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Photo: Taylor Luck.
“The Fardous Bookstore, once under restrictions imposed by the former Assad regime,” says Taylor Luck of the Christian Science Monitor, “now sells previously banned books to eager readers.”

Books are stronger than tyrants. We hold onto that thought. We know from both history and the belief of poets that the time of tyrants has an end. I think Shelley says it best.

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
“Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
“Nothing beside remains.”

If you don’t see the downfall of the pedestal in your own country at the moment, look toward Syria. Syrians have reason to believe that new tyrants won’t be replacing the hated Assad anytime soon.

After all, books are not being banned by the revolutionary government.

“Post-revolution Syria is becoming a page-turner’s paradise,” wrote Taylor Luck at the Christian Science Monitor recently.

“After years of being banned by the former regime, dozens of long sought-after books are flooding stores across Syria, literally spilling onto the streets. An epicenter of this new literary freedom is the so-called ‘bookshop alley’ in the Halbouni neighborhood of Damascus, a leafy street lined by two dozen bookshops and printers, big and small.

“It is here that Radwan Sharqawi runs the Fardous Bookstore, a small corner shop that his family has owned since 1920. The contrast between today’s Syria and the long period of Assad family rule is like night and day, he says.

“ ‘Before, we had daily interrogations by the security services,’ Mr. Sharqawi says. ‘Now everything is permitted, nothing is banned. Now is a golden era for books!’

For decades, any book written by an intellectual or an artist who had expressed opposition to the Assad regime – or who simply did not vocally toe the official line – was banned.

“So, too, were books that touched on Syrian history from any perspective other than the ruling Baath Party’s revisionist version. Titles on the history of the Israeli-Arab conflict, or anything on the 2011 Arab Spring uprisings, were contraband.

“Islamic thinkers such as Ibn Taymiyya, the influential medieval Sunni jurist and scholar, were banned. So, too, were books by Brotherhood-aligned clerics. … Even a book as basic as a tafsīr, an annotated Quran with explanations and context, was banned, for fear it might contradict the Assad government’s tightly controlled Islamic authorities.

“ ‘These are texts about religion and God, not politics,’ says Abdulkader al-Sarooji, owner of the Ibn Al Qayem bookshop, as a customer browses shelves of leather-bound Islamic books, their titles engraved in decorative golden calligraphy. …

“As soon as the regime fell, Mr. Sarooji began importing books from Turkey and northern Syria to Damascus. Syrians are rushing to snatch up banned titles. …

“ ‘There is demand for banned books because people feel there is a gap in their knowledge, even in their religious knowledge,’ says Mr. Sarooji.

“The most dangerous texts during the Assad era – and the books in highest demand now – are works of literary fiction, titles that draw on the real experiences of Syrians who spent time in jail and suffered abuse at the hands of the regime. The most fiercely banned book was Bayt Khalti, by Ahmed al-Amri, which details the horrors faced by women in the notorious Sednaya prison.

“Now Bayt Khalti is prominently displayed on bookshelves and vendors’ roadside stands across Damascus – in both legitimate editions and blurry knockoffs that feed the high demand.

“ ‘This book was the most dangerous one,’ street-side book vendor Hussein Mohammed says as he waves a copy of Bayt Khalti. ‘If they caught you with this, you were a goner.’

“Another popular banned text, Al Qoqaa, or The Cochlea, details a Christian Syrian’s time in Mr. Assad’s prisons.

“Eyad, a young Damascene, purchased a book of fiction from Mr. Mohammed after spending an hour browsing in the bookshop alley. ‘There are a lot of books that I have wanted to read for years,’ he says.”

More at the Monitor, here.

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Photo: Walaa Buaidani.
Mona Araghili showcases aghabani embroidery at the Threads of Hope exhibition in Damascus, Syria. Post-Assad, she sees an opportunity for serious investment in traditional crafts.

“Threads of Hope” is a phrase that seems to cover a lot of what is going on in the world. Hopes may be hanging by threads, but every day they can strengthen. In today’s article from the Christian Science Monitor, the words are applied to the reemergence of traditional Syrian embroidery after the fall of the Assad regime.

Dominique Soguel writes, “By the time Ameera al-Hammouri was 10, her hands were dancing across the taut fabric beneath her grandmother’s aghabani embroidery machine. She was too short to sit, so she stood, working the foot pedal to coax floral patterns from metallic thread and her own memory.

“Decades later, in a rundown apartment building on the outskirts of Damascus, her machine now runs on an erratic supply of electricity. The building’s elevator no longer works and many of its windows are broken, but inside the sanctity of Ms. Hammouri’s spotless home, the artistry lives on. ‘Working on the embroidery machine for me is like drawing on paper,’ she says. … ‘Whatever I imagine, I bring to life with my hands.’

“Aghabani embroidery originated in Damascus more than 150 years ago, blending Ottoman, Arabic, and Persian design influences. Traditionally, patterns were hand-printed in Damascus onto fabrics that were then sent to Douma, about 8 miles from the capital, where women embroidered them at home. Their work, displayed on tablecloths and other household items, became a hallmark of Syrian hospitality.

“Today, the survival – indeed, the revival – of this craft tradition rests in the hands of women from Douma, a city synonymous with both resistance and ruin. The women behind these works are not only artisans. They are mothers, widows, and survivors of siege, displacement, and economic collapse.

“Ms. Hammouri herself endured all of it. Her husband and eldest son were arrested in 2012 and never returned. Douma was subjected to a five-year siege, when government forces surrounded the city, cutting it off from food, medicine, and fuel. Ms. Hammouri’s house was destroyed. As the bombs fell, she moved her children from house to house, basement to basement.

“The siege ended in 2018. With no income and no husband, Ms. Hammouri turned to the one thing that had always grounded her: her original aghabani machine, bought in 1988 with money she scraped together by selling her wedding gold and other treasures. It still stands in a corner of her bedroom, alongside a newer model.

