the DAMA(SCENE)

noun | dam · a · scene | \ˈda-məˌ-sēn, ˌda-məˈ-sēn/
Used in reference to an important moment of insight, typically one that leads to a dramatic transformation of attitude or belief.

written by Jodutt Basrawi

photos by Mackenzie Possee & Austin Yu

My phone screen displayed a call from Damascus, Syria, below a phone number that I recognized as my grandmother’s. I picked up the call and we proceeded to our regular conversational routine that we had practiced since I could speak: exchanging hellos, showering compliments on each other and asking for news.

These past few years had presented an obstacle to the routine. My grandmother, Isa’af Ali, was in the middle of the Syrian civil war.

“How is your day, nanaj?” I asked my grandma in Circassian.

“Music playing” meant nearby bombings. References to ripe tomatoes meant that the food prices had drastically risen. Neighbors dropping by meant that Syria’s intelligence officers, known locally as the Mukhabarat, were riddled across streets watching pedestrians’ every single move.

“The day is going well. There is music playing outside, the tomatoes in the market were ripe and the neighbors dropped by and said hello,” my nanaj answered.

My heart began to race. Nanaj had just described some awful scenes.

Since Bashar al-Assad’s government monitored most international phone calls within Syria, my nanaj could not explicitly tell me any bad news or her worries. Any kind of criticism – even in obscure forms – associated with the Assad government would generate fines, threats or arrests. Nanaj and I had to resort to a different set of words to describe the atrocities happening on Damascene streets. We came up with these code words during my yearly visits to Damascus prior to the civil war.

“Music playing” meant nearby bombings. The reference to ripe tomatoes meant that the food prices had dramatically risen. "Neighbors dropping by" meant that Syria's streets were riddled with intelligence officers – known locally as the Mukhabarat – watching pedestrians’ every move.

After this description, nanaj did not describe any more bad scenes or news. She sounded like she was in good health and that she was able to afford the necessary items for her day-to-day living.

Everything seemed to be OK for the next few months. One year later, following the increasing number of bombings and gunshots as well as the imposition of arbitrary curfews, my nanaj decided that enough was enough – it was time to escape the dangerous city that had thus far been her lifelong home.

Leaving

Nanaj declared asylum in Montreal about six months ago. There, she had a support system: My aunt, uncle and cousins have lived there for many years. This past spring break, I got the chance to visit nanaj in Montreal’s suburbs and listen to her accounts face to face.

During my first morning with nanaj, she showered me with her morning blessings and jokes, raised the TV’s volume to fill the room with Arabic news surrounding Syria and concocted the greatest Syrian breakfast anyone could ask for: za’atar, hummus, olives, halloumi cheese, labneh and tea – lots of tea.

Inevitably, the topic about my nanaj escaping Damascus surfaced. That was nanaj’s first opportunity to describe to her grandson her experience of running away from her only home.

Nanaj said it took her a long time to decide to leave for good.

“I was lucky to leave early enough,” she said.

Nanaj was referring to her plans from five years ago, when she applied for a visitor’s visa to Canada with hopes of visiting her family in Montreal for a few months. One year later, her visa was approved. After a few months, her plane departed for Canada. The Syrian civil war was in progress at that time, but today’s Syrian refugee crisis had not yet materialized.

“Nowadays, there is more attention on Syrian refugees, and not all of it is good. Based off of what I see on TV, many countries and people around the world have not been friendly to them,” nanaj said.

Since the beginning of the Syrian civil war, Damascus has been one of the safest cities in Syria. In absolute terms, however, life in the city was still unbearable for many, including my grandmother.

“Before I left, the bombs got louder and louder every day. They were getting closer to my house,” nanaj said.

Even before the Syrian civil war, Damascus transformed from a convivial city into a city of fear because of the increasing presence of security personnel, military vehicles and government censorship of public spaces. An authoritarian government, initiated by former President Hafez al-Assad, facilitated totalitarian impositions across Syrian society.

Starting Jan. 1, 2015, curfews began to be enforced on Damascene denizens. Nanaj, before the curfews, was content with some lack of freedom, such as limits on freedom of the press (she was not politically or journalistically active) and freedom of assembly (she never partook in demonstrations). She said what she was and never will be content with is the lack of freedom to go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

Nanaj characterized the curfew as a wall she could not climb. She could not complain to Syrian authorities about that wall, for the Syrian government often arrests individuals who share even the slightest discontent toward the government.

