Young Syrians' deep sense of alienation
The question about our dreams was repeated at the beginning of every academic year, teachers trying to break the ice by asking about our dreams, aspirations and what we wanted to do when we grew up. The answers were as you might expect.
Some of us wanted to become doctors. After all, medicine is associated with prestige and social status in Syria, not to mention being a good source of income. Others wanted to become engineers, carpenters or blacksmiths, or even employees in beauty salons. Travelling was out of the question. The educational system in Syria prepares students to work inside the country rather than abroad.
There is no focus on other languages, computer skills, or scientific training that might prepare students to enter the job market. On the contrary, the educational system directs us towards staying in Syria and assuming specific roles in various state establishments. So, travel was not an option, nor was it planned for, since the reality we lived in did not permit it.
When the Syrian revolution started, workers and university students were a significant presence at the demonstrations. Back then, they formed the vast majority. Many took to the streets calling for freedom, dignity and a decent life – an attempt to protect our souls from humiliation and decay.
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Alienation at home
I was only a child at the time, but I witnessed what was happening on a daily basis. As time passed, we realised things were deteriorating. We were met with violence, beating, arrests, economic sanctions, and other problems that started wresting control of what was left of our dreams.
Around this time, I began hearing about people who had left for other countries, in the hope that the remnants of our souls might enjoy a welcome there. This was where the journey of loss began: saying goodbye to people we loved became habitual, customary. Whenever we learnt of a relative planning to migrate, we would rush into their laps in fear, pleading with them not to forget us. We would gather together, offering small lightweight presents suitable for the dangerous journey of migration. With our gifts, we engraved a memory on the heart and mind of the traveller – 'We are still here. We are still suffering and there is still a place for dreams in our minds'.
Today, twelve years after the outbreak of the Syrian civil war, we – those did not manage to escape – have arguably become more expatriated than our absent friends. When the sun rises in Syria, I am painfully reminded that those with whom I used to share my mornings have gone and I weep. Walking the streets of my city, the place I grew up and once knew like the back of my hand, I don't recognise people's faces. I feel lonely, foreign and far away.
Confronted with problems that rear up in my path, I have no-one with whom to share. Living in a theatre of war and coming to terms with what is happening around you on your own is one of the hardest human feelings an individual can face. It is expatriation and estrangement at an almost visceral level. You feel isolated from your surroundings, you believe you are the only one having such thoughts, you are overcome by momentary insanity, and then you remember that such emotions are normal, amid insane and brutal circumstances.
#NoLostGeneration aims to provide better opportunities for #Syria’s youth https://t.co/GlTUOJDAW0 @UNICEFmena pic.twitter.com/yHuOvsycUD
— UNICEF (@UNICEF) February 3, 2016
Our circumstances: they are indeed the hardest thing those of us trapped in Syria have to deal with. We drown in discussions about the poor state of our finances, get riled up about universities trying to expel us on a daily basis, or about the Syrian health system that is robbing us of years of life, thanks to its inability to treat the transmissible diseases that spread during the conflict, such as cholera, tuberculosis, brucellosis and others.
We die a thousand times a day before returning exhausted to our beds, wishing it would all just end. Engrossed in our everyday life problems and our inability to meet basic human needs, we forget to talk about our fatigued souls and mental troubles, saturated as they are with loss, poverty and humiliation. Tons of harsh feelings mount up, distracting our minds and exhausting what is left of us.
Every day, we search for ways to travel abroad – our sole chance of salvation from this mass grave. In this respect, Syrian young people are all the same. I am constantly pursuing ways of escape, via Facebook groups, calling friends abroad, or even those who work in travel agencies, despite knowing they will devour my bones by playing on the travel dream, selling illusions and fake news. Yet, we cannot help it: travelling is the only option for us to lead a normal life, like other people.
Migration – the only horizon
I cannot talk about migration without shedding light on its positive aspects. I rejoice when I hear that a friend has escaped, that they can now focus on what they actually love and dream of. Every day, history records a young Syrian – male or female – who has managed to overcome all that has happened to embark on the road towards their desired goals.
No doubt, the most important thing this youth migration has produced is the creation of a solidarity space – a space the countries that ditched us cannot accommodate, a space undefined by borders. We have found many ways to get around the economic situation that threatens our lives day in, day out. Financial associations managed by a group of Syrians have been established. These friends raise donations on a weekly basis, which they then send into the country to pull us out of this vortex of hunger and fear.
At the same time, they provide all types of much-needed mental and spiritual support, helpful in combatting the huge internal expatriation we feel towards our country Syria. Syrians abroad have seen what we dream of and believe that the temporary solution of travelling is the only choice.
They have created Facebook pages to answer our questions about travelling. They provide all possible assistance when it comes to rescuing individuals, such as helping with those family reunion procedures that allow Syrians abroad to fetch their families, as well as organising the sponsorship of individuals who have just left Syria.
I believe that the solidarity resulting from migration is unique. In the future, we will use it as a foundation for the basics and values of our revolution. This solidarity is strong evidence that we stand side by side, and that despite our differences, we belong to the same class and our solidarity is our real saviour.
Today, though we are scattered all over the world, I listen to Rasha Rizq’s song that says: "your voices fill the place... laughing, debating, and conversing". I recall our past together, the memories we created in every corner of the city, and I can say that I miss every moment we lived together. This makes me believe that migration is an option for personal survival. However, our only solution is striving for what we used to dream of – striving for freedom and dignity for the Syrian people.
Jenan Aljundi