Searching for my voice, in fear and silence

Next up from my amazing LSE activism students, Fatima Aysha, a Syrian student with over five years of experience working with INGOs in Syria, including Action Against Hunger and the Aga Khan Foundation. 

I wrote this blog on 23 October 2024 and decided not to publish it because of the phrase “walls have ears”, thinking that it might cause problems for me when I go back home, to Syria. I didn’t know that only few weeks later, the Assad regime would be thrown out away and I would decide to publish it. 8 December 2024 has given all Syrians a new hope, and new voice.  

Below is the original blog: 

This year I realized that I don’t have a voice. Not in the sense of lacking a physical voice or having a health problem that prevents me from speaking, but in terms of not feeling able to express my opinions on serious topics. As a Syrian with a Syrian passport, I grew up in an environment where “walls have ears”, referring to Syrian intelligence. When I moved to London, I wasn’t really thinking about this until October/ November 2023, when protests erupted on London’s streets in support of Palestine. It was then that I realized the ugly truth: I am voiceless. 

In my first month at LSE, some students gathered on campus to support Palestine, and a cohort mate asked me: “are you going to join the protest?” I said yes. But I was scared, and maybe ashamed of saying no, partly because I had not participated in a protest before, either in Syria or London. I didn’t know what I was scared about, exactly. There were many reasons, maybe because I grew up in a country where there were no protests. Then when they did happen, the country went into a tunnel of sectarian violence and civil war so quickly, and we never saw protests again at least until I left in August 2022 (just to be clear I am not blaming the protesters at all).  

As for the protests in London, I was always scared of participating because I have a Syrian passport and there is no embassy here, so there is no protection or help in the event of an arrest or any legal/ visa problem. I felt that I could not participate because there would be no one there to help me if I fell. I wrote about this briefly in the dissertation of my first master’s in London. It was about Syrian refugees who live in Belgium and have gained Belgian citizenship, and their Syrian national identity and sense of belonging. These were questions I am struggling with on a daily basis, and I wanted to see how other ordinary people like me think about it. In the introduction to my dissertation, I explained that it was an attempt to give myself and my research participants a voice. 

Back to the protest on campus. I stood there, happy that I was finally participating, but still scared. I helped in holding one of the banners while trying to cover as much of my face as possible to avoid being recognized in any photos. But the deep, painful moment came when I couldn’t shout with my fellow students. I couldn’t raise my voice and chant the words out loud like the rest of the students. I envied them. Why were they able to shout, and I was not? What was stopping me? Where was my voice?  

I thought I had found my voice when I worked on that dissertation, and when I told my therapist about it. I have always thought of myself as courageous person, I have been through so much in Syria, but now, in London, if I am so courageous, where was my voice? It wasn’t coming out. It was an extremely painful experience, and I know many people who face the same issue but are not talking about it – or maybe they haven’t even realized that they have this problem. But I also know that I will keep trying until I find my voice, until I am able to shout out loud. 

The reason I am writing this is that sometimes in life we don’t really think about our daily bodily functions or what other philosophical aspects they represent. Until that critical moment comes, and we see it. For me, I never thought about my voice in these terms until this year. So, I guess what I am trying to say is for those who have realized or found their voice – grab onto it, don’t let it disappear, and keep raising it because without even knowing it, you’re helping others find their voice or at least think about it. And for those like me without a voice, don’t give up on trying to find your voice, no matter how painful it is. You’ll eventually be able to shout, just like I will soon.