“It may sound silly, but I never want authorities to tell me when to return to my house,” nanaj said.

For her, the curfew was the final straw, especially when it was enforced during the first few days of 2015.

My nanaj departed for Canada from Beirut, a city in which more than one out of every three individuals is Syrian. Many Syrians trying to escape frequently experience delays, security threats from nearby militias and other risks – including interrogation from airport authorities – at Damascus’ airport.

"The checkpoints were nerve-wracking,” Nanaj said. “Thankfully, I was not asked about where I was going or what I was doing going into Lebanon. They left me alone after I showed them my plane ticket.”

My uncle, Mohammad Mousa, is a Syrian refugee who left for Sweden before his mother, my nanaj, escaped to Canada. He said both he and nanaj left from Beirut’s airport instead of Damascus’ airport because the latter’s airport – and the roads leading to it – were dangerous and often targeted by various militant factions.

But the paths to Beirut were not easy to traverse either.

Nanaj’s journey involved five hours in a car amid thick traffic from Damascus to Beirut. During those hours, she directly faced Syrian and Lebanese soldiers as well as chances of encountering gunfire. Bribes for the soldiers were commonplace and often required, and traveling at night was also discouraged. Although nanaj never mentioned whether she bribed officials, many other travelers often had to pay the price. The Syrian-Lebanese border had been further outfitted with more border personnel and checkpoints to ensure Syrians were not leaving to Lebanon for good.

“The checkpoints were nerve-wracking,” nanaj said. “Thankfully, I was not asked about where I was going or what I was doing going into Lebanon. They left me alone after I showed them my plane ticket.”

Nanaj had to hire an expensive car to make her way to Beirut’s airport. Demand and prices for these cars grew with time as more and more Syrians fled to Lebanon. The Syrian government discouraged the hiring of cars not affiliated with a government-controlled car service, which turned those cars toward the black market. Anyone who was found to host and ride among these illegal car-hire transactions in Syria would be guaranteed an arrest and long jail time.

“It’s a journey of chance and luck,” my uncle said.

The final obstacle from the Levant to Canada was the airport itself. She faced no questions from passport officials before she made it to the terminal, since she simply had a round-trip plane ticket between Beirut and Montreal. Not everybody was so lucky, however, as young Syrian travelers heading to either Europe or North America were often checked, through questions or their physical belongings, to see whether they sought to leave Syria for good.

“I felt slightly numb at the airport,” nanaj said. “I had been through so many thoughts. It was hard to get used to.”

Once her aircraft took off, it was over. No more risk of interrogation, baggage checks, immigration procedures or phone calls from Syrian government personnel. Nanaj was about to go through the longest plane ride she would ever experience.

A new home

Nanaj landed in Montreal on a wintery afternoon. At the airport, she quickly retrieved her luggage and hurried toward the airport’s arrival lobby. She did not care about anything else; she simply wanted to make it to her family safe and sound.

Nanaj walked outside Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport to wait for her daughter – my aunt – to pick her up. The cold of Canada’s winter, characterized by leafless trees, frosted cars and icy sidewalks, struck my grandmother in the face.

Besides dealing with the different weather, she had to face another kind of new climate: Quebecois culture.

“Damascus is the only home I know,” my nanaj said. “It is hard for me to consider this place as my home. I don’t know what to do here in Montreal most of the time.”

Nanaj lived with some patience during the weeks in which she expected to return to a peaceful Syria. The solace transformed into paranoia and insecurity with time. She was afraid of people judging her as a foreigner, and she worried about her dependence on her Montreal family and whether she was hindering their daily lives.

“Whenever you can, Jodutt, teach me,” she said. “I need help figuring out the English washing machines here!”

Syria’s civil war worsened, and nanaj had to stay with family for more and more weeks. She soon could not handle staying in the same household as her daughter, son-in-law and grandkids.

“I don’t like interfering with other people’s schedules,” nanaj said. “I prefer to have my own zones and sometimes prefer a quiet morning by myself.”

