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What Does Freedom Feel Like When You’re Miles Away From Home?
As Syrian people take to the streets of Damascus to celebrate our newfound freedom, those of us living in exile are still dealing with a complex blend of emotions. For me, both as a Syrian and as someone who works at a non-profit organization who left home at 21 in pursuit of education and safety, this moment is bittersweet. In this extraordinary time, I find myself thinking about my journey from Syria to the United States, my work advocating for Syrian refugees, and the profound loneliness of celebrating a long-awaited freedom far from my family and home, from a quiet hotel room in a state that is even further away from my diasporic home. As I travel to advocate for refugees, I sit with joy, sadness, and fear—emotions that resonate with Syrians across the diaspora. This is a moment we’ve all been waiting for, so why do we feel empty?
To understand these feelings, we must look back. Eleven years ago, I left Syria not because I wanted to but because I had to. The Syrian regime’s violent response to the revolution forced so many of us to make impossible choices: to stay and risk everything or to leave and lose everything familiar. I left behind the warmth of the home where my family lives, the comfort of childhood streets, and the laughter of my childhood friends. I left to find safety, to dream of better opportunities, and to survive.
Exile is a strange place. It’s a world of new beginnings but also of loss. The streets Syrians walk now are not the ones we once knew. The homes we live in are not the ones that raised us. We take every opportunity to try and make these places familiar, to feel like ours, but they never truly do. The longing for home is neverending— a constant thought in the back of our minds reminding us of what we’ve lost.
And now, after so many years, something unimaginable has happened: Assad is gone. Liberation has come. The dictator who ruled with fear and violence is no longer in power. Our happiness is beyond words, yet so is our pain.
We watched from miles away as our families and friends flooded the streets of Damascus, celebrating in Umayyad Square. We see joy in their eyes; their voices rise in chants of freedom, and their tears fall with relief. They raise flags with proud colors and feel the weight of decades lifted from their shoulders. But here in the United States everything is still. Outside our windows, the world goes on as if nothing has happened. There are no celebrations, no flags waving, no shared understanding of this moment we are living through.
This loneliness is a different kind of exile. To be separated not only by distance but by experience: to long for the touch of home even as it continues without us, to feel happiness softened by the emptiness of not being there. It is a bittersweet liberation, one that reminds us of what we have gained and what we continue to lose.
Talking to displaced Syrians at the Karam Foundation where I work has given me a deeper sense about their feelings about our newly freed home’s latest chapter. Many of them share the same bittersweet emotions: happiness mixed with fear. For so many young men and women, Syria exists more as a memory than a tangible reality. They left when they were very young, spending years learning the language of their adopted countries and struggling to fit in. They hope to one day return and rebuild the homes they lost, but uncertainty weighs heavy on their hearts. For many, the houses they dream of returning to have been flattened by the war. Their resilience and hope, however, remain strong as they draw a picture of a future where they can contribute to a liberated Syria.
But even in this loneliness, there is hope. This moment reminds us of why we left and what we fought for. It is proof that dreams of freedom are not in vain, and that one day, we too will return to those streets, those friends, and to those memories that we held onto so tightly and stored in suitcases, under beds, and in our attics.
But for now, we will celebrate in our own quiet ways, carrying the voices of our families, the strength of our people, and the hope of a new Syria in our hearts. Even in exile, we remain connected to Syria through our love, longing, and the unshakable belief that liberation, no matter how lonely, is still worth it.
