What's Next for Syria?

As the Syrian protesters persist and risk everything on a daily basis, I have begun to wonder what it's going to take for Assad to blink.  Just in the past month, hundreds have been murdered by the regime and thousands have been detained and tortured--not to mention the countless lives violently lost in the past 4 decades at the hands of the Assad family. 

What do these protesters want?  They simply want freedom, dignity and democracy.  For those basic demands that all people deserve to ever materialize in Syria, Bashar al-Assad and his regime must step down and face criminal charges. 

To quote Edmund Burke, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”  For more than 40 years, evil has triumphed in Syria.  But make no mistake about it, those protesters have plenty of spirit left.  Let's not allow too many more of them to die before we act.  

As I sat down to write this post, I listened to Senator Joe Lieberman's speech on Syria from earlier this week on the Senate floor.  He said it better than I could, so here it is.  Take a few minutes to watch or listen.  He gets it right and sums it up better than anyone else has recently. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NevCTmqPIK8

As always, I welcome your comments.

Laura

REJECTING RELIGIOUS DIVISION

I was a senior in high school when I participated in my first Model Arab League conference.  Of the countries available, my sister, then a college freshman, and I chose to represent Lebanon.  We took our work very seriously and very personally.  A participant of Arab descent struck a conversation with us one day.  After brief niceties, it was clear that her real intent was to find out whether we were Muslims or Christians.  This was during one of Lebanon's darkest moments, and only five years after we fled Lebanon's civil war, so memories of fear, destruction, and all the ugliness of the civil war were fresh in our minds.  We refused to answer the question about our religious background but she insisted.  We told her we were Lebanese and it simply didn't matter whether we were Christians, Muslims or any other sect.  Our response shocked her. 

You see my sister and I were Lebanese (not yet American citizens) who had witnessed the devastation of our country in large part due to religious strife.  We were slowly becoming disciples of the American way of separating religion from government and politics and realizing with each passing day that we were members of one big human family--not just our Maronite Catholic heritage.  But, it wasn't always this way--not in my family, neighborhood or native city and country. 

The Lebanese civil war started when our younger brother was just short of 2 years old.  His words on that “Black Saturday” sum it up.  He said, “Don’t be afraid HamoLaura,” using the hybrid name he made up for the two of us, “God willing, all the Fedayeen will die.”  (The Fedayeen were militant Palestinian Muslims who played a role in igniting the civil war.)  How sad that something like this would come out of toddler’s mouth, but anyone who has lived in the Middle East would understand how deeply ingrained, visceral and accepted the hatred was.  Nothing about my brother’s words was disturbing to us or our parents. 

In those days, religious affiliation meant everything.  Every Lebanese (regardless of which of the 17 religious sects he/she belonged to) identified with religion first and country second.  Just about every sect hated the others.  I don’t use this word lightly.  HATE was very real.  It meant we didn’t see the “others” as equal, which made it easy to commit all sorts of offenses against them.  For my more genteel American readers, I’m not referring to workplace discrimination, unequal pay, harassment or the like.  I’m referring to murder, and more often than not, massacres.  And, let me be clear:  Every religious sect in Lebanon was guilty of these crimes. 

Fast forward to 1984, the year our family immigrated to the United States.  As we worked hard to learn English, find work and adjust to a new culture, we noticed that Americans who helped us (and many did) did not ask what religion we were.  They were incredibly generous, kind and welcoming.

In school, we devoured everything we could learn about this country.  We fell in love with American history, and with each passing year, we realized how much we identified with the struggles and sacrifices of Americans.  We made friends at school and work with people from all walks of life—rich, poor, black, white, Catholics, Protestants, Jews and yes, eventually Muslims and many others.

Religious affiliation, ethnic background and skin color (although that’s a topic for another day) became irrelevant.  So, not surprisingly, the answer to “what are you?” five years after we arrived in this country was simply “Lebanese”.  Proudly and thankfully, the answer today is “Lebanese-American”. 

Thousands left Lebanon under similar circumstances and I suspect many of them had similar experiences.  I can’t fully explain my family’s transformation, but I know my siblings and I are grateful for every act of kindness we’ve encountered in nearly 27 years in this country.  Perhaps that’s all it takes:  Kindness.  Could it be that simple?

While I explore our reasons and influences, I want to know your stories.  Please write to me about your transformation.  Where did you start and where are you now?  Tell me about the people and instances that made a difference.  What hopes and dreams do you have for your family and your country and in this regard?  Either comment after this post or send me your story in an e-mail to laura.boustani@gmail.com.  And, please tell me if I have your permission to use your story in future posts.  I promise not to use names.  I look forward to responses.

(Thanks go out to both my sister and brother for their help with these posts, especially this one!)

Insist on Good Leaders - Postscript

I originally posted this in March 2011. It's been read by thousands across the globe. I wrote it back when my country was on solid footing. It feels strange to read it now. I'm hoping, praying, writing and voting for that day to come again. Join me.

Laura

The Dictators' Time to Go

A message from my 9-year old son -

As the people of the Middle East rise in protests, they and the world know that their dicators have lied, stolen and murdered countless people for decades.  The people are getting angrier every second.  Sometimes, dictators don't realize that their time is up, but I want the Middle East dictators to know that the time has come to step down, or they might get assassinated.  They are killing people who protest.  I really think this is wrong.  It is criminal.  Benjamin Franklin said, "Any society that would give up a little liberty for a little security will deserve neither and lose both."  I believe that is very true and the dictators are losing now.

