When I was a child, I knew I had superpowers. That's right.
Kad sam bila dete, znala sam da imam supermoći. To je tačno.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I thought I was absolutely amazing because I could understand and relate to the feelings of brown people, like my grandfather, a conservative Muslim guy. And also, I could understand my Afghan mother, my Pakistani father, not so religious but laid-back, fairly liberal. And of course, I could understand and relate to the feelings of white people. The white Norwegians of my country. You know, white, brown, whatever -- I loved them all. I understood them all, even if they didn't always understand each other; they were all my people.
Mislila sam da sam potpuno neverovatna jer sam mogla da razumem i da saosećam sa smeđim ljudima, poput mog dede, konzervativnog muslimana. A takođe sam mogla da razumem moju majku Avganistanku, mog oca Pakistanca, koji nisu bili naročito religiozni, već opušteni, prilično liberalni. I naravno, mogla sam da razumem i da saosećam sa belim ljudima. Belim Norvežanima iz svoje zemlje. Znate, belim, smeđim, kako god - sve sam ih volela. Sve sam ih razumela, čak iako nisu uvek razumeli jedni druge, svi su bili moji ljudi.
My father, though, was always really worried. He kept saying that even with the best education, I was not going to get a fair shake. I would still face discrimination, according to him. And that the only way to be accepted by white people would be to become famous. Now, mind you, he had this conversation with me when I was seven years old. So while I'm seven years old, he said, "Look, so it's either got to be sports, or it's got to be music." He didn't know anything about sports -- bless him -- so it was music. So when I was seven years old, he gathered all my toys, all my dolls, and he threw them all away. In exchange he gave me a crappy little Casio keyboard and --
Moj otac je ipak bio stalno krajnje zabrinut. Govorio bi da i uz najbolje obrazovanje neću imati poštene šanse. Smatrao je da ću se i dalje suočavati sa diskriminacijom. I da je jedini način da me belci prihvate to da postanem poznata. Sad, možete misliti, ovako smo razgovarali kad mi je bilo sedam godina. Kad mi je bilo sedam godina, rekao je: "Gledaj, biraj sport ili muziku." Nije znao bilo šta o sportu - srećom - pa je odabrana muzika. Pa, kad mi je bilo sedam godina, pokupio je dve moje igračke i lutke i sve ih bacio. U zamenu mi je dao bezveznu malu kasio klavijaturu i -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Yeah. And singing lessons. And he forced me, basically, to practice for hours and hours every single day. Very quickly, he also had me performing for larger and larger audiences, and bizarrely, I became almost a kind of poster child for Norwegian multiculturalism. I felt very proud, of course. Because even the newspapers at this point were starting to write nice things about brown people, so I could feel that my superpower was growing.
Da. I časove pevanja. I praktično me je naterao da vežbam satima i satima svakog dana. Veoma brzo, naterao me je da nastupam pred sve većom i većom publikom, i, bizarno, ali postala sam skoro kao dete sa letka norveškog multikulturalizma. Bila sam veoma ponosna, naravno. Jer su čak i novine u tom momentu počele da pišu lepo o smeđim ljudima, pa sam osećala kako moja supermoć raste.
So when I was 12 years old, walking home from school, I took a little detour because I wanted to buy my favorite sweets called "salty feet." I know they sound kind of awful, but I absolutely love them. They're basically these little salty licorice bits in the shape of feet. And now that I say it out loud, I realize how terrible that sounds, but be that as it may, I absolutely love them. So on my way into the store, there was this grown white guy in the doorway blocking my way. So I tried to walk around him, and as I did that, he stopped me and he was staring at me, and he spit in my face, and he said, "Get out of my way you little black bitch, you little Paki bitch, go back home where you came from." I was absolutely horrified. I was staring at him. I was too afraid to wipe the spit off my face, even as it was mixing with my tears. I remember looking around, hoping that any minute now, a grown-up is going to come and make this guy stop. But instead, people kept hurrying past me and pretended not to see me. I was very confused because I was thinking, well, "My white people, come on! Where are they? What's going on? How come they're not coming and rescuing me?" So, needless to say, I didn't buy the sweets. I just ran home as fast as I could.
