Fear runs deep for Syrian Americans
After the Egyptian revolution began in January, Garden Grove resident Samira Hammado, her Egyptian husband and their five children attended weekly demonstrations in Los Angeles and Orange County, often joining more than a hundred people gathered to support the protesters in Cairo's Tahrir Square.
But when anti-government protests broke out recently in Hammado's native Syria, she found herself one of just a few dozen Southern Californians who showed up regularly for small Syrian solidarity demonstrations.
At one rally in Anaheim, they faced off against protesters backing the authoritarian regime of President Bashar Assad. Some took photos of the anti-regime demonstrators, threatening to cause trouble for their families still in Syria. A few people hid their faces behind sunglasses or signs. Many others said they had stayed away after hearing rumors that Syrian security agents would monitor the protests.
After Hammado later posted some anti-regime comments on Facebook, she said a friend asked her, "Aren't you afraid?"
"I don't know why the fear is still in our hearts, still even with the distance," said Hammado, 44, who is a stay-at-home mom.
When anti-government protests erupted across the Middle East this spring, it was unclear whether Syria would join. No one attended the first planned protest in Damascus in early February. And Assad quickly announced several reforms — including raising public worker subsidies, lowering food prices and allowing greater access to such previously banned websites as Facebook and YouTube — in what was seen as an attempt to placate Syrians before they rose up.
But a number of Syrian Americans and Syrian expatriates interviewed said the main factor in delaying Syrian participation in the anti-government protests — at home and abroad — has been the fear many hold toward the regime and its secret police. They point to the brutal response by Assad's father to an anti-government uprising in 1982, when security forces killed more than 10,000 people in the city of Hama.
Since March 15, however, protests across Syria have continued to grow. On Friday, thousands turned out in demonstrations in several cities, including the capital, Damascus.
Now, many Syrian Americans say they are waiting to see Assad's response to the protests in their homeland before deciding whether to support them publicly in this country. On Saturday, solidarity protests are planned in many U.S. cities, including in West Los Angeles.
"We were raised on this fear. It was a package we brought with us from Syria," said one man, who immigrated to the U.S. decades ago but asked to remain anonymous for security reasons. When he asked other Syrians if they would be willing to be interviewed, he said they laughed.
Hammado was 12 and living with her family in Idlib, a village on the outskirts of Aleppo, when her two oldest brothers were arrested and accused of membership in the opposition Muslim Brotherhood.
She said her family has never seen the men again and doesn't know if they are alive.
When Assad became president after his father's death in 2000, he promised to release political prisoners. For days, Hammado's mother couldn't sleep, saying she wanted to be awake in case her sons came home.
"She died and her heart was burning," said Hammado, who left Syria in 1989 and has returned just once.
Now, whenever Hammado calls her two sisters and two brothers who still live in Syria, they assure her that everything is fine, although she knows they are afraid to speak openly.
Were she still living there, she said, she doesn't know if she would be willing to join the protests in which at least 200 are said to have been killed since the unrest began. But here, she feels compelled to attend the rallies held in solidarity.
"Our families are over there fighting with their blood and this is the least we can do," she said. "Honestly they are heroes. Death doesn't matter to them anymore."
At her children's weekend Islamic school, she has chided other mothers who have cautioned her against speaking publicly about the protests.
"A few more people wake up out of that fear every day; it's not automatic," said Mohja Kahf, a Syrian American author and professor of comparative literature at the University of Arkansas. She said it would take time to change people's "enslaved mentality."
"We have an ocean in between and still we're going to be afraid?" asked Samir Hammado, Samira's older brother who lives in Pomona. "That's what brought us to this situation that we are so afraid that we cannot even speak to ourselves."
Samir Hammado, who works in insurance, hasn't been back to Syria since he left in 1985, believing he would be arrested upon his return. At one point during the uprisings in the early 1980s, he said, he and five of his brothers were all in prison, though he was released within days.
From time to time, he said, his family in Syria is still questioned about him and two brothers who now live in Canada.
At night, after her children have gone to bed, Samira Hammado goes online to read the latest news and posts on Facebook. A few days ago, in response to a post by Syrian presidential advisor Bouthaina Shaaban that threatened to "cut off the hand" of those who intervene in Syria, Hammado commented that all who have killed Syrian youth who call for freedom should have their own hands cut off.
Hammado's Facebook account is not under her real name, however. "We didn't want to cause them any problems," she said of her family.