James

Syrian Women Detained, Tortured

As the world watches the people in the Arab world muster the courage and strength to rise up against their criminal, corrupt and dictatorial regimes, I want to say something about the plight of women in Syria. 

A prominent democracy activist, Suhair Atassi, was detained a few days ago.  God only knows what type of torture and humiliation she’s being subjected to as I write this piece.  Along with her is a handful of teenage girls. (Yes, teenage girls!)  Readers can just imagine what may be happening to these women. 

I will say more about this later, but I wanted to post some links to sites detailing a sliver of the Assad regime’s offenses against women over the last several years.  Here they are.  Please read, share with others who may care, and stay tuned for more on this later. 

Syria should release protesters

http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2011-03-17/syria-should-release-all-detained-protesters-human-rights-says.html

Lengthy Detentions of Women

http://www.shrc.org/data/aspx/D4/3664.aspx

Women detained, tortured, threatened

http://www.shrc.org/data/aspx/D9/1509.aspx

Young, female blogger sentenced to 5 years in prison

http://www.shrc.org/data/aspx/d16/4326.aspx

Women taken as hostages in exchange for their husbands

http://www.shrc.org/data/aspx/D6/2396.aspx

The Syrian Soldier

Before Lebanon's civil war began in 1975, my father's modest grocery store had enough business to justify hiring help.  One of his employees was a young Syrian man who had come to Lebanon to work.  My father took a liking to him.  He was hard working, respectful and reliable. When he needed a place to stay, my father offered a small room in our apartment.  My mother made sure he ate whatever she was making for the family.  I don't remember how long he worked for my father, but he eventually left to serve his time in the Syrian army and my parents lost touch with him. 

Fast forward a few years.  The civil war was raging in the late 1970s and the Syrian army (not a peacekeeping force at this point by any means) had taken control of key areas of the country, set up checkpoints and began detaining Lebanese Christians without cause.  One Sunday afternoon, as my family was heading to the Bekaa Valley, we were stopped at a Syrian checkpoint.  The soldiers told me, my siblings and my mother to stay put as they took my father for "interrogation".  This scenario was repeated thousands of times during the Syrian occupation of Lebanon, and more often than not, the man who was detained was never seen or heard from again.  We clutched each other's hands and prayed.  Inside, my father was indeed being interrogated.  His obviously Christian name was the only reason he was of interest to the soldiers.  They assumed he was active in the Christian militia fighting the Syrian occupation.  He wasn’t but his answers didn't matter; his religion was grounds enough for torture or whatever else was coming next. 

Then an unexpected thing happened and my father lived to tell us about it.  Most of the soldiers left the room and my father could hear them whispering.  Needless to say, he was terrified.  They came back and told him he was free to go.  Relieved, he stood up to thank the soldiers and walk away when a young soldier approached him and extended his hand.  My father paused and looked at him for a moment before shaking his hand.  You guessed it.  This was the same young man who once worked for him, lived in our home and ate meals with us.  The soldier said, "I told them Elias Boustani is a good man who wouldn't harm a fly."  The soldier added, "I told them you're not organizing against anyone and you probably don't even own a gun." 

The soldier was right.  My father didn't organize or carry weapons.  He was just a good man.  He treated the militia boys like his own children, sending them boxes of food as often as he could so they don't go hungry.  He knew their parents and grandparents and practically raised those boys who hung around the store from the moment they could walk to buy their own candy.  Even in their darkest hours (and they had many), they never looted the store or hurt our family in any way.

Back to the checkpoint... That Syrian soldier was once one of my father's boys too.  And, while his kindness at that critical moment says a great deal about my father, it says even more about him, his character, his upbringing and his decency.  Without question, he saved my father’s life. 

Wherever he is now, and I so hope he has survived the unholy missions of the Syrian army, I want him to know how grateful my siblings and I are for what he did that day.  He saved all five of us.  I want him to know that we are thriving in the greatest democracy in the world, we are successful in our careers and we have loving families of our own. 

And, as his fellow Syrians plan their uprising against the criminal regime, I hope and pray that he, and perhaps his children, are right there organizing with them.  Elias and Georgette Boustani are surely cheering him on from their perch in heaven and praying for his children to have as great a life as we have had.

Laura

Parallels

I wrote in a previous post about the United States being founded on strong democratic pillars but continuing to work on fulfilling the promise of its ideals with each passing year.  The civil rights movement in the 1960s was one of those critical efforts that brought us closer to that promise.  As I watch the uprising in the Arab world, I can't help but remember passages from Martin Luther King, Jr.'s famous "I Have a Dream" speech.  I realize some of those ideals are uniquely American, but hopefully they're spreading like wildfire.  Instead of posting excerpts, I'm going to post the entire text below and a link to the video of the speech HERE.  So much of what he said back then resonates today across the ocean.  Have a read or a listen.  And, please say a little prayer or light a candle for the Libyan people whose persecution continues.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

"I Have a Dream"

(Delivered 28 August 1963, at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.)

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."¹

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

               

                 Free at last! Free at last!                

                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

**********************************************************************************************************************************