in the U.S. or a young person starting over after returning to Mexico or Guatemala, Global Refuge continues to bring welcome where it is needed most. And if the aftermath of September 11th taught us anything, it is that welcome matters most when fear makes it hardest to choose.