“ ‘I talk to this machine,’ confides Ms. Hammouri, who is known in the community as Umm Meriee. ‘It holds my secrets. I’ve cried over it.’

“At first, she worked quietly from home, taking orders from traders who remembered her family’s reputation and bought pieces for export. Over time, she began training other women.

“If Syria’s current political opening brings more trade and tourism, she says, crafts like aghabani could once again become a source of stable income rather than just a means of survival.

“Now, twice a week, her apartment fills with the chatter and laughter of industrious women. … This gathering of women is not a formal enterprise. There is no signboard or registration, no website to market their work. But family reputations endure in a country where word of mouth is the norm.

“ ‘They know my name in the market,’ says Umm Meriee, recalling how she revived ties with shopkeepers in the Al-Hariqa market, in Damascus’ old city, because her aunts and grandmother had put the family name on the map. …

“For Mona al-Masri, a Tuesday regular, embroidery is her identity. … While her colorful pieces earn heartfelt ‘wows’ from her daughters, it is next to impossible to eke a living from this craft. In a good week, working three hours a day in between bouts of housework, Ms. Masri earns just over $6. … Despite the skill and time aghabani requires – a single detailed motif can take hours, and a full tablecloth might take a week or more to complete – handmade aghabani cannot compete with cheaper, machine-made imitations that dominate the local market, such as those imported from China.

“ ‘Right now, aghabani has no future,’ says Ms. Masri. But with government support, she feels that future could ‘be a very bright one.’

“Mona Araghili shares that optimism. … More than a decade ago, Ms. Araghili set up Threads of Hope – Aghabani with little more than a social media page and materials she borrowed from friends. With her college friend Basheera Baghdadi, who had grown up in Douma, she smuggled fabric and thread into the besieged city, using tunnels and roundabout routes through the countryside. …

“Ms. Araghili never shut down her group’s Facebook page, she says. ‘I always hoped that we could restart someday.’ ”

More at the Monitor, here.

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Photo: Shirin Jaafari/The World.
Moayyed al-Kharrat, whose family has been performing the Sema in Syria for decades, described the dance as a sort of prayer.

As recently as June, when radio show The World filed this story about whirling dervishes, hope seemed to be the main emotion in Syria. The brutal Assad regime was gone, and victorious rebels were promising diversity and justice. Today sectarian violence has erupted.

But I think there are still reasons for hope — and for diverse groups to flourish. Like the Sufis.

This post shares what Shirin Jaafari wrote about the famous Sufi dance and the performers’ hopes.

“In the heart of Damascus, a group of men and boys dressed in long, white robes and tall headpieces stood in a semicircle. Their chants filled the courtyard of a traditional Damascene house that was turned into a hotel. …

“As the melody built up momentum, several of the men and boys began to twirl, their white skirts flaring out like blooming flowers. The dancers’ synchronized rotations make them trance-like, seemingly detached from everything around them.

“The al-Kharrats say they are the only family in Syria who have continuously performed the Sema, as the dance is known. It was introduced to the country in the 14th century and first popularized by the Persian poet Rumi in Turkey.

“Through years of war, repression and threats from extremist groups like ISIS, the family has still been able to pass the ritual on to younger generations.

Now, they say they are hopeful about new opportunities under the new Syrian government.

“Moayyed al-Kharrat, one of the two brothers who oversee the dancers, said their great-uncle learned the Sufi dance and taught it to others in the family. …

“ ‘The spinning represents pilgrims moving around the Kaaba in Mecca,’ Kharrat said, referring to the ritual performed by Muslims. ‘It’s also reminiscent of the planets moving around the sun.’

‘During the ritual, one hand is extended upward, palm facing the sky, he went on to explain, which symbolizes receiving divine blessing. The other one is turned downward, palm facing the earth, to pass the blessings to the world.

“Mahmoud al-Kharrat learned the Sema when he was 4 years old. He said that keeping the tradition alive in Syria hasn’t been easy.

“Sufism is a mystical branch of Islam focused on spiritual closeness to God. It has long faced suspicion from extremists, who consider Sufis to be non-believers. ISIS fighters have attacked their shrines and killed and imprisoned the descendants of the saints and personalities they represent.

“The regime of ousted President Bashar al-Assad didn’t prohibit the Kharrat family from performing, the brothers said. But it did make it difficult for them to get the right permissions. The Assad regime used the arts to paint a more positive image of itself to the world, they explained. For example, when foreign dignitaries visited, they asked the family to perform for them.

“As the civil war ravaged Syria, countries stopped issuing visas for Syrians to travel. The family found it almost impossible to take its performances to international audiences as it had done before. One time, they managed to go to the US, but upon returning, Mahmoud was questioned by a border guard about why he hadn’t yet completed Syria’s mandatory military service, which all men had to complete at the time.

“Mahmoud estimated that he ended up paying around $7,000 in bribes so he wouldn’t get sent to the frontlines. …

“At the Damascene home-turned-hotel, the first part of the performance wrapped up, and the two brothers discussed with the younger members what they could improve on. …

“After some discussion, they got ready for the next part of the performance — their long, white skirts sweeping the ground as they moved around.

“ ‘The best way to keep this tradition alive,’ Moayad al-Kharrat explained, ‘is to pass it on to the younger generation [making] sure they learn the chants, and the full meaning of what this dance represents.’ …

“ ‘When I dance, I feel like I’m flying,’ Mahmoud added. ‘I feel like a child who has just been given a birthday present.’ ”

More at The World, here.

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Photo: Ghiath AlHaddad Ayoub/The World.
Comedy is having a moment in Syria as a new wave of artists tests the limits of expression under a new government.

Syria suffered many years of extreme oppression, so the recent overthrow of the Assad government brought hope for change. That doesn’t mean everything is fine, as recent fighting with the Druze ethnic group has shown. Still, it’s time to celebrate any encouraging baby steps.

Shirin Jaafari reports at PRI‘s The World about something that hasn’t been heard in Syria for a long time.

