THREE DAYS IN DAMASCUS Book Tour

I'm home. For now.

I have spent the last 6 weeks in 5 cities reading signing and speaking about and from my memoir, "Three Days in Damascus" (published by Palewell Press, 2016). What a whirlwind---Chicago, Minneapolis, New York, Washington D.C. and then to London for the UK launch of my book last week.

It has been an honor and a joy to share my book across the world, advocating for refugees. I have so enjoyed speaking about my process and experiences and even more enjoyed hearing people's reactions and questions. We have had engaging and lively discussions on behalf of refugees and dislocated, disenfranchised people everywhere. I have been joined in discussion by advocates on the issue: Roya Naderi (Karam Foundation) and Jamil Khoury (Silk Road Rising Theatre) in Chicago, Kristi Rendahl (Center for Victims of Torture) in Minneapolis, Deborah Oster Pannell in NYC, C.E. Vargas (Int. Center for Religion and Diplomacy) and Erik Gustafson (Education for Peace in Iraq Center) in D.C. and Anna Farina (Syria Relief) in London--brilliant, generous people, sharing their perspectives and thoughts in the discussion. So grateful for their participation.

And I'm not done yet!

I go to Palm Beach next week for some book club discussions and then back to New York City for an author event at Intersections International. Intersections is the organization that brought me to the Middle East in the first place---starting me on this journey. What a fitting way to end this part of my book tour, bookending it perfectly.

If you haven't read the book and want to, you can find it in paperback or ebook on amazon here.

And the full tour and more on the book is available at www.3daysindamascus.com

Running Into Your Past...

As many of you know, I have worked a great deal with Iraqi refugees --  trying to create awareness and change for these millions of displaced people. While in New York, I have done this through working with The List Project, selling paintings and writing various articles, a play, a book with Veterans Book Project and most recently, a memoir.

After touring the play for 2 years and finishing the book, I have taken a bit of a step back from advocating for Iraqis. I needed a breath, some space. I made a move across the country. I'm even doing a Christmas show for Pete's sake!

But one day, after climbing up the 3000 stairs of the elevated Chicago "El" train platform, I make fleeting eye contact with a man. I smile and turn away to look at the train map of Chicago (...still being new here and all) when suddenly I sense the man next to me.

"Excuse me," he says in broken English. I recognize the accent. Come on, really Chicago?

He shows me a piece of paper with directions written on it in English and sure enough, Arabic.

"Chicago?" he asks, pointing to his paper. Still not super fluent in the Chicago public transportation system, I look at the map with him, locating the Chicago stop in Chicago, both of us strangers in a foreign land.

"Yes, 11 stops from here" I offer at last, trying desperately to remember my numbers in Arabic before realizing I only learned 1-10 anyways.

"OK," he responds. "Sorry. I speak Arabic. No so English. I Iraqi." Of course you are. What else would you be? I smile.

"Asaalam al-aikum" I greet him, grateful to remember the phrase.

"Ahhhh!" He is clearly happy to partially recognize his own language. "You? Arabic?" he asks, confused.

"I only speak a little. Shway-shway," I answer.

"Ahh, shway-shway. Little! Yes! Very good!"

Once onboard the train, I try to explain that I advocate for Iraqi refugees, that I do plays and books to tell stories like his. Forget about it! Neither his English, nor my Arabic could help us through that attempted communication! He goes on to tell me that he and his wife and three children just settled in Chicago two months ago. They fled Iraq, spent a year in Lebanon until fleeing to Damascus for three years, waiting for resettlement.

"At end, Damascus very bad, no good, very bad," he adds with both hands gesturing no, as well. His face changes when he speaks of those years.

"But you are all safe?" I ask, needing to act out "safe" and let's be honest--- "you all". Why can I remember no other Arabic!?! What is the word for "you"!?

"Yes. Now. Ensh'Allah." There's one! Ensh'Allah, yes. Ensh'Allah: God-willing, they are now safe.

It's not easy, this transition to a new country, new city, new people, new culture, new language. It never is. Being a refugee has to be one of the hardest things there is --- especially one from Iraq, with all our prejudices and stereotypes in this country. I can see it on his face. But I also see the joy on his face meeting me...a possible friend, someone in some strange way familiar, or at least kind. I think it is no accident that I was to meet this man today. I think I needed it and I think he did too.

"Thank you," he says to me before he gets off at the 11th stop. "You very nice."

"Afwan," I respond. His eyebrows raise in recognition of my attempt at his language. "Yes! Afwan. You welcome. Very good!"

"Ma'asallama!" I shout out to him waving goodbye, now in full glory mode with my Arabic.

After I settled back in my seat, I smiled once again: my first Iraqi friend in Chicago; first of many, no doubt.

Iraqi and Syrian Refugee ART

I help Iraqi and Syrian refugee artists sell their work. They are living in the Middle East or else recently resettled in U.S or Canada. Please take a look at this amazing art on the website below and let me know if you would like pricing. It is an opportunity to help and get a beautiful piece of original art. Ships from New York. The end.

www.iraqirefugeeart.weebly.com

 

The Other

I recently toured my play, No Place Called Home about the Iraqi refugee crisis. We performed the show in Manchester, Indiana and Rugby, North Dakota. I also taught several classes around the issues of authentic living, refugee awareness and using arts as advocacy, along the way.

One of the tour stops where I taught was a very small town in northern Minnesota -- a very conservative, "red" county, if you will. I knew this because almost every answer to any question was "guns". Also, I was told. They probably saw me coming a mile away as a leftie, elitest east-coast liberal! Sigh. Some kids tried to goad me with their gun talk, but I used it as a springboard for conversation. After all, there is no wrong answer, just opinions. :)

Mid-way through the session, several kids got up and left. I was told it was because of work study. Well, days later, after a phone call from the principal, I learned two of those students who left early, didn't do so because of work study, but walked out because they were upset. They misunderstood me to say their brothers who served in Iraq were to be blamed for the Iraqi refugee crisis.

Wooh. What? This stopped me in my tracks. How could I have been so misunderstood? The refugee issue is a different issue altogether, having nothing to do with our troops or the work they do. I never even mention the troops in my classes, really, and I of course, support our troops. But where did we go off track? What I was saying had nothing to do with what they heard.

On the phone with the principal (Spelling trick--the principal is your pal), I took a breath. She knew the truth. She sat in on the entire class and was thankfully standing by me now, but how could this have happened? Where did the communication go so wrong? How did I somehow lose these two boys by saying Iraqis are people and deserve our respect and help? How did that translate to their brothers the soldiers are bad? Why does it have to be one or the other?

It's a big question, I think -- touching on our fears and misconceptions about the "other" brought on by the media or our upbringing or community or experiences. The other is often looked at as "scary" or "bad". It is an easy trap to fall into that it has to be us or them, that if one is good, the other is bad. This simply isn't true. There are many spots on the continuum for people and countries to live. We are only human. By having me in to the school, the principal was giving them a huge mind-opening lesson: Different doesn't mean bad. People aren't their government. And conversations are good.

Maybe they were too young to understand or too unwilling to engage in a deep conversation. Maybe I was too quick or careless with big thoughts for young minds or maybe, just maybe this is the challenge we always face when bringing people of different beliefs together. Sometimes it's a struggle to learn we are all after the same end result: a happy fulfilled life for ourselves and our family.

It shouldn't have to be one or the other.

These are difficult but important conversations to have. I am grateful that the principal and ultimately those boys were willing to have it, that they were willing to open that door.

Life is education after all. May we all continue to learn.