Writing from Aleppo to exile and back again
I wasn’t sure if I could write about Ukraine as a Syrian who survived barrel bomb attacks on my hometown Aleppo. I don’t know how to write about the Russian invasion of Ukraine as a woman whose city could be destroyed, besieged, and whose people could be exiled as a result of the Russian intervention... Continue Reading →
Throughout my childhood, and until I came of age, there was no diversity among my group of friends: not a single Muslim in a city whose Muslim population runs into the millions, no Kurds, no Armenian Christians. So I grew up in the box, with few opportunities to meet anyone outside its confines. This was... Continue Reading →
To all those who will inhabit the places we left…. We once had a revolution there. I never resided in those neighborhoods, but was a visitor, a stranger, with all my little rituals, such as greeting the neighbor on the staircase in the morning, my frantic searches for products that were not customarily sold there,... Continue Reading →
Immediately after we’d finished discussing the challenges facing Aleppo in front of a large audience I was asked by a friend of mine, a leading figure in the Syrian civil society movement, how I was able to appear so unmoved, without anger or emotion, even when talking about the most painful experiences of my life... Continue Reading →
I read Max Blumenthal’s article, which aims to open our eyes to the dangerous hidden reality behind The Syria Campaign. I read it over and over and all I felt was a combination of patronisation and humiliation in detail after detail… Beginning with the focus on who took the photo of Omran and who published... Continue Reading →
Dear Officer, I am lucky to have a Syrian passport. You see, if it weren’t for this passport, random selection wouldn’t have chosen me, randomly and coincidentally, for investigation in all airports I’ve ever been through. If it weren’t for my Syrian passport I would have passed through like all the rest, or, to be... Continue Reading →
In the beginning I was beautiful, as I was filled only with the powerful beauty of the revolution, with the pure belief that we were here to make a change and that hatred could never be a way to make change; and that we had no alternative but to be patient and wait for the... Continue Reading →
Am I capable of killing? If somebody had asked me this question five years ago, being a person who used to decorate her desk with Jesus’ advice to Peter—“Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword”—I would probably have swiftly, and naively, answered: “Impossible! I... Continue Reading →
Christmas used to have a special meaning in my family, full of spiritual and familial rituals. As children, my sister Leila and I used to take turns throughout the night watching out for Santa Claus, waiting to catch him “in the act”. I cannot remember clearly when we realized it was a trick played by... Continue Reading →
I see my psychotherapist on a weekly basis, without any of the feelings of shame widespread in our society regarding this practice. But I have a barrel of guilt inside me that is wearing away what is left of the love of life in my heart. Wednesday at noon is the time I steal away... Continue Reading →
Marcelle Shehwaro 