“As the sun set over central Damascus, laughter spilled out from the Karma Café. Inside, a young crowd gathered — some in headscarves, others without. But all were ready to experience stand-up comedy in a free Syria.

“Comedy is having a moment in the country.

“With the fall of the Assad regime, a new wave of artists is testing the limits of expression. Among them is Styria, a stand-up troupe whose name fuses Syria with hysteria, a nod to the absurdity and pain of living under dictatorship. …

“Sharif Homsi, founder of the group, [started] writing comedy long before it was safe. Living under a regime that silenced dissent, he described the past as a kind of suspended state: ‘You’re not allowed to die, but you’re not allowed to live.’

“In 2016, he left for Dubai, trained with Arab comedians, and later returned to his homeland to form Styria. Even then, performing comedy felt dangerous.

“ ‘One wrong word and someone could report you,’ Homsi recalled. ‘You could disappear in a blink.’

“So, the group played it smart, he said, avoiding politics, tiptoeing around religion and carefully crafting jokes about sex and social taboos. But now, with the old red lines shifting, they’re pushing the envelope further.

“At the cafe in Damascus, Homsi took the mic, greeting the audience with humor and ease. His jokes, often about his own frugality or his dad’s job as a dog walker, sparked laughter and a sense of connection. But he didn’t shy away from sharper edges, even referencing the extremist past of Syria’s new leader, Ahmad al-Sharaa. …

“Fellow comedian Ammar Daba, who returned after the regime fell, said the challenge now is not just legal limits, but social ones.

“ ‘It’s exciting and confusing. I don’t know where the lines are,’ he said. 

But Daba thinks comedians have a role to play in this new environment.

“ ‘It is our time, as stand-up comedians, to be the pioneers,’ he said, ‘to tell people that “yeah, you can talk about that! You can talk about that outside of your private rooms and homes. You can say whatever you want even on the streets.” ‘

“The night’s only woman performer, Mary Obaid (aka Meme), steered away from politics, instead poking fun at her own life and body image.

“ ‘Every problem, when spoken out loud, becomes smaller,’ Obaid said. ‘Comedy helps us do that.’

“After the show, a man who only gave his first name, Ibrahim, reflected on the performance.

“ ‘This is what we need here. We need to communicate our fears, our taboos, in a healthy way,’ he said. ‘And this is the best way to discuss those really difficult issues.’

“The crowd spilled into the Damascus night, still laughing and exchanging numbers.

“For Sharif Homsi, the founder of Styria, this is the power of comedy. It can create moments of relief and respite, and it can start conversations that otherwise would not take place.

“ ‘Fifty, sixty people to a hundred sharing a room, laughing about similar things. … If they can laugh together, they can live together.’

“Syrians have been divided for so long, he added. ‘It’s time for that to end.’ ”

More at The World, here.

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Photo: Dominique Soguel.
Rua, a Damascus university student, poses for a photo wrapped in the Syrian flag while celebrating the anniversary of the revolution that led to the toppling of Bashar al-Assad, in Damascus, Syria, March 15, 2025.

Although we can’t know where Syria is headed in the long run — or how many powerful countries will interfere with what everyday people want — I think we’re allowed a moment of hope at this this time. Certainly, that is what many astonished Syrians felt when the regime of the tyrant Bashar al-Assad was overthrown in a “sudden” uprising that was many years in the making.

Dominique Sequol of the Christian Science Monitor wrote an article in March about what Syrians were feeling. While it focuses on a new freedom to worship, worship is only one example of the change there.

“Alaa al-Saadi, like many Syrian men of his generation,” she says, “once fought to overthrow longtime dictator Bashar al-Assad. Now Mr. Saadi is savoring his first ‘free’ Ramadan in his hometown of Qaboun, a low-income neighborhood and former rebel stronghold on the outskirts of Damascus.

“At sunset, when Muslims rush home to break the fast with the iftar meal, the business owner stands on a street corner pouring out licorice juice from a giant metal pot. …

“Damascus is observing its first Ramadan since the fall of Mr. Assad, who cast himself as a protector of Syria’s many minorities while ruling them all with an iron fist. The Muslim holy month – one of heightened spirituality, and marked by the pursuit of good deeds to help those in need – is observed in Syria and across the Middle East.

“Mr. Saadi, who spent several years in Libya before returning to Syria in 2019, recalls hiding during previous Ramadans to avoid being conscripted into the Syrian army. Now, he is grateful to be in the position to help his community. …

“Families displaced by the conflict are trickling back to Qaboun, although much of it remains reduced to rubble after years of siege and bombardment.

“ ‘This Ramadan, our loved ones have returned,’ says Mr. Saadi, fielding greetings outside his car-painting workshop. ‘We are reunited. Friends, loved ones, and young men are all back. Things will gradually improve.’

“Indeed, Damascus seems to be inching toward greater functionality, with uniformed traffic police on the streets and a steadier electricity supply. The mood in the capital is one of cautious optimism under President Ahmed al-Sharaa, who broke ties with Al Qaeda and led the military effort that toppled Mr. Assad in December.  

“This has been a month of prayer but also mixed-gender celebrations that continue late into the night under the glitter of Ramadan light installations. Women in all kinds of Islamic dress – from the niqab to the veil – converged on central Ommayad Square for the March 15 marking of the anniversary of the 2011 Arab Spring-inspired revolution. So did women with no veil. …

“There has been no shortage of individual and collective volunteer efforts inspired by the month of fasting.

“In Douma, another war-ravaged suburb of Damascus, Osama Massaya leads the volunteer group Mulham. Boasting 40 participants, age 14 and up, it focuses on cleaning mosques and distributing meals to worshipers. Such ideas are not new – but the possibility of executing them this freely is.

“In 2024, Mr. Massaya, a history student at Damascus University, tried to obtain a license for a volunteer team to clean up mosques. The request never received the green light from the Ministry of the Endowment. ‘At the time, there was no interest in mosques,’ he explains.

