Expatriate? No thank you!

The theme of this issue is “Syrian Expatriates” due to the upcoming Expatriate Conference, to be held in Damascus in May 2007. Many of us have been expatriates at one point or another during our careers. I it the description in 1996-2002 while studying at AUB and doing my PhD in Great Britain.

During that period, enchanted by the incentives of becoming an expatriate for life, I applied for numerous jobs abroad and was accepted for every single one of them. I was sometimes even offered jobs without me actually seeking them. Among the opportunities I turned down—or some would say ‘missed’—was that of researcher at Westminster University in London, journalist at the UK headquarters of al-Sharq al-Awsat newspaper, other publications in Qatar, the Arab Center for Unity Studies in Lebanon, the Arab Documentation Center at AUB (where I worked briefly as an analyst), Haigazian University in Beirut, and more recently, at the Syrian Embassy in Washington DC.

At the very last minute, just before I was required to make that historical decision in my life, I turned all of them down with a polite note: ‘no thank you.’ I did not want to become a permanent expatriate, knowing that if I took the job, it would become too difficult to return to Syria. I first returned briefly to live in Syria in 2000, shortly after the inauguration of President Bashar al-Assad, when my second boss and current friend Jamil Mroueh appointed me as correspondent for The Daily Star in Damascus.

I felt that I had much to offer from within, having just been educated at AUB where the word ‘impossible’ seemingly, did not exist. With a group of like-minded friends, I felt we could change the world, which at the time, seemed at the reach of our fingertips. I felt I could do much for Syria.

During this period I helped co-found the Syrian Young Entrepreneur Association (SYEA), authored a lengthy book on Syria called Steel & Silk, wrote for a variety of foreign newspapers in Syria, attended inter-national forums representing my country, and co-created www.syrianhistory.com, the first—and only—online museum of Syrian history.

I left again for my graduate studies in the UK and have been a permanent resident of Damascus since 2004. It would be very selfish for me to complain because Syria, its people, and my job have given me a wonderful life. My family and friends are in Damascus. I have duties to fulfill that I cannot shy away from.

Although I often lament small grievances in Syria, like an impolite policeman or shallow conversation in the Damascus upper class, and think of leaving and re-becoming an expatriate at an interval of every 6-months, it is a big lie that I cheat myself with. I don’t think I will ever leave Syria again. I am too well established here to become an expatriate.

And frankly, I am grateful for that. One of the things that inspires me and prevents me from leaving is the platform I have teaching students at the University of Kalamoun. I am proud of them because they are incredibly promising and talented young men and women and I want to give them a liberal education like the one I was privileged to get at AUB.

I want to channel my knowledge and experience. True my classes and exams may be too demanding at times, resulting in students who complain saying; “Doctor, this is not AUB!” Exactly is what I tell them, “and we are going to make it another AUB.” One of my students actually reminds me of myself 10-years ago because she does not study for exams, yet always passes, and relies on the abundance of information she has acquired through independent readings and an in-born interest in politics.

She’s got revolution in her eyes and I see a great future for her. TE Lawrence once said: “Quite unintentionally, AUB taught revolution!” Well we are trying to teach revolution as well; intellectually that is, morally, philosophically, and socially. We are trying to get them to depend on the human mind and rely on it to accept or discard any theory in life.

We cannot walk away at Stage One. My second duty is towards Forward Magazine and my readers, both at home and in the Diaspora. I write for educated Syrians who can read English and want to be re-minded—need to be reminded—of how great this nation’s history is and how much potential it has for the future. Some accuse me of being too positive towards Syria.

That is true. I do not write negatively about my country. I look at the bright side of things. That’s why this entire magazine was founded. I might be the worst Syrian who writes in English but I am certainly one of the very few who write in English and projects a positive image of Syria. It is a profession, a duty, and a message in life. I get emails from Syrians I don’t even know, thanking me for writing so passionately about Syria.

The ‘we are proud of you’ and ‘keep it up’ notes would make any man think twice before leaving Damascus. Some of them are elderly Syrians who aren’t comfortable with the Internet, and send hand-written letters by post mail, saying that my articles make them see and feel Syria. Where would I be had I become an expatriate in the UK or America, 10-years ago? I certainly would have been making more money, and enjoying a higher quality of life, but I would have lost my sense of purpose.

I probably would be working at a well-to-do university, teaching a wide variety of international students and transferring my knowledge to them, rather than to Syrians, or at a research center in London or Washington DC, hypothesizing about the Middle East from the distant luxury of an-other continent. I work around-the-clock in Damascus, on Fridays, with no summer vacations.

All of my friends know that. I indulge myself with small things however, that lift my spirits. I say ‘good morning’ to my mother and father every morning. I then repeat it to locals I encounter on the street (the janitor, the guard, and the grocer); Syrians love being greeted on mornings and repeat with a multitude of creative replies. I listen to Fayruz while driving to work every morning.

I go back home at 3 pm for lunch, to the smell of my mother’s cooking. I frequently read Nizar Qabbani. I often walk through Old Damascus by night where at this time of year—May—the weather is exceptionally beautiful. I have a weekly brunch with friends on Fridays then go to the Rawda Café on Abid Street to play a good game of backgammon with Ab-dulsalam Haykal. I have diner with Western-educated friends, where we sit back and moan on how difficult the work day has been, and how much easier and more professional it would have been if we had remained ‘expatriates.’

We have been having that same conversation for 1095 days, since 2004. Some of them left us for better careers in Abu Dhabi and Doha. Others left, only to return a few months later, unable to cope with being an expatriate in the Gulf. Strangely enough, those that stayed behind still manage to get a good daily laugh out of our misfortunes. We head back home determined that tomorrow will be better— and different—and that we will be here in Damascus to see it.