Writing from Aleppo to exile and back again
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 →
If Jesus were to come to us today we would spend a long time wondering about the scarf covering Mary’s head; we would close our doors in the face of the poor man and his pregnant wife. It would be from our houses that Jesus would be turned away, and we the ones who cause him to be born in a cave.
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 →
ABOUT THE PROJECT Global Voices commissioned Syrian blogger and activist Marcell Shehwaro to write stories in Arabic of life in war-torn Aleppo in the beginning of 2014. Here we present three of the 12 stories, translated into English by Global Voices members, and published after June 15, 2014. The series ran through September 26, 2014,... 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 →
“I should have cried.” This is the only thing that goes through my head over and over again when I remember the little girl that was torn into pieces. I don't know anything about her, and from her remains I couldn’t guess her age, but I do remember how I stood there, distraught. I didn't... Continue Reading →
Marcelle Shehwaro 