When the Syrian revolution began, just as the rest of revolutions swept across the Arab world, I criticized them
Many of us in Algeria knew too well the hidden hand of outside powers, masquerading as allies of freedom and democracy.
We all had the scars of their "help", our dreams of stronger nations were turned into fractured realities in the 80s to the 90s. Democracy, they claimed, but only on their terms.
So we knew any leader born of chaos they create would be but a puppet, their strings pulled for oil, gas, uranium..whatever they might desire.
The cost for Syria has been terrifying and unimaginable , in comparison to what happened to us in the 90s..So many lives lost, men, women, and children slaughtered every single minute sacrificed for ideology and power.
Others escaped, leaving behind their homes, their histories, and the dust of their ancestors.. I so much despised Assad for clinging to his throne and refusing to allow a less bloody change. He chose to engage war. A war he knew no one could truly win, and in doing so, condemned his people to endless suffering and traumas.
Over the years, many Syrians ,and other displaced nationalities from conflict zones , have worked for me, lived in my land, shared their stories with me, ate my foods, planted trees with me, wore my clothes, literally walked in my shoes, became family , became loved ones, watched them get married, watched them graduate, find professions..I watched them find a resemblance of peace..Despite their pain, most are remarkably gentle, unlike me. There is a sweetness within them the war could not extinguish. They are like Damascus roses growing from the ruins.
And because of this very sweetness I worry they will fall for illusions again, promises glittering while concealing traps. The world did not change at all. Their home is not their home. The same outside forces that betrayed them still rule pretending to be good. I am not sure things will ever be okay until those who benefit and create these conflicts began to face retributions of their own.
We all had the scars of their "help", our dreams of stronger nations were turned into fractured realities in the 80s to the 90s. Democracy, they claimed, but only on their terms.
So we knew any leader born of chaos they create would be but a puppet, their strings pulled for oil, gas, uranium..whatever they might desire.
The cost for Syria has been terrifying and unimaginable , in comparison to what happened to us in the 90s..So many lives lost, men, women, and children slaughtered every single minute sacrificed for ideology and power.
Others escaped, leaving behind their homes, their histories, and the dust of their ancestors.. I so much despised Assad for clinging to his throne and refusing to allow a less bloody change. He chose to engage war. A war he knew no one could truly win, and in doing so, condemned his people to endless suffering and traumas.
Over the years, many Syrians ,and other displaced nationalities from conflict zones , have worked for me, lived in my land, shared their stories with me, ate my foods, planted trees with me, wore my clothes, literally walked in my shoes, became family , became loved ones, watched them get married, watched them graduate, find professions..I watched them find a resemblance of peace..Despite their pain, most are remarkably gentle, unlike me. There is a sweetness within them the war could not extinguish. They are like Damascus roses growing from the ruins.
And because of this very sweetness I worry they will fall for illusions again, promises glittering while concealing traps. The world did not change at all. Their home is not their home. The same outside forces that betrayed them still rule pretending to be good. I am not sure things will ever be okay until those who benefit and create these conflicts began to face retributions of their own.