But Hammado decided to allow her name to be published for this account, after weighing the potential for harm against what others like her are risking in Syria.
But when anti-government protests broke out recently in Hammado's native Syria, she found herself one of just a few dozen Southern Californians who showed up regularly for small Syrian solidarity demonstrations.
At one rally in Anaheim, they faced off against protesters backing the authoritarian regime of President Bashar Assad. Some took photos of the anti-regime demonstrators, threatening to cause trouble for their families still in Syria. A few people hid their faces behind sunglasses or signs. Many others said they had stayed away after hearing rumors that Syrian security agents would monitor the protests.
After Hammado later posted some anti-regime comments on Facebook, she said a friend asked her, "Aren't you afraid?"
"I don't know why the fear is still in our hearts, still even with the distance," said Hammado, 44, who is a stay-at-home mom.
When anti-government protests erupted across the Middle East this spring, it was unclear whether Syria would join. No one attended the first planned protest in Damascus in early February. And Assad quickly announced several reforms — including raising public worker subsidies, lowering food prices and allowing greater access to such previously banned websites as Facebook and YouTube — in what was seen as an attempt to placate Syrians before they rose up.
But a number of Syrian Americans and Syrian expatriates interviewed said the main factor in delaying Syrian participation in the anti-government protests — at home and abroad — has been the fear many hold toward the regime and its secret police. They point to the brutal response by Assad's father to an anti-government uprising in 1982, when security forces killed more than 10,000 people in the city of Hama.
Since March 15, however, protests across Syria have continued to grow. On Friday, thousands turned out in demonstrations in several cities, including the capital, Damascus.
Now, many Syrian Americans say they are waiting to see Assad's response to the protests in their homeland before deciding whether to support them publicly in this country. On Saturday, solidarity protests are planned in many U.S. cities, including in West Los Angeles.
"We were raised on this fear. It was a package we brought with us from Syria," said one man, who immigrated to the U.S. decades ago but asked to remain anonymous for security reasons. When he asked other Syrians if they would be willing to be interviewed, he said they laughed.
Hammado was 12 and living with her family in Idlib, a village on the outskirts of Aleppo, when her two oldest brothers were arrested and accused of membership in the opposition Muslim Brotherhood.
She said her family has never seen the men again and doesn't know if they are alive.
When Assad became president after his father's death in 2000, he promised to release political prisoners. For days, Hammado's mother couldn't sleep, saying she wanted to be awake in case her sons came home.
"She died and her heart was burning," said Hammado, who left Syria in 1989 and has returned just once.
Now, whenever Hammado calls her two sisters and two brothers who still live in Syria, they assure her that everything is fine, although she knows they are afraid to speak openly.
Were she still living there, she said, she doesn't know if she would be willing to join the protests in which at least 200 are said to have been killed since the unrest began. But here, she feels compelled to attend the rallies held in solidarity.
"Our families are over there fighting with their blood and this is the least we can do," she said. "Honestly they are heroes. Death doesn't matter to them anymore."
At her children's weekend Islamic school, she has chided other mothers who have cautioned her against speaking publicly about the protests.
"A few more people wake up out of that fear every day; it's not automatic," said Mohja Kahf, a Syrian American author and professor of comparative literature at the University of Arkansas. She said it would take time to change people's "enslaved mentality."
"We have an ocean in between and still we're going to be afraid?" asked Samir Hammado, Samira's older brother who lives in Pomona. "That's what brought us to this situation that we are so afraid that we cannot even speak to ourselves."
Samir Hammado, who works in insurance, hasn't been back to Syria since he left in 1985, believing he would be arrested upon his return. At one point during the uprisings in the early 1980s, he said, he and five of his brothers were all in prison, though he was released within days.
From time to time, he said, his family in Syria is still questioned about him and two brothers who now live in Canada.
At night, after her children have gone to bed, Samira Hammado goes online to read the latest news and posts on Facebook. A few days ago, in response to a post by Syrian presidential advisor Bouthaina Shaaban that threatened to "cut off the hand" of those who intervene in Syria, Hammado commented that all who have killed Syrian youth who call for freedom should have their own hands cut off.
Hammado's Facebook account is not under her real name, however. "We didn't want to cause them any problems," she said of her family.
But Hammado decided to allow her name to be published for this account, after weighing the potential for harm against what others like her are risking in Syria.
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