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"title" : "What Does Freedom Feel Like When You’re Miles Away From Home?",
"author" : "Nour Al Ghraowi",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/what-does-freedom-feel-like-when-youre-miles-away-from-home",
"date" : "2025-03-21 16:26:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/2024_12_8_Syria_1.jpg",
"excerpt" : "As Syrian people take to the streets of Damascus to celebrate our newfound freedom, those of us living in exile are still dealing with a complex blend of emotions. For me, both as a Syrian and as someone who works at a non-profit organization who left home at 21 in pursuit of education and safety, this moment is bittersweet. In this extraordinary time, I find myself thinking about my journey from Syria to the United States, my work advocating for Syrian refugees, and the profound loneliness of celebrating a long-awaited freedom far from my family and home, from a quiet hotel room in a state that is even further away from my diasporic home. As I travel to advocate for refugees, I sit with joy, sadness, and fear—emotions that resonate with Syrians across the diaspora. This is a moment we’ve all been waiting for, so why do we feel empty?",
"content" : "As Syrian people take to the streets of Damascus to celebrate our newfound freedom, those of us living in exile are still dealing with a complex blend of emotions. For me, both as a Syrian and as someone who works at a non-profit organization who left home at 21 in pursuit of education and safety, this moment is bittersweet. In this extraordinary time, I find myself thinking about my journey from Syria to the United States, my work advocating for Syrian refugees, and the profound loneliness of celebrating a long-awaited freedom far from my family and home, from a quiet hotel room in a state that is even further away from my diasporic home. As I travel to advocate for refugees, I sit with joy, sadness, and fear—emotions that resonate with Syrians across the diaspora. This is a moment we’ve all been waiting for, so why do we feel empty?To understand these feelings, we must look back. Eleven years ago, I left Syria not because I wanted to but because I had to. The Syrian regime’s violent response to the revolution forced so many of us to make impossible choices: to stay and risk everything or to leave and lose everything familiar. I left behind the warmth of the home where my family lives, the comfort of childhood streets, and the laughter of my childhood friends. I left to find safety, to dream of better opportunities, and to survive.Exile is a strange place. It’s a world of new beginnings but also of loss. The streets Syrians walk now are not the ones we once knew. The homes we live in are not the ones that raised us. We take every opportunity to try and make these places familiar, to feel like ours, but they never truly do. The longing for home is neverending— a constant thought in the back of our minds reminding us of what we’ve lost.And now, after so many years, something unimaginable has happened: Assad is gone. Liberation has come. The dictator who ruled with fear and violence is no longer in power. Our happiness is beyond words, yet so is our pain.We watched from miles away as our families and friends flooded the streets of Damascus, celebrating in Umayyad Square. We see joy in their eyes; their voices rise in chants of freedom, and their tears fall with relief. They raise flags with proud colors and feel the weight of decades lifted from their shoulders. But here in the United States everything is still. Outside our windows, the world goes on as if nothing has happened. There are no celebrations, no flags waving, no shared understanding of this moment we are living through.This loneliness is a different kind of exile. To be separated not only by distance but by experience: to long for the touch of home even as it continues without us, to feel happiness softened by the emptiness of not being there. It is a bittersweet liberation, one that reminds us of what we have gained and what we continue to lose.Talking to displaced Syrians at the Karam Foundation where I work has given me a deeper sense about their feelings about our newly freed home’s latest chapter. Many of them share the same bittersweet emotions: happiness mixed with fear. For so many young men and women, Syria exists more as a memory than a tangible reality. They left when they were very young, spending years learning the language of their adopted countries and struggling to fit in. They hope to one day return and rebuild the homes they lost, but uncertainty weighs heavy on their hearts. For many, the houses they dream of returning to have been flattened by the war. Their resilience and hope, however, remain strong as they draw a picture of a future where they can contribute to a liberated Syria.But even in this loneliness, there is hope. This moment reminds us of why we left and what we fought for. It is proof that dreams of freedom are not in vain, and that one day, we too will return to those streets, those friends, and to those memories that we held onto so tightly and stored in suitcases, under beds, and in our attics.But for now, we will celebrate in our own quiet ways, carrying the voices of our families, the strength of our people, and the hope of a new Syria in our hearts. Even in exile, we remain connected to Syria through our love, longing, and the unshakable belief that liberation, no matter how lonely, is still worth it."