She grew more worried about her inability to assimilate into Canadian society. She craved the independent lifestyle that she had practiced for most of her life along Damascus’ cobblestone streets.

“Whenever you can, Jodutt, teach me,” she said. “I need help figuring out the English washing machines here!”

My grandmother’s current studio apartment in Montreal is situated across the street from a pizzeria, a dollar store and an elementary school. She has now found comfort in the familiarity of the area.

“Every afternoon, I watch the kids walk over to the pizzeria and the dollar store. It reminds me of the children in Damascus wandering around the city at noontime. Many of those kids are going to be tomorrow’s leaders,” nanaj said.

Her apartment is about the size of a standard UCLA dorm room with an additional bathroom.

Upon stepping foot into the studio, the bathroom is to the right, and the closet is to the left. Two steps later, the kitchen – big enough for only one person to work in – is to the right. From that one position, I could see nanaj’s futon, small dinner table, TV atop a set of drawers and bed. Basically, nanaj moved from a Damascene house to a room on Somerled Avenue.

“Every afternoon I watch the kids walk over to the pizzeria and the dollar store. It reminds me of the children in Damascus wandering around the city at noon-time. Many of those kids are going to be tomorrow’s leaders, god-willing,” nanaj said.

There are many contrasts between nanaj’s way of living in Canada and her former lifestyle in Syria. In Syria, she said she used to walk up and down Damascene hills more easily than the young folks. She used to mingle with all of her Damascene neighbors with ease and authenticity. She used to host dozens of people almost every day in her famously hospitable living room, where guests were served unlimited amounts of sweets and exposed to nanaj’s handcrafted candle scents.

Today, in Canada, nanaj rarely has guests over at her studio apartment. She does not make those candle scents anymore. She now takes daily medication for diabetes.

A changing political landscape

About half a year after nanaj's arrival in Canada, Stephen Harper, Canada’s former prime minister, was replaced by the more left-leaning Justin Trudeau, son of former Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau. Like his father, Justin Trudeau pledged better treatment of refugees relative to his predecessor.

When nanaj realized what was supposed to be an extended visit for pleasure had turned into a visit for life as Syria continued to crumble into war, financial assistance from Trudeau’s government helped her relocate to her current studio apartment.

Upon Nanaj’s arrival to Canada in early 2015, Harper was prime minister of Canada. Harper faced a smaller demand from Syrian refugees wishing to live in Canada, yet he obtained a harsh reputation against immigration after he proposed criteria – known as areas of focus – that would favor granting immigration only to certain refugees based off of specific skills, such as fluency in English and/or French. At a glance, nanaj would have not fulfilled such criteria.

In Trudeau’s first few weeks as prime minister, however, he announced the Canadian government’s pledge to resettle 25,000 Syrian refugees. Since the pledge, nanaj is one of more than 26,000 Syrian refugees who now call Canada home.

Under Trudeau's administration, Canadian institutions garnered support from the United Nations and Canadian citizens to institutionalize services for Syrian refugees within its borders. The World University Service of Canada, for instance, is spearheading a ballot measure among Canadian universities' student governments to help house more Syrian refugee students in Canada.

Ishimwe Robbie, a Rwandan student at Montreal’s McGill University who works for the World University Service of Canada, said he is leading one such referendum that would charge McGill students $3 per semester to support scholarships for Syrian refugees enrolling in the university.

As of April 30, the university voted yes on the referendum that Robbie advocated for. About 10 Syrian refugee students will be sponsored for McGill degree programs starting next year.

Volunteering in Montreal

As I woke up in nanaj’s apartment one morning, my cellphone screen shone brightly with a Facebook notification reminding me about a fundraising event that would take place at one of McGill’s dormitories. The host of the event was a group I had never heard of before: Students for Syria.

Nanaj knew I had signed up to attend that event. She shooed me off, and I soon found myself walking through Canadian snow toward the Villa-Maria train station in order to meet a group of people from Students for Syria.

Comprised of first- and second-year McGill students, Students for Syria is an organization that developed one of Canada’s first few Syrian refugee tutoring programs. Through its work, refugees like my nanaj can use the tutoring to help understand Canadian culture, the English language and Canadian bureaucracy.

