A Tribute to Syria


Perching high on the mountain overlooking Lebanon, rifles propped at the men’s side, the nervous glances, the radio playing to drown out the harrowing account of one man’s torture (less anyone could hear the whispered criticism of a regime) of how his nails had been pulled from his fingers, fearful of our voices being carried on the wind to ears that would report us, the memory lingers as vividly as that evening breeze.

Fear is not a recent sentiment for Syrians. They have built up a tremendous resilience to it like so many citizens of dictatorships. They have grown up learning to trust few; the children taught with severity that their careless tongues could destroy their father’s lives, their family, their future. I felt the unease in the air, I watched the seemingly endless convoys of soldiers on the roads, the gargantuan military presence keeping the tyrant in power, his…

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