“ ‘The mosques were very neglected,’ adds Mr. Massaya, whose team has helped to clean up a handful in Douma already. …

“The Mulham volunteers aim to distribute 4,000 meals throughout Ramadan. Such efforts are financed by individual donations made by local residents, including some who resettled in Europe and the Middle East during the war and remain abroad. Most donations – including a recent batch of 300 kilograms (660 pounds) of dates – are made anonymously. …

“The activities of mosques were closely monitored in the past. In 2011, they were a springboard for post-Friday prayer protests against the Syrian regime, and long were treated as potential hubs of dissent.

“Rua, a university student in Damascus who gave only one name and whose father died in the notorious Sadnaya prison, reports a similar newfound sense of freedom.

“ ‘It’s the difference between day and night,’ she says of this Ramadan, recalling past years when ‘people prayed quietly and left mosques quickly,’ to avoid regime informants.” More at the Monitor, here.

We don’t choose what country we are born into, and perhaps watching the news since 2011, many of us were glad we weren’t born in a country like Syria. But I think that to witness such a moment of hope after despair is something precious.

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Photo: Alexandra Corcode.
Mohamad searching for memories in a suitcase in Damascus. Their apartment was a stage — until the Assad government arrested them.

In today’s post, we learn more about how people living under repressive regimes keep culture and freedom going.

Andrei Popoviciu writes at the Guardian, “Thick layers of dust shimmer in sunlight as Mohamad and Ahmad Malas sift through old belongings in their Damascus apartment, abandoned for 14 years. …

“On one of the walls portraits of their father and one of their brothers, who have died, hang frozen in time. There’s no electricity so they use their phone torches to light their way as they collect personal artifacts they long forgot about.

“ ‘Looking around brings back so many memories,’ Mohamad says. ‘It’s painful.’

“For the 41-year-old brothers, returning to their flat is bittersweet. Their apartment was more than just a home. It was once a stage, a space where they performed original theatre plays away from the watchful eye of the Bashar al-Assad regime, which tightly controlled and censored artistic expression. In the two years before they left Syria, they performed more than 200 plays in their home.

“But their lives changed in 2011 when they were arrested for participating in the popular movement that started on the heels of the Arab spring and sought to remove Assad from power. Ahmad was wanted by the political police for sharing a revolutionary magazine with a friend, so the day security forces came knocking he fled immediately. Mohamad stayed behind to gather a few belongings before they escaped to Lebanon.

“Life there was uncertain, with Syrians facing the constant threat of deportation. Egypt offered brief stability, despite them feeling they could not continue their work as actors. Europe was where they felt they could freely perform with no censorship or threat. In 2013, they arrived in France as asylum seekers and speaking no French.

“Their first year in France was a struggle, spent moving from city to city, unable to work and battling to learn the language. Eventually, they were granted asylum and settled in Reims, in the country’s north-east. There, they rebuilt their acting careers, landing roles in theatre plays, films, and television.

“As they found their footing, they wrote and performed a play, The Two Refugees, chronicling the experience of refugees in France and inspired by their story. The production was a success and gained international recognition, taking them from Iraq to Japan and Jordan, often with the support of French cultural institutions.

“ ‘France gave us security and a chance to continue our art in a free world,’ said Ahmad. …

“They never imagined they would return to Syria. But as rebel forces were taking city by city, advancing toward Damascus in late 2024, they closely followed events from afar. Mohamad was at a film festival in Jordan; Ahmad was in France.

“On the morning of 8 December, Mohamad sent Ahmad a video. It showed people celebrating in a Damascus square, waving the revolution’s green flag and singing slogans against Assad. Ahmad could hardly believe his eyes. A deep longing stirred within them both. Soon after, Mohamad traveled from Jordan, and Ahmad followed from France.

“ ‘It felt like a dream come true,’ said Mohamad of the moment they entered Syria. ‘We felt like we could fly, it was surreal to walk through the streets and not see Assad’s photos everywhere.’ …

“The brothers knew they had to bring their play home, so they started performing it across the country, from Aleppo in the north to the coastal city of Tartus. They were unsure how an audience that had never left would react to a story of exile.

“ ‘Everyone understood it,’ Mohamad said. ‘I get it now – because even though they never left, they felt trapped in their own country.’ “

More at the Guardian, here. No paywall. Nice pictures.

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Photo: Suzanne and John’s Mom.

This is my favorite version of the Christmas story. There may be more-accurate translations of the original, but none that sounds as lovely to me or has as many associations with my younger years, when we memorized Bible verses in school.

“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

“(And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

“And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

“And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)

“To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

“And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

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Photo: Nicole Tung for NPR.
Ibrahim Muslimani, 30, speaks to a class about a piece of music blending different eras and languages at the Nefes Foundation for Arts and Culture, which he cofounded in 2016, in Gaziantep, Turkey.

Today’s story is about how the arts can help victims of disasters get their bearings again.

As Fatma Tanis reported recently at National Public Radio (NPR), “When the powerful earthquake rocked her home in early February, 18-year-old Sidra Mohammed Ali woke up and thought of one thing: her music school — was it OK?

“The next day, as survivors all over southern Turkey were taking stock of the destruction and checking on loved ones, Mohammed Ali rushed to the school, the Nefes Foundation for Arts and Culture, and took a deep breath of relief when she saw it was still standing, only having sustained some minor damage.

‘This school is my sanctuary from the stress of life as a Syrian refugee in Turkey,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to it.’

“The Nefes Foundation was created by Syrian and Turkish musicians in the city of Gaziantep in 2016. They have group classes where they try to revive forgotten Syrian classics and integrate Turkish and Syrian cultures with music that the two have shared for centuries.

“The school also offers private music lessons on the piano and Middle Eastern instruments like the oud (a pear-shaped string instrument), the kanun (a plucked zither) and the ney (an end-blown flute).

“But more than six weeks after the Feb. 6 disaster, life in the earthquake zone is far from back to normal. The magnitude 7.8 earthquake killed more than 55,000 people in Turkey and neighboring Syria. It damaged or destroyed hundreds of thousands of buildings and left 1.5 million people without a home in Turkey alone, according to the United Nations.