Pa, kad mi je bilo 12 godina, vraćajući se iz škole, malo sam skrenula s puta jer sam želela da kupim omiljeni slatkiš nazvan "slana stopala". Znam da zvuče nekako grozno, ali sam ih potpuno obožavala. U suštini to su maleni slani komadići slada u obliku stopala. I sad dok to glasno izgovaram, shvatam kako odvratno zvuči, ali kako god, ja sam ih potpuno obožavala. Pa se na mom putu do radnje našao odrasli belac, stajao je na ulazu blokirajući mi prolaz. Pa sam pokušala da ga obiđem, i dok sam to radila, zaustavio me je i zurio je u mene, i pljunuo mi je u lice, rekavši: "Skloni mi se s puta ti mala crna kučko, ti mala pakistanska kučko, vrati se u zemlju iz koje si došla." Bila sam prestravljena. Zurila sam u njega. Bilo me je suviše strah da obrišem pljuvačku s lica, čak i dok se mešala s mojim suzama. Sećam se da sam se osvrćala u nadi da će svakog trena odrasla osoba prići i naterati ovog čoveka da prestane. No, umesto toga, ljudi su žurili mimo mene i pretvarali se da me ne vide. Bila sam veoma zbunjena jer sam mislila, dobro: "Moji belci, hajde! Gde su? Šta se dešava?" Kako to da ne dolaze da me spase? Pa, bespotrebno je reći da nisam kupila slatkiš. Prosto sam što brže odjurila kući.
Things were still OK, though, I thought. As time went on, the more successful I became, I eventually started also attracting harassment from brown people. Some men in my parent's community felt that it was unacceptable and dishonorable for a woman to be involved in music and to be so present in the media. So very quickly, I was starting to become attacked at my own concerts. I remember one of the concerts, I was onstage, I lean into the audience and the last thing I see is a young brown face, and the next thing I know is some sort of chemical is thrown in my eyes and I remember I couldn't really see and my eyes were watering but I kept singing anyway. I was spit in the face in the streets of Oslo, this time by brown men. They even tried to kidnap me at one point. The death threats were endless. I remember one older bearded guy stopped me in the street one time, and he said, "The reason I hate you so much is because you make our daughters think they can do whatever they want." A younger guy warned me to watch my back. He said music is un-Islamic and the job of whores, and if you keep this up, you are going to be raped and your stomach will be cut out so that another whore like you will not be born.
I dalje je sve ipak bilo u redu, mislila sam. Kako je vreme prolazilo, postajala sam sve uspešnija, vremenom sam takođe počela da privlačim maltretiranja smeđih ljudi. Neki muškarci iz zajednice mojih roditelja su osećali da je neprihvatljivo i nečasno za ženu da se bavi muzikom i da bude toliko prisutna u medijima. Pa su, veoma brzo, počeli da me napadaju na mojim koncertima. Sećam se jednog od koncerata, bila sam na sceni, nagela se prema publici i poslednje što sam videla je mlado smeđe lice, a sledeće čega sam svesna je da mi je neku hemikaliju bacio u oči, i sećam se da skoro nisam mogla da vidim i oči su mi suzile, ali sam ipak nastavila da pevam. Pljuvali su mi u lice na ulicama Osla, ovog puta smeđi ljudi. Jednom su čak pokušali da me kidnapuju. Pretnje smrću su bile beskonačne. Sećam se da me je jednom stariji, bradati čovek zaustavio na ulici i rekao: "Mrzim te toliko jer zbog tebe naše kćerke misle da mogu da rade šta požele." Mlađi čovek me je upozorio da se pripazim. Rekao je da je muzika neislamska i posao za kurve, i ako nastavim s tim, da će me silovati i da će mi raseći stomak kako ne bih rodila kurvu sličnu sebi.
Again, I was so confused. I couldn't understand what was going on. My brown people now starting to treat me like this -- how come? Instead of bridging the worlds, the two worlds, I felt like I was falling between my two worlds. I suppose, for me, spit was kryptonite.
Opet sam bila veoma zbunjena. Nisam mogla da razumem šta se dešavalo. Moji smeđi ljudi su počeli da me tako tretiraju - kako to? Umesto da premošćujem svetove, dva sveta, osećala sam da padam između moja dva sveta. Pretpostavljam da je za mene pljuvačka bila kriptonit.
So by the time I was 17 years old, the death threats were endless, and the harassment was constant. It got so bad, at one point my mother sat me down and said, "Look, we can no longer protect you, we can no longer keep you safe, so you're going to have to go." So I bought a one-way ticket to London, I packed my suitcase and I left. My biggest heartbreak at that point was that nobody said anything. I had a very public exit from Norway. My brown people, my white people -- nobody said anything. Nobody said, "Hold on, this is wrong. Support this girl, protect this girl, because she is one of us." Nobody said that. Instead, I felt like -- you know at the airport, on the baggage carousel you have these different suitcases going around and around, and there's always that one suitcase left at the end, the one that nobody wants, the one that nobody comes to claim. I felt like that. I'd never felt so alone. I'd never felt so lost.
