RULA'S STORY - REFLECTIONS FROM THE MIDDLE EAST

 

I was born in Beirut on September 26, 1976, into a family marked by stark contrasts and deep complexities. My mother, a Christian, and my father, a Muslim, navigated their differences with a love that defied the societal norms of the time.

They were married twice in 1974—once in the church and once in accordance with Islamic traditions—symbolizing a union that embraced both faiths. Their political affiliations also reflected a fragmented landscape, as they were aligned with different Palestinian parties, a tapestry of beliefs that would shape my understanding of identity and belonging.

The year I came into this world was engulfed in turmoil. Lebanon was in the throes of a brutal civil war, a conflict that saw the Lebanese right-wing forces (the Lebanese Front) clashing with a reformist coalition known as the Lebanese National Movement (LNM) and their Palestinian allies. At its core, the war revolved around the struggle to maintain or change the political status quo, a dynamic that had been entrenched since the French Mandate (1920-1943). A small elite—what some referred to as the “4 percent class”—controlled a vast majority of the nation’s wealth and power, perpetuating a system where political offices were divided among Lebanon's various religious sects.

The day of my birth was marred by violence. My mother, desperate to reach the hospital, encountered a bombed facility, forcing her to seek refuge at the American University Hospital. Alone and bleeding, my father was absent, embroiled in the chaos outside. In those moments, my mother faced not only the physical challenges of childbirth but also the harrowing uncertainty of her surroundings. This was just the beginning of our family's trials; we would continue to experience the weight of war’s consequences.

When I was about eight years old, the conflict between Israel and Lebanon erupted again, marking another chapter of suffering. I vividly remember the girl I was—the girl who played not with dolls or enjoyed fragrant flowers but who instead played amidst shattered furniture, waiting anxiously for the sound of gunfire to cease. I bore witness to the devastation around me: explosions that shook the ground and the sight of lifeless bodies littered across the streets of Beirut. One night, as my mother hurried to dress us for a shelter below our home—a crude storage space—disaster struck. A phosphoric bomb detonated, illuminating the night sky with terrifying brilliance and chaos. People screamed in the streets, and for a moment, I was overwhelmed by the horror and confusion surrounding me.

Ultimately, we made the decision to flee to Damascus, Syria. My courageous mother took the wheel, a daunting task that typically would take just an hour to complete but stretched into a full day of perilous travel. In Damascus, we attempted to lead a semblance of a normal life, but the shadow of conflict continued to loom. In the year 2000, we faced another pivotal moment: moving to Palestine. I arrived just two days before the Second Intifada erupted. The tension in the air was palpable; fear gripped the populace as checkpoints and curfews became part of our daily realities.

Attending university in Jerusalem became a convoluted journey of endurance. There were times I had no choice but to travel by ambulance to reach my exams, but I remained unafraid, having experienced hardships far greater than a mere trip through checkpoints. Our home was perilously close to the Presidential headquarters of Yasser Arafat, surrounded by Israeli tanks and troops. The streets fell silent under the oppressive weight of gunfire, a haunting backdrop to our lives for three months.

Despite the destruction and overwhelming fear, life persisted. We adapted, finding ways to nurture hope, community, and resilience amidst the chaos. Each experience forged my identity, defined my understanding of love and loss, and cultivated an unyielding spirit that continues to guide me as I navigate this complex world.

October 2023 marked a devastating resurgence of war, with violence escalating to unprecedented levels. The sound of sirens and explosions echoed through the streets as thousands of lives were lost, and even more individuals were left injured and traumatized. The toll of this continued conflict weighed heavily on my heart and mind, leading to severe panic attacks that I could no longer ignore. Despite my belief in my own strength and resilience, the mounting stress became unbearable, prompting me to seek medical help.

I consulted various doctors, hoping to uncover a solution to my distress. Eventually, I turned to a psychologist, who helped me connect the dots between my childhood trauma and the physical manifestations of my anxiety. After months of struggle, I gradually learned to manage these panic attacks, transforming my understanding of emotional well-being.

In the midst of my personal battle, I found purpose and strength in volunteering with several organizations dedicated to addressing the urgent needs of women and children in the Gaza Strip. My friend Richard and I, alongside our dedicated team, worked tirelessly to create opportunities for children in the region to visit Wales, aiming to alleviate the psychological scars left by war. Unfortunately, our hopes were met with disappointment when all 14 individuals were denied entry to the UK by the embassy—a heart-wrenching setback that left many in despair.

As the conflict spread its shadows further, reaching Beirut once again, I quietly marked my 48th birthday with my two daughters and loving husband. My celebration felt muted and overshadowed as I witnessed the suffering unfolding not only in Gaza but also in Lebanon and the West Bank. The familiar images of destruction and pain flooded my memories, a stark reminder of the cycles of violence that have persisted throughout my life.

If I could make a singular wish, it would be for the eradication of all weapons and the establishment of enduring peace across the globe. My dream is unified, transcending borders and nationalities—a world where harmony reigns, and children can grow without the threat of violence.

All religions advocate for tolerance, love, and peace. Yet, wars are a creation of humanity, fueled by our fears and divisions. It is our shared responsibility to unite against this cycle of hatred and conflict for the sake of our children and future generations. As I reflect on the state of the world, I firmly believe that love can conquer hate, and only through compassion can we hope to foster a more peaceful existence for all.

Many thanks for my dear friends from Wales who supported me all the time


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  • Alun Roberts
    published this page in Latest News 2024-10-22 10:41:30 +0100

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