“The school had not been able to resume classes until [March 2023], when only three students, out of many dozens, showed up to sing and play.

“Before the earthquake, the school would be packed on weekday evenings, with students ranging from ages 6 to 50, mostly Syrian, but some Turks attended as well.

“The classes are bilingual — in Turkish and Arabic. And that was especially important, according to Ibrahim Muslimani, a Syrian classical musician from Aleppo, who is the brains behind the organization.

” ‘Because some of the young Syrian kids have spent most of their lives here in Turkey and are more fluent in Turkish,’ he told NPR in November 2022. ‘We’re trying to preserve our Syrian cultural identity but also getting to know the Turkish identity through art.’

“Turkey hosts 4 million refugees, the largest number of any country, according to the U.N. refugee agency. The vast majority are Syrians who fled the civil war.

“In the early years of the Syrian civil war, which started in 2011, Turkey had a generous open-door policy toward Syrian refugees. But without broad integration initiatives by the Turkish government, life for many of the refugees has been difficult.

“More recently, politicians in Turkey who oppose President Recep Tayyip Erdogan have scapegoated refugees for the country’s economic problems, leading to a rise in discrimination and hateful attacks. …

“Mohammed Ali, who studies medicine at university and the kanun at the music school, said last weekend the school has been a lifeline for her. She has a bleak outlook on her future, and doesn’t believe that the people in Turkey will ever accept her existence in the country.

” ‘But anytime I have an upsetting encounter, my Turkish teachers and friends here comfort me,’ she said. …

“Rafeef Saffaf Oflazoglu fled Aleppo in 2013 after a near-death encounter. She comes from a family that’s passionate about classical Arabic music. To be able to continue exploring her love of music in Gaziantep was priceless, she said.

“The school also introduced her to centuries-old Turkish songs from the Ottoman archives, and old tunes that traveled from Istanbul to Aleppo. Studying those shared melodies made her feel closer to the culture in her new home.

“Having to go without classes after the earthquake was harder than she expected. ‘After maybe 10 days, I just figured out, like the thing I miss most is art,’ she said, even though she was living in her car at the time. ‘People under trauma react in different ways. It’s not just about singing, you know? It’s spiritual.’

“For Muslimani, the earthquake was a triggering reminder of how he had lost everything a decade ago in Aleppo. … The civil war in Syria destroyed much of the country’s cultural output, along with the lives of millions of Syrians. Muslimani has a mission to keep Aleppo’s traditional form of music, al-Qudud al-Halabiya, alive from Gaziantep.

“He and other Syrian artists also record music at Nefes. ‘I promised my teacher that I would immortalize those precious pieces in the best form possible,’ he said. ‘With the proper orchestra and the glory that they deserve.’ …

“The Nefes Foundation, which survived on donations and fees for private lessons, is now at serious risk of closing down, said Muslimani. They don’t have the funds to pay for next month’s rent. …

” ‘The mere thought of losing this place… it’s unbearable.’ “

More at NPR, here.

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Photo: Romy Arroyo Fernandez/NurPhoto/Rex/Shutterstock.
A giant puppet representing migrant children, Little Amal, has crossed Europe “on foot” from Syria. She is seen here in Antwerp, Belgium.

‘We’re not politicians, we’re saying to people: remember refugees are people. We hope that the memory of this odd, beautiful child walking through a village or city or over the mountains helps change the weather a little bit.’

I liked this visceral approach to helping those of us who have no need to migrate to feel the humanity of those who do.

Harriet Sherwood wrote about the idea at the Guardian in September, “The transcontinental odyssey of Little Amal will begin its final stage this week when the giant puppet of a nine-year-old Syrian girl reaches the shores of the UK after walking thousands of miles across Europe.

“Bells will chime and choirs will sing as Little Amal appears on the beach on Tuesday in Folkestone, Kent, after making the same cross-Channel journey that has been taken so far this year by more than 17,000 people seeking refuge from conflict, hunger and persecution. …

“ ‘It’s been challenging, it’s been difficult at times, but it’s also been amazing and incredible,’ said David Lan, one of the producers of The Walk, who has been ‘on this journey right from the beginning three years ago, and on every step of the way’ since Little Amal left Gaziantep near the Turkish-Syrian border at the end of July.

“The idea of Little Amal’s journey in search of her missing mother evolved from The Jungle, a highly acclaimed play about young refugees in a camp near Calais that opened at the Young Vic in London in 2017. The play’s producers, the Good Chance theatre company plus Lan, Stephen Daldry and Tracey Seaward, came up with the idea of taking its message of displacement, loss, dignity and hope to villages, towns and cities across Europe.

“Little Amal, whose name means hope in Arabic, was created by Handspring, the company that made the equine puppets in War Horse. She stands 3.5 metres (11ft 5in) tall and is operated by a team of eight puppeteers working shifts to control her legs, arms and facial features. …

“Since leaving Gaziantep, Little Amal and her entourage of about 25 people have navigated Covid border requirements to cross from Turkey to Greece and then through Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium and France to the UK.

“Along the way, they have taken part in concerts, parties and workshops. In Rome, Little Amal was blessed by Pope Francis. In many places, thousands of local people have walked with her through their town or village.

“But the most powerful connections had been with refugees, said Lan. ‘People who are marginalised, shoved to the side, see a representative of themselves or their children centre-stage and being celebrated. That’s very moving.’

“Only in one place has the welcome been less than warm. In Kalambaka, a village in northern Greece, which is home to ancient Greek Orthodox monasteries built into rocks, the village council decided not to receive a ‘Muslim doll from Syria,’ as the mayor described Amal. ‘It’s distressing, but it’s how the world is,’ said Lan.

“In London, Little Amal will celebrate her 10th birthday on Sunday 24 October at a party at the V&A. Children from all over the capital have been invited to join in musical performances and workshops. Yotam Ottolenghi is coordinating a team of chefs to create a giant birthday cake consisting of several hundred cupcakes in a rainbow of colours and flavours.”

