| January 2009 - Focus |
| January 2009 |
|
Torn Identity Words Dalia Haidar
Psychologist Beesan al-Hamwi, 25, loves her country. She also wants to leave – a decision stemming from a mix of economic and social pressures. “I want to leave so that I can be myself without hiding part of my beliefs in order to engage with society,” she said. “I also want a better future. It is difficult to achieve anything meaningful here as everything moves so slowly.”
Besides economic pressures, young people also face unique social pressures as traditional family structures and values change. Indeed, the greatest challenge for many young Syrians lies in reconciling the rules of a conservative society with the images that are flooding in through satellite television, movies and the internet which show a very different, more liberal, affluent lifestyle. Caught between tradition and modernity, many young Syrians are left wondering where they fit in. Between two worlds Fadel el-Cheikh, a social researcher and professor at Damascus University, says Syria’s youth are caught between two worlds with little room to move. “Under the current circumstances, it is difficult to build a modern balanced personality for this generation,” he said. Cheikh said young Syrians are strongly influenced by the freedom and liberal values they see in more open societies in the West or in neighbouring countries like Turkey and Lebanon – the hugely popular Turkish television series Noor is evidence of this. “Unfortunately, there is no way they can apply this to their life,” Cheikh said. “They are heavily restricted by social, economic and political boundaries. It is a great challenge for those who try to choose their own way of life.” Hamwi said she feels this pressure to conform all the time. “I have to put on two different faces: one for society and one for myself,” she said. “People don’t accept each other as they are. This means that you can only keep up good relations with everyone if you avoid any confrontation.”
Indeed, many feel left out of decision making processes. Dima Ezzidin, 32, decided she wanted to be a journalist a few years ago. But after working in the Syrian media sector for a while, she was disappointed with the standards and reluctantly decided to leave her homeland to try her luck abroad. “My dream and my country walked away from each other,” Ezzidin, who is now based in London, said. She feels young Syrians don’t have enough freedom to determine their future. “I love my country and it makes me sad not to be able to help building it in the way I choose.” Identity and politics For many young Syrians, the question of identity is strongly tinted by politics and immediately raises questions of national identity. Both Ezzidin and Hamwi say they were raised with a sense of pride for their country and nationality, but the journalist sadly admits that “in these times we can’t hold onto that feeling while we are in Syria”. While both Ezzidin and Hamwi are proud of their country in general, they feel a sense of shame and regret about many of the problems which plague daily life in Syria. “I feel proud of my country’s position on international issues, the struggle with Israel in particular,” Hamwi said. “I have enough reasons not to be ashamed of where I’m from, as some Jordanians and Egyptians might. But when I start thinking about the small details of my daily life, the routine, the bureaucracy and the way people treat each other, I am sad that my country is so backward.” For some, the question of identity only surfaces when they leave their home country and are confronted with a foreign culture. Eight years ago political analyst Eiad Wannous, then 28, packed his bags and left for the UK in search of “better opportunities”. However, upon arrival it took him time to understand the “cultural codes” of the new community he was trying to engage with.
During the process of integrating in British society, Wannous constantly confronted the question of his Syrian identity. “It was a question that kept coming back, but with time, it faded away,” he said. “I would forget it until someone asked me about it.” Today, Wannous no longer ascribes to the idea of having an identity linked to ideology or Arabness. He says this concept has become too politicised in the Arab world. Instead he feels his identity is shaped by his “social, cultural and geographical roots”. For Ezzidin, the question of her identity remains “very confused” as she believes one cannot separate national and political identity from social and cultural identity. In the end, she describes her identity as something quite individual. “We belong to our memory and our memory is formed by all the places we live in and all the experiences we have,” she said. Hamwi sums up her Syrian identity as “the old streets of Damascus, my granddad’s old house and the jasmine along the alleyways”. Despite the challenges, she remains optimistic that her generation will come to terms with the old and the new. “People will wake up one day and develop a truly Arab community that is unique and different from Western ‘fast food’ culture,” she said. |
Hamwi’s struggle to accommodate her personal beliefs and aspirations with the social and economic pressures of contemporary Syria is common among many young people in the country. Syria’s youth – the 15 to 29-year-olds who make up nearly 30 percent of the population according to data from the Central Statistics Bureau (CSB) – face tough challenges. As the country opens up economically, young people have to tackle a more complex and competitive job market. Youth unemployment is high at 19 percent and 70 percent of young people spend more than a year looking for work, according to a recent study carried out by the Syria Trust for Development.
Cheikh said the problem stems from a society that is still very much bound to tradition and conservative points of view. He believes the solution should be political, with a move towards a more secular society. “People should focus on the value of life – not the afterlife – and act in accordance,” he said. “Young people should be able to participate in shaping their future.”
It was a challenge that also led him to stop speaking Arabic, except when he was phoning his family back in Syria. “I wanted to get into the UK system,” he said. “I searched, I read and I worked in local firms just to learn more about British culture.” Six years later, Wannous returned to Damascus, a Syrian still, but “different from the one who left six years ago”.