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"title" : "100+ Years of Genocidal Intent in Palestine",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/100-years-of-genocidal-intent",
"date" : "2025-10-07 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/1920-jerusalem.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:",
"content" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:{% for person in site.data.genocidalquotes %}{{ person.name }}{% if person.title %}<p class=\"title-xs\">{{ person.title }}</p>{% endif %}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
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{
"title" : "Dignity Before Stadiums:: Morocco’s Digital Uprising",
"author" : "Cheb Gado",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/dignity-before-stadiums",
"date" : "2025-10-02 09:08:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Morocco_GenZ.jpg",
"excerpt" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.",
"content" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.One of the sharpest contradictions fueling the protests was the billions poured into World Cup-related preparations, while ordinary citizens remained marginalized when it came to healthcare and education.This awareness quickly turned into chants and slogans echoing through the streets: “Dignity begins with schools and hospitals, not with putting on a show for the world.”What set this movement apart was not only its presence on the streets, but also the way it reinvented protest itself:Live filming: Phone cameras revealed events moment by moment, exposing abuses instantly.Memes and satire: A powerful weapon to dismantle authority’s aura, turning complex political discourse into viral, shareable content.Decentralized networks: No leader, no party, just small, fast-moving groups connected online, able to appear and disappear with agility.This generation doesn’t believe in grand speeches or delayed promises. They demand change here and now. Moving seamlessly between the physical and digital realms, they turn the street into a stage of revolt, and Instagram Live into an alternative media outlet.What’s happening in Morocco strongly recalls the Arab Spring of 2011, when young people flooded the streets with the same passion and spontaneity, armed only with belief in their power to spark change. But Gen Z added their own twist, digital tools, meme culture, and the pace of a hyper-connected world.Morocco’s Gen Z uprising is not just another protest, but a living experiment in how a digital generation can redefine politics itself. The spark may fade, but the mark it leaves on young people’s collective consciousness cannot be erased.Photo credits: Mosa’ab Elshamy, Zacaria Garcia, Abdel Majid Bizouat, Marouane Beslem"
}
,
{
"title" : "A Shutdown Exposes How Fragile U.S. Governance Really Is",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/a-shutdown-exposes-how-fragile-us-governance-really-is",
"date" : "2025-10-01 22:13:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Gov_ShutDown.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.",
"content" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.Shutdowns don’t mean the government stops functioning. They mean millions of federal workers are asked to keep the system running without pay. Air traffic controllers, border patrol agents, food inspectors — people whose jobs underpin both public safety and economic life — are told their labor matters, but their livelihoods don’t. People have to pay the price of bad bureaucracy in the world’s most powerful country, if governance is stalled, workers must pay with their salaries and their groceries.In 1995 and 1996, clashes between President Bill Clinton and House Speaker Newt Gingrich triggered two shutdowns totaling 27 days. In 2013, a 16-day standoff over the Affordable Care Act furloughed 850,000 workers. And in 2018–2019, the longest shutdown in U.S. history stretched 35 days, as President Trump refused to reopen the government without funding for a border wall. That impasse left 800,000 federal employees without paychecks and cost the U.S. economy an estimated $11 billion — $3 billion of it permanently lost.More troubling is what happens when crises strike during shutdowns. The United States is living in an age of accelerating climate disasters: historic floods in Vermont, wildfire smoke choking New York, hurricanes pounding Florida. These emergencies do not pause while Congress fights over budgets. Yet a shutdown means furloughed NOAA meteorologists, suspended EPA enforcement, and delayed FEMA programs. In the most climate-vulnerable decade of our lifetimes, we are choosing paralysis over preparedness.This vulnerability didn’t emerge overnight. For decades, the American state has been hollowed out under the logic of austerity and privatization, while military spending has remained sacrosanct. That imbalance is why budgets collapse under the weight of endless resources for war abroad, too few for resilience at home.Shutdowns send a dangerous message. They normalize instability. They tell workers they are disposable. They make clear that in our system, climate resilience and public health aren’t pillars of our democracy but rather insignificant in the face of power and greed. And each time the government closes, it becomes easier to imagine a future where this isn’t the exception but the rule.The United States cannot afford to keep running on shutdown politics. The climate crisis, economic inequality, and the challenges of sustaining democracy itself demand continuity, not collapse. We need a politics that treats stability and resilience not as partisan victories, but as basic commitments to one another. Otherwise, the real shutdown isn’t just of the government — it’s of democracy itself."
}
]
}