An event that changed me

A couple of months back, I was asked by my old school teacher to write an account of an event in my life that changed me, which I happily did (to be used for a school assignment). Of course I wrote about Syria, so here it is, since I wanted to share it with you all.

Nine months ago, I made the decision to spend some time in Syria, to volunteer and improve my Arabic, hoping one day my improved skills will be brought to good use. Though the events that came about during these 9 months, caused me disappointment initially, as it meant my parents wouldn’t allow me to travel to Syria; it turned out to be a huge lesson in disguise.

Unlike most people I’ve encountered, I struggled with an identity. As an Arab and a Syrian, I grew up in a small middle class English town since my early years. I was never surrounded by Arabs nor did I speak Arabic as fluently as I would like despite understanding it completely. I never had an Arab accent nor do I ‘look’ like an Arab. But I’m an ‘outsider’. I’m an outsider despite being schooled here all my life. I’m an ‘outsider’ despite having a English accent. I’m an ‘outsider’ despite volunteering to put something good back into society. I’m an ‘outsider’ despite feeling English and British. As an ‘outsider’, I should “go back to where I come from” as some kindly put it.

Summer vacations were spent in Syria for as long as I can remember. I’ve always held a connection to the country and each year I would miss the atmosphere. But I never felt that I truly belonged. Again, I felt like an outsider but for more obvious reasons. Reasons such as my accent and my Arabic proficiency, or lack of it I should say, as well as how I dressed.

Many will probably have not heard of Syria. Syria, with a population of 23 million, lies between Turkey and Jordan, as well as bordering Lebanon, Israel and Iraq. It’s a central Arab country whether in culture or in politics. In March, a number of events became a spark that catalysed into the beginning of an uprising; an uprising that eventually demanded for the fall of the president, Bashar Al-Assad, who inherited rule from his late father in 2000, who reigned for 29 years up until his death.

For days, I read all the news I could gather on Syria. Security forces would shoot at peaceful protesters who took to the streets of Syria to demand dignity, free speech, release of political detainees, the end of emergency laws and an end of human rights abuses. The Syrian ‘government’ however manufactured ‘conspiracies’ to undermine the protests. Syrian officials initially claimed that ‘Islamic extremists’ are to blame for the events. Over time it became ‘armed gangs’ and ‘terrorists’ funded by the west and serving Zionist interests, are conspiring a plot against Syria, in order to cause chaos and instability in the Middle East.

During this time, I became involved. What started as an interest, turned into an obligation. I began to collate information together and then raise awareness of events. My mind was fixated on Syria; a topic that dominated my world where I felt I had to talk about it non-stop. It also dominated my social networking sites. Weeks later though , a call from my uncle tells me to “tone it down,” that my actions have severe consequences attached; if I keep going I will be detained upon arrival at Damascus airport by security forces. I will be tortured though how long I’ll be detained for and will the torture lead to my death would be the only uncertainties.

For the first time in my life, I was, and still am to an extent, in fear beyond what I’ve ever experienced. I saw videos emerge of bodies tortured to death; they didn’t even spare 13 year old boys, where their bodies were severely mutilated. I deleted everything online, making sure all traces of evidence were gone. Though this time a different kind of heavy feeling set in my stomach; I’m turning into a hypocrite who would outwardly ask for a better world to live in but doing nothing to achieve it.

What hit home for me was the death of Ibrahim Qaloush, a poet who voiced his opinions, in the city of Hama. His own chants and slogans became revolutionary anthems across Syria. Protests in Hama brought hundreds of thousands of Syrians, all of whom were calling for the downfall of the regime. Videos of Ibrahim Qaloush’s protests went viral around the world, and brought smiles to every Syrian watching until he was found dead by a river bank. Security forces severely cut his throat; a powerful symbolic move for chanting out his lyrics at protests. Am I capable to overlook these crimes?

The Syrian uprising has brought me my identity. It brought me the feeling of belonging and an obligation to help. It made me question my character on honesty and courage. It made me question what right and wrong is, and the shades in-between. Ultimately, it provided me with a greater identity; I feel more Syrian and Arab than I ever felt before. I feel passionate about Syria and I’m proud to be from among a people who are against all odds to succeed. Every night, my dreams take me to the streets of Syria, where I long to be right now, where I can stand by my fellow Syrians and chant “Yalla irhal ya Bashar”; “Leave Bashar”.