Do moje 17 godine, pretnje smrću su bile beskrajne, a maltretiranje je bilo stalno. Toliko se pogoršalo, da mi je majka u jednom momentu rekla: "Gledaj, ne možemo više da te štitimo i da ti obezbedimo sigurnost, moraćeš da ideš." Pa sam kupila kartu u jednom pravcu za London, spakovala kofer i otišla. Najviše me je tada povredilo to što niko nije rekao bilo šta. Moj odlazak iz Norveške je bio itekako javan. Moji smeđi ljudi, moji beli ljudi - niko nije rekao bilo šta. Niko nije rekao: "Sačekaj, ovo je pogrešno. Podržimo ovu devojku, zaštitimo ovu devojku jer je jedna od nas." Niko to nije rekao. Umesto toga, osećala sam se - znate na aerodromima, na pokretnoj traci za prtljag imate razne kofere koji kruže i kruže, i uvek ima taj jedan kofer koji ostane na kraju, onaj koga niko ne želi, koga niko ne traži. Tako sam se osećala. Nikad se nisam osećala tako usamljeno. Nikad se nisam osećala tako izgubljeno.
So, after coming to London, I did eventually resume my music career. Different place, but unfortunately the same old story. I remember a message sent to me saying that I was going to be killed and that rivers of blood were going to flow and that I was going to be raped many times before I died. By this point, I have to say, I was actually getting used to messages like this, but what became different was that now they started threatening my family.
Pa, po dolasku u London, vremenom sam nastavila muzičku karijeru. Drugo mesto, ali nažalost ista stara priča. Sećam se poruke koja mi je stigla u kojoj je pisalo da će me ubiti i da će reke krvi teći i da će me silovati više puta pre nego što umrem. Do tad, moram da kažem, zapravo sam se navikla na ovakve poruke, ali različito je bilo to da su sad počeli da prete mojoj porodici.
So once again, I packed my suitcase, I left music and I moved to the US. I'd had enough. I didn't want to have anything to do with this anymore. And I was certainly not going to be killed for something that wasn't even my dream -- it was my father's choice.
Pa sam ponovo spakovala kofer, napustila muziku i preselila se u SAD. Bilo mi je dosta. Nisam želela više da imam bilo šta s ovim. I sigurno nisam želela da poginem zbog nečega što nije ni bilo moj san - to je bio izbor mog oca.
So I kind of got lost. I kind of fell apart. But I decided that what I wanted to do is spend the next however many years of my life supporting young people and to try to be there in some small way, whatever way that I could. I started volunteering for various organizations that were working with young Muslims inside of Europe. And, to my surprise, what I found was so many of these young people were suffering and struggling. They were facing so many problems with their families and their communities who seemed to care more about their honor and their reputation than the happiness and the lives of their own kids. I started feeling like maybe I wasn't so alone, maybe I wasn't so weird. Maybe there are more of my people out there.
Pa sam se nekako izgubila. Nekako sam se slomila. Ali sam odlučila da želim da provedem ostatak nebitno koliko godina mog života podržavajući mlade ljude i pokušavajući da budem prisutna na neke sitne načine, kako god mogla. Počela sam da volontiram za razne organizacije koje su radile s mladim muslimanima unutar Evrope. I, na moje iznenađenje, otkrila sam da se toliko tih mladih ljudi pati i muči. Suočavali su se sa tolikim problemima u svojim porodicama i zajednicama koje su se činile da više mare za svoju čast i ugled nego za sreću i živote svoje dece. Počela sam da osećam da možda nisam sama, da možda nisam toliko čudna. Možda napolju ima još mojih ljudi.
The thing is, what most people don't understand is that there are so many of us growing up in Europe who are not free to be ourselves. We're not allowed to be who we are. We are not free to marry or to be in relationships with people that we choose. We can't even pick our own career. This is the norm in the Muslim heartlands of Europe. Even in the freest societies in the world, we're not free. Our lives, our dreams, our future does not belong to us, it belongs to our parents and their community. I found endless stories of young people who are lost to all of us, who are invisible to all of us but who are suffering, and they are suffering alone. Kids we are losing to forced marriages, to honor-based violence and abuse.
Stvar je u tome, nešto što mnogi ne razumeju, da ima toliko nas koji odrastamo u Evropi koji nismo slobodni da budemo mi sami. Nama nije dozvoljeno da budemo to što jesmo. Nismo slobodni da se venčavamo ili da budemo u vezama s ljudima koje odaberemo