I arrived at the designated dormitory lounge early and was met by large oil paintings of notable McGill personalities, a student cellist setting the lounge’s vibe, the smell of candle wax and Victorian furniture. This was nothing like UCLA’s Rieber Fireside lounges.

I sought out the organizers to ask how the organization came to be and how they were pulling it all off.

Anton Zyngier, a first-year student and founder of Students for Syria, said the group first started through a freshmen-only project facilitated by McGill faculty.

At first, Zyngier’s group thought about solving problems associated with gentrification or homelessness. When some of the group members shared their reactions to a viral photograph of Aylan Kurdi – a Syrian toddler whose dead body washed up on Turkey’s shores – the group concluded that it wanted to work on Syrian social issues.

Zyngier said the idea of the tutoring program gained traction after the group discovered a dilemma in the Al Salam School, an educational institution for refugee children in Turkey. The school was losing its volunteer Test of English as a Foreign Language teachers. If nothing were to be done about the departure of these teachers, there would be no resources for college-bound refugees applying to North American universities. There would, essentially, be a TOEFL vacuum.

“So our group ended up thinking, ‘Why not fill in this vacuum?’” Zyngier said.

Most of the Syrian students taking part in the tutoring program are Skyping McGill students like Zyngier from various locations in Turkey. Zyngier added that one of the students in the program Skypes from Syria.

“I do not know how the student in Syria pulls it off, especially in light of the war there,” Zyngier said.

Now, Syrian refugee students in Turkey use the tutoring program to prepare for the TOEFL exam. Otherwise, these refugee students would have few other resources to turn to to fulfill their dreams of moving to Canada or the United States.

Zyngier and his group constructed the tutoring program to cater to the rising demands for TOEFL tutoring among Syrian refugees in high school. The group eventually ended up on Canadian national television as a result of the social impact of its efforts. More than 15 refugee students in the program will take English entrance exams to Canadian universities within the next year. Dozens more will take part in the program as it continues to grow.

Phoebe Colby, one of the founding students of the group, said the organization is planning to continue the tutoring program with help from McGill’s education department and that its crowdfunding campaign will enable the group to expand the program to other universities. The group has raised about $4,600 in two months.

These students have provided instruction in basic English, professional skills and other areas to prepare refugees for academic and professional exams. They have filled a void by providing these educational services that are otherwise missing in initiatives by government institutions, charity organizations and academic personnel. Since the start of the program, more than 15 McGill students have tutored more than 30 student refugees.

Zyngier said his first experience with tutoring was with two students preparing for the TOEFL. One of the students was 21 years old. Zyngier added he expected the students to be younger, since the refugee demographics he saw on media outlets often depicted young children moving across borders.

“But what stands out is the amount of support Canadians have projected through their letters and offerings.”

Yara Hammami

“In the end, their age did not matter,” Zyngier said. “We laughed together, learned together and planned our futures together.”

The next morning after a big breakfast, nanaj shooed me off again at 9 a.m. It was time for the second event at McGill’s student union: the Syrian Students’ Association's "Clothing Drive for Syrian Refugees."

I arrived 30 minutes late to the union building (I want to blame nanaj for that, but her cheese that morning was too good to leave). Tables were already set up, bags of clothes were already in place and students were behind tables cataloging recently arrived clothes. The big things had seemingly already happened.

With guilt, I approached the tables and asked whether I should stick around and help out. I was told to come back later in the afternoon to assist with post-drive cataloging and transferring of the clothes to trucks. Thankfully, I met Yara Hammami, the president of McGill’s Syrian Students’ Association, who told me about her endeavor to unite people behind Syria’s humanitarian crisis.

“Hundreds of emails about our group’s events come into my inbox every day,” she said. “Some say good, some are bigoted. But what stands out is the amount of support Canadians have projected through their letters and offerings. Those with a driver's license want to offer rides and help with moving furniture. Those with backgrounds in languages want to offer free tutoring classes. The list goes on.”

Hammami is within the center of a broad spotlight on the Syrian refugee crisis. Both McGill’s and Concordia University’s Syrian students’ associations – Concordia is a 20-minute walk from McGill’s campus – are burgeoning.