More at the Guardian, here.

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Photos: Local Council of Daraya City
This image from 2014 shows young people who rescued books for a secret library in besieged Daraya, Syria.

As much as I love stories about good things happening in bad times, I always wonder when I post them whether the oasis in Kabul or the library in Syria is still going. Was it there in July when a news outlet’s article was written? Was it there yesterday? Sometimes I search the internet to find a follow-up on, say, the multireligion soccer team that was never expected to win. Sometimes I leave it to you.

Despite the ambiguity of this July 2019 comment from VOA, a book on the heroic library started by Syrian teens is still worth talking about:

[Abdul] Basit and his team of volunteers were among those who had to flee Daraya to northern Syria, leaving the library behind. Unable to take the books, the members tried to conceal the library by blocking its entrance with pieces of shattered concrete. Despite their efforts, Syrian government forces were able to find the makeshift library. The fate of thousands of books remains unclear, according to Basit, who has been unable to return home.

At The New York Times, Dunya Mikhail reviews Mike Thomson’s book Syria’s Secret Library: Reading and Redemption in a Town Under Siege.

“In a region that sways ‘on the palm of a genie,’ as the Arabic saying goes, where bullets and explosions are more familiar than bread, you would not expect people to read, let alone to risk their lives for the sake of books.

“Yet in 2013 a group of enthusiastic readers in Daraya, five miles southwest of Damascus, salvaged thousands of books from ruined homes, wrapping them in blankets just as they would victims of the war raging around them. They brought the books into the basement of a building whose upper floors had been wrecked by bombs and set up a library. As Mike Thomson recounts this unlikely story in Syria’s Secret Library, this underground book collection surrounded by sandbags functioned, as one user put it, as an ‘oasis of normality in this sea of destruction.’

“There, the self-appointed chief librarian, a 14-year-old named Amjad, would write down in a large file the names of people who borrowed the books, and then return to his seat to continue reading. He had all the books he could ever want, apart from ones on high shelves that he couldn’t reach. He told his friends: ‘You don’t have TV now anyway, so why not come here and educate yourself? It’s fun.’ The library hosted a weekly book club, as well as classes on English, math and world history, and debates over literature and religion.

“Advertising the library’s activities without compromising its security was a dilemma; patrons relied on word of mouth for fear that it would be targeted by the Syrian Army. By the time the library was founded, Daraya, a site of anti-government uprising and calls for reforms, had been under siege by the army for more than a year. Its 8,000 remaining residents — from a prewar population of about 80,000 — faced near-constant bombardment and shortages of food, water and power….

“Thomson, a radio and television reporter who covered the war in Syria for the BBC, dedicated months to interviewing the library’s founders and their friends via Skype and social media. When the internet went down in Daraya, his sources recorded comments on their phones as audio diaries they could send on to Thomson when the connection was restored. His book is a compassionate and inspiring portrait of a town where, one of the founders tells him, ‘fuel for our souls’ was an essential need.

“The books ‘help us understand the outside world better,’ another founder, a local dental student, said. Likewise, Thomson’s book may help the outside world better understand Syrians. …

“In the same spirit of piling books under Daraya’s shattered streets, local artists painted graffiti art on the walls of ruined buildings. In a moving image drawn by Abu Malik, a local artist nicknamed Banksy, a little girl stands on a pile of skulls writing the word ‘hope’ high above her head.” More.

Are you good at research? Maybe you could help me find out what has since happened to the library. I volunteer with displaced Syrians and others at a resettlement agency in Providence, and I feel a personal interest in this war-torn country.

The artist Abu Malik next to his mural amid the ruins of Daraya in 2014.

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Photo: Thomas Stanley
Hadi Jasim was an Iraqi translator for the US military. Now he’s a “global guide” at the Penn Museum in Philadelphia.

As you know, I’m a fan of immigration and of welcoming refugees to this immigrant-built country. It’s not usually easy for immigrants once they get here. They are required to find a way to support themselves within a few months, and, if language is a barrier, they must learn English as soon as possible.

Some immigrants start their own business. Some — even if they are highly skilled — take jobs that don’t need English. I know a Haitian immigrant who, for example, was a physician with years of experience who nevertheless took a kitchen job and was grateful to find work.

Once in a while I read a story like the following, in which some wise boss or institution finds a really creative way to employ an immigrant.

Emma Jacobs reports at Public Radio International (PRI), “At the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Moumena Saradar directs a group of visitors to a glass case containing an enormous gold headdress and beaded shirt — the burial garments of Queen Puabi, who died around 2550 BCE. They’re a highlight of the museum’s Middle East gallery, reopened in April after a $5 million renovation.

“ ‘Queen Puabi’s burial jewelry is one of my favorite objects in the gallery,’ says Saradar, who goes on to explain that in Syria today, people still save up for gold jewelry for their wedding. She shows pictures of packed jewelry shops in Damascus, walls glittering from floor to ceiling.

“Saradar is among the museum’s new tour guides — immigrants and refugees from Syria and Iraq who can make connections between the ancient artifacts and the present-day cultures.

“Saradar and her family arrived in Philadelphia as refugees in 2016, and she now works as a medical interpreter during the week and gives tours of at the gallery on weekends. …

“As a guide, Saradar went through intensive training to prepare her to give detailed historical tours and respond to visitors’ questions. She says she practiced on her five children.

“According to Kevin Schott, the Penn Museum’s education programs manager, Saradar and the other guides offer something local docents can’t.

“ ‘At some point in almost every tour somebody will say, “What about today? Do they still eat these things today?” Or, “Is this place still a place people go?” And I’m like, “I don’t know. I can’t answer your question.” ‘

“These guides are expressly trained to weave their own personal stories and memories into their tours — things they would feel comfortable talking about over and over again.

“Another guide, Hadi Jasim, spent his summers as a child at his grandfather’s house in southern Iraq, near the source of many of the objects in the gallery: the ruins of the ancient city of Ur.

