9/11 nearly killed him. From the ashes to a war on human trafficking.

By Sujo John, Op-ed contributor Friday, September 11, 2026

When I arrived in America in February of 2001 from India, I had just $50, two suitcases and countless dreams. A few months later, my wife and I both found jobs at the World Trade Center and our first child was on the way.

I should have felt pride, but instead, I felt an emptiness that something was missing in my life. As a Christian, I knew God, but yet I could not find His purpose for me. Along the way, I confused temporary success with my calling.

All that would change on Sept. 11, 2001. Before I started work on the 81st floor of the North Tower, I sent an email to a friend letting him know that while my life in America had taken off, I was still searching for something deeper. A fire had begun to burn within me to aim for a life of significance rather than continue settling for the ordinary and mundane, but how would I start? I ended the email by asking him to pray that the Lord would show me the path to finding His purpose for me.

I just had no idea how soon that answer would come.

Within the hour, a tremendous explosion reverberated around me. As our building shook violently, our manager hastened us toward the stairwell, where thousands of others were fleeing. The fear of death was written on most faces, and panic struck as I realized my pregnant wife would have been at her office on the South Tower’s 71st floor.  

I frantically tried to reach her, but mobile phones weren’t working.  

As we finally made it down to the concourse level, I tried not to look at the dead bodies as I rushed by on my way toward the South Tower to find my wife. That was when I heard another explosion, glass shattering around me. The South Tower was collapsing. Fear overwhelmed me, and for the first time, I thought I was going to die.  

As soot descended, I could hardly breathe, feeling despair and helplessness. Was this the purpose God had for me, to die here? Why, then, had I felt so strongly that there was something I was being called to, something I couldn’t quite reach? And yet, a peace began to fill me that if I was going to die, I knew I would join my God in Heaven. I started praying and asked the people around me to join what I thought would be our last prayer.

We eventually found our way out of the rubble, and I wandered through the carnage in a daze, continually trying to call my wife. Hours later, my phone rang for the first time all day as I learned that she was alive and well. She had been running late to work that day, which saved her life.

While we survived, thousands didn't. They had families to go back to, lives still before them, yet the brutality of that day snatched them away too early. As New Yorkers lined up to donate blood, as people across America came together in prayer and support, I knew I couldn’t return to my normal life. I remembered the prayer I had emailed my friend that morning and realized that if God had spared us when so many others perished, I needed to truly make my life count.

While I still didn’t know the “how,” an email I sent to friends letting them know I was alive and asking about their eternal destinies unexpectedly went viral. From this newfound fame, God opened up media opportunities and speaking engagements across America to share my story of faith and God’s deliverance. Slowly, my purpose became clearer. These opportunities eventually equipped me to use my platform to fund ministries and service projects around the world.

One of these projects led me back to India, where God finally helped me find the missing piece of that purpose during a visit to New Delhi's red-light district. The horror of what I saw was unspeakable — women and young girls in cages, their torture and shame exposed for the lust of others — and I was shocked that something so vile could exist so openly in our world.  

As we tried to leave, one woman grabbed my arm and pleaded with me, crying out: “You can free us.” I suddenly knew I had something in common with them, and God stirred my heart.  

I had been trapped in the collapse of the Towers, doubting that anyone would ever find me, just as they felt trapped in their bondage. As men would come and repeatedly bid on them for fetishistic exploitation, they had given up all hope of a life out of this Hell. But God never gave up on them, and just as He used first responders to rescue me from my rubble, He could use me and countless others to free these women and girls from theirs.

In that moment, for the first time in my life, my purpose and my mission became clear: to rescue those who are trapped in modern slavery and help as God rewrites their life stories. That day was the birth of YouCanFreeUs, a nonprofit bringing freedom and hope to women and children enslaved in the world's darkest corners. Since its founding, we’ve seen a 98% success rate in helping these daughters of God reintegrate into society with new hope and practical skills to live a life away from the rubble.

While 9/11 brought me to the end of myself, it also led me to my true purpose. First responders risked everything to rescue me from hopelessness and darkness. Similarly, I answered the call to respond to the cries of those living without hope in the darkest places on earth, bringing them life and freedom.