Raqqa

On Day 4 in Gaziantep I had a chance to turn on the TV after a long day and the top headline is that the prick from that terrorist group was killed. When they flashed a map to show where he was, it showed a spot in Syria that 4 days ago would have meant nothing to me. Now, fully immersed in learning about the conflict in Syria from Syrians living it here on the border, I know about Raqqa. I know that Medya, my lovely, lovely coordinator, who is working 24/7 to set us up with all of our meetings and tirelessly and graciously escorting us to and fro, is from Raqqa. She told me that Raqqa was known in Syria as a place where all types of Syrians: Arabs, Alawites, Sunni, Shi'a, Kurds, etc. lived in relative peace before the Revolution, but ran to their corners and built up walls to keep each other out once the fighting started.

We don’t hear these stories. This place is now on the map because of this jerk and his evil associates. We have heard that the Russians are bombing opposition forces and we talk about the proxy war and geopolitics. But we don’t talk about the young Syrian boys who want to run from refugee camps back into the hellscape of Syria and risk their lives to fight the Russians. Imagine these young boys with fists and rocks in the air, fighting the Goliath, but almost certainly without the biblical ending. We hear that women are absent from the political negotiations, but we don’t hear Masa’s story. Hers is that of many women, who were on the frontlines of the revolution when it began, protesting and supporting the fight, but returned home to be met by disdain and divorce from their husbands for neglecting their household responsibilities.

I have always been concerned about this conflict, especially because of my dear friend Hala. But, as always, when you meet the people who are directly suffering and hear the stories that aren’t sexy enough for the news, your heart and mind are overwhelmed. The most mind-blowing thing that I struggle to articulate here, and in so many other places I have traveled, is that these people are me. They love and hate like me. They take taxis, buy diapers and drink coffee like me. They are flesh and blood like me. They do not deserve this tormented existence of war.