“ ‘Sometimes we used to take the soccer balls and play’ because it was an open area, Jasim says. ‘Sometimes we used to play like other games like seek and hide, you know, kids’ games.’ …

“Fresh out of college near the beginning of the Iraq War, Jasim became an interpreter for the US-led coalition forces in 2004. He went on to work for the UN in Iraq doing communications and anti-trafficking work. In 2017, he finally received permission to come to the United States on a Special Immigrant Visa for Iraqis who worked with the US military.

“Now, Jasim has a job in food service at a local hospital. He says the museum work has become more than a second income.

“ ‘Sometimes, even if I don’t have tours here, I just show up to work, go through the Middle East gallery, go and see the clay tablets and see the carvings,’ he says. ‘It just brings my memories back.’ …

“ ‘Being close to your heritage is something that makes you feel like okay, now I’m back. You know, I don’t feel like I’m a stranger [any] more.’

“Jasim will have more colleagues joining him at the museum in the future. The Penn Museum plans to hire guides for all of its global galleries.” More at PRI, here.

I find many things to love about this story, but if I had to choose one thing, do you know what it would be? It would be the look on these two guides’ faces. A look of peace.

Photo: Idil Demirdag
Penn Museum global guide Moumena Saradar came to the US as a Syrian refugee two years ago.

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Photo: Daniella Cheslow/NPR
Jeff Britten stands in the doorway of the Baptist chapel in Haverfordwest, Wales, where he meets regularly with other members of his group sponsoring a refugee family. The name of the group is Croeso Hwlffordd, or Welcome Haverfordwest in Welsh.

What can I say? There are kind people everywhere. This story is about the efforts of residents of a small village in Wales to welcome refugee families from Syria. It’s not necessarily an easy thing to do — there are so many differences in experience and culture. But these people knew it was the right thing to do.

Daniella Cheslow writes at National Public Radio, “Back in February, Jeff Britten sent a description of Haverfordwest, his town of 13,000 people in southwestern Wales, to a family of Syrian refugees living in Jordan.

” ‘I ran around town and took pictures of the castle, the best bits, the River Cleddau,’ Britten says. ‘I produced a map which showed the location of the house, and that everything was in walking distance, supermarkets, schools, a mosque. It was all there for them.’

“He hoped the family, whom he contacted with the help of the Home Office, which controls U.K. immigration, would come live in Wales. At that stage, he knew little about them, only that they were Syrians recognized as refugees by the United Nations.

“Britten is 71 and retired from the pharmaceutical industry. The idea to reach out to Syrian refugees came in late 2016, when he heard that two other Welsh villages had adopted refugees from the country, and he called a meeting in a Baptist chapel in his own town to inspire his neighbors to do the same. …

“The refugees have come to Wales as part of a community sponsorship program that began in the U.K. in 2016. A group of British citizens can commit to providing refugees help with housing, navigating schools and doctors, language and the job search.

“Twenty-five Syrian refugee families have arrived and been settled so far in the U.K. via community sponsorship; of those, six families went to Wales. …

“In Haverfordwest, about 30 residents answered Britten’s call and signed up to sponsor the newcomers. … Jenny Blackmore had worked with Syrian refugees in the nearby town of Narberth and noticed that housing was often a stumbling block to fulfilling the government’s conditions. Landlords had to keep their homes open while the Home Office processed the resettlement application, and the government paid a lower rental rate than the market could offer.

“Blackmore’s mother had recently died and left her an inheritance. She invested it in a three-bedroom, two-story rowhouse in the center of Haverfordwest, with the aim of housing a refugee family.

” ‘I decided it would be a sort of fitting legacy, really, to my mum and dad’s memory, to do something — yeah, it’s an investment for my family, but it’s also a kind of investment in people’s lives,’ she says.”

More here.

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Photo: Målerås
Glassworkers in the Målerås factory in Sweden. The company successfully brought on refugees when it was short-handed.

This story combines two of my great interests: Sweden and helping refugees. Erik’s homeland showed compassion by taking in 32,000 asylum seekers in 2015, but in a win-win scenario, some Swedish design companies have benefited.

Alicia Brunker writes at Architectural Digest, “Rather than fear that refugees will take jobs away from locals, the Nordic country views Syria’s tradition of handicraft skills as a way to smoothy integrate its people into their own design-centric society. This mindset is especially true for the design community in southern Sweden, also known as Småland, a vast region that family-run glass workshops and international heavyweights, such as IKEA, call home. …

“Five years ago, the Scandinavian design purveyor began working with the women’s co-operative [Yalla Trappan ] to offer marginalized groups opportunities for livelihood, including Syrian refugees who have settled in southern Sweden without employment. As a way to give them economic independence, IKEA hired 10 women to work at their Malmö store, offering sewing services. …

“Whether a local customer needs a quick repair to their Ektorp sofa cushion or requires custom embroidery, the women at IKEA’s Malmö store will take the order at their sewing atelier and stitch it off-site.

“Beyond in-store sewing services, IKEA has recently teamed up with the Jordan River Foundation, opening up a production center in Amman. … At the facility, the Jordanians and an IKEA designer collaborated on a new range of textiles — including pillows, rugs, and baskets — that meld both culture’s styles into a single object. …

“The Jordanians lay the yarn on the floor and weave by hand on their feet. However, with IKEA’s ultimate goal of making these women employable in the future, they plan to teach the refugees more modern stitching practices with machines for upcoming collections.

“Inadvertently, IKEA has also provided employment for refugees through their annual Art Event. This year, the design giant enlisted local glassworks company Målerås to work with international artists on a limited-edition series of contemporary glass figurines.