“One of my favorite memories was seeing 700 McGill students fill up a lecture hall to watch a panel discussion about the refugee crisis,” Hammami said. On Concordia’s side, its Syrian Students’ Association has revealed recent plans for opening a college-based refugee resource center.

When I came back later in the afternoon, the clothing drive went on longer than anticipated; students of all backgrounds were still dropping off brand-new clothing and well-maintained used clothes. People donated more than 150 garments. The clothing drive ended up being six hours long.

A different view

One of the attendees at the Students for Syria kickoff struck me with a comment that summarized the thoughts that possessed me upon returning to Los Angeles.

“It looks like people barely know how to help in Los Angeles. I do not hear much about what they’re doing about world affairs over there,” said Tony Mistak, a student at McGill. “Angels help people, right?”

Not only does UCLA have fewer institutions dedicated to helping Syrian refugees, but most of the student body also does not possess the enthusiasm to address the Syrian refugee crisis to its fullest capability.

“It looks like people barely know how to help in Los Angeles; I do not hear much about what they’re doing about world affairs over there,” said Tony Mistak, a student at McGill. “Angels help people, right?”

Meymuna Hussein-Cattan is the executive director of the Tiyya Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing basic necessities for refugees in the greater Los Angeles area. She was at UCLA as a panelist May 10.

“UCLA has the resources, but its students are not capitalizing on them to be a benefactor toward refugees in California,” Hussein-Cattan said. “I hope to see more from UCLA Bruins in the near future.”

Natalie Khoury, a fourth-year English and Spanish student at UCLA, said that current student chapters of Amnesty International and American Red Cross do discuss the Syrian refugee crisis, yet their efforts and campaigns are too broad to address the crisis directly and effectively. Khoury added that the student organization Fresh START seeks to be UCLA’s primary resource for fellow students to learn about and help Syrian refugees.

“It was hard to handle the demands associated with the Arab Culture Show alongside preparations for the Syrian Revolution commemoration,” Altoukhy said.

“Given the lack of a refugee-minded landscape on campus, I founded Fresh START at UCLA, an organization that focuses on refugee awareness and refugee volunteership,” Khoury said. “However, we do face some challenges stemming from the dearth in student attention toward the refugee crisis.”

For the first time since the beginning of the Syrian civil war, its anniversary was not commemorated at UCLA by any student group.

Sarah Altoukhy, a fourth-year computer science and linguistics student at UCLA and president of the United Arab Society, attributed the missing commemoration to the lack of resources at the hands of the student group, which had hosted the commemoration since 2011 but failed to host the commemoration this year.

“It was hard to handle the demands associated with the Arab Culture Show alongside preparations for the Syrian Revolution commemoration,” Altoukhy said. “Unlike past years, there was not enough drive by most United Arab Society members to invest in developing commemoration events for the Syrian Revolution’s anniversary. We had less people on board this year willing to dedicate time to developing the commemoration. I myself had no time to handle the event on my own.”

With UCLA's handful of existing Arab-interest and refugee-related student groups, difficulties abound when trying to mobilize the student body to help alleviate the Syrian refugee crisis, the biggest contributor to the world's refugee crisis. There are more than 4.5 million Syrian refugees worldwide, according to Amnesty International.

To put that into numbers: There are more than 50 million refugees worldwide.

Flying home and back again

I woke up groggy-eyed. It was 5 a.m., and my flight back to Los Angeles from Montreal was set to depart in three hours. The sun was not up yet, and Montreal’s cold morning air preserved snowflakes across nanaj’s apartment windows. Nanaj woke up with ease and prepared the last great breakfast I would have in her company – with lots of tea involved, of course. Nanaj and I exchanged laughs and sleepy smiles. Surprisingly, she was not too sad about my departure.

“It’s not like in Damascus, Jodutt, where I cried each time you left following your visits,” nanaj said. “In Damascus, I worried if I would ever see you again. I worried that you would not come by for years at a time. Now, you are a grown man with the ability to come here anytime you want. I’ll be around for you any time and any day – and knowing you, I’ll see you very soon.”

It was funny – I was more sad to leave nanaj than she was to see me leaving. Nonetheless, I heeded her words.

I aim to visit her again soon.