“During the production process, the factory was short-handed and decided to add a dozen new contractors, four of which were Syrian refugees, to their workforce. Though they didn’t have glass-making experience, the men were familiar with working with their hands. Through an eight-month training period, the refugees learned the various steps of production and they picked up on their new country’s language and culture. …

“Benny Hermansson, owner and CEO of Gemla Möbler, the country’s oldest furniture factory, says the practice of working with craftsmen from other regions dates back to the 19th-century. … One of the [Syrians] who joined Gemla worked at a furniture company back in Syria, crafting headboards and cabinets out of wood. …

” ‘There are fewer and fewer schools educating students in these fields,’ [Hermansson] says. ‘It has become difficult to recruit people with the right competence. We have a need, and so do these refugees.” More here.

This is reminding me of a Syrian carpenter that I helped out a bit last year. He was thrilled to find work in Rhode Island installing insulation. I wonder if he has gotten into woodworking since then.

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Photo: Rahmat Gul/AP
Characters from the Afghan Sesame Street. A MacArthur Foundation grant will enable the Sesame Workshop and the International Rescue Committee to roll out a version for Syrian refugee children.

Even if they make it to relative safety, children often suffer the most from wars and dislocation. In addition to the trauma, there is the problem of education, which is unavailable or spotty in refugee camps.

That is why people of goodwill are reaching out with programs that can both comfort and teach. Jason Beaubien reports on one example at National Public Radio.

“The MacArthur Foundation will give $100 million to Elmo, Big Bird and their buddies to massively scale up early childhood development programs for Syrian refugees.

“Sesame Workshop and the International Rescue Committee won a global competition by the MacArthur Foundation seeking solutions to what the judges called ‘a critical problem of our time.’

” ‘The most important thing to remember is that the humanitarian system is designed to reach people’s immediate needs — to keep people alive, feed them, make sure that they have shelter,’ says Sarah Smith, senior director of education at the IRC. The global humanitarian system, she says, isn’t very good at supporting displaced children. ‘And the fact is these children are likely to stay as refugees for their entire childhood.’ …

“The IRC and Sesame Workshop plan to launch what they’re describing as the ‘largest early childhood intervention program ever created in a humanitarian setting.’ …

“It will be distributed over traditional television channels, the internet and mobile phones. It will also serve as an educational curriculum for childcare centers, health clinics and outreach workers visiting the shelters where refugees live. The workers will deliver books to kids and caregivers.

“Sherrie Westin of Sesame Workshop says … ‘These Muppets will be created to reflect the children’s reality so that children can relate with them. … One of the Muppets may have had to leave home. She may live in a tent. She may become best friends with her new neighbors.’ …

” ‘We know that in their first years of life the trauma that children are experiencing has the greatest impact on them,’ Westin at Sesame Workshop says. ‘And yet they receive the least support.’ ”

More at NPR, here.

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Radio Lifeline for Syria


Photo: Amandas Ong
An Alwan radio producer in the station’s recording studio. The broadcast lifeline to Syria is located in an apartment complex in Turkey.

Where people struggle to carry on their lives in the midst of war, radio can provide comfort and hope. This is a story about Syrians in exile who broadcast news and normalcy to people back home.

Amandas Ong writes at Slate, “I push my way out of the metro station in southwestern Istanbul where Sami — not his real name — and I have agreed to meet. …

” ‘It’s not far from here,’ he says, directing me down an overhead bridge through a number of serpentine streets. …

“The hive of activity inside forms the Istanbul operations of Radio Alwan, (Alwan means ‘colors’ in Arabic) an independent Syrian news station broadcasting into that devastated country every day. Alwan provides much-needed news updates to information-starved Syrians and also runs popular entertainment programs and controversial discussions. …

“Three bedrooms have been converted into a meeting room, a recording studio, and an office. … Most of the staff had no prior training in radio journalism before joining Alwan. Sami describes himself as having ‘come from a regular, boring HR job in Dubai.’ …

“ ‘The point of Alwan,’ he had told me in a prior conversation over FaceTime, ‘is not just to report the news. Radio is also a form of activism, and through our programs, we try to do our part by encouraging people to engage with civic organizations within Syria, and to inform them on what’s really happening both around the country and outside of it.’ …

“A law student named Ahmad al-Qadour started Radio Alwan in 2014 in the northern Syrian city of Idlib. … They decided to relocate Alwan’s central office to Istanbul after a series of threats from Islamic radical groups such as the al-Nusra Front, which had been part of the Syrian wing of al-Qaida before splitting from the group in 2016. …

“A typical day at Alwan begins at 6 a.m. in the Istanbul office, where the team of about 15 staff members assembles for a variety of Syrian and international news segments, followed by talk shows and short radio skits, some educational, others comedic. …

“Sami is especially proud of Oh, Grandma, a program presented by a woman from Idlib who is identified by her initial, N. She has a day job as a teacher, but in her role at Alwan, she visits the houses of women in the city and interviews them about their lives, their daily struggles, and discusses salient issues with them, such as the legal age for marriage for Syrian women. …

“Maram, a 24-year-old in a slouchy sweater and jeans, comes to talk to me. She graduated from a media school in Damascus and decided to come to Turkey to seek better job opportunities, before stumbling upon an open position at Alwan. …

“I ask her what she likes most about Alwan, and she doesn’t hesitate: ‘I learn a lot every single day, but most of all, it’s taught me so much about how to deal with uncertainty.’ …

“Sami [has] a philosophical approach to the objective of radio itself.

“ ‘We have a program called Acute Angle,’ he says, ‘that encourages people to accept the idea that there is no such thing as true fact. In each segment, we talk about different personalities like Michael Jackson, Ataturk, and even Walt Disney, and how these people have been represented both positively and negatively. I want our listeners to know that there are no taboos, and also no perspective on any one issue or narrative that should be taken for granted.’ …

“[It’s staff member] Dima who has perhaps the most poetic vision of her work at Alwan. ‘What I’ve learned is that the people who listen to us aren’t just suffering day in and out. They want to live, love, dance, laugh. Sometimes we draw courage from them, other times they are comforted by us, hundreds of miles away,’ she says. ‘That’s the beauty of radio: It has soul.’ ”

More here.

Unhappy Update, Dec. 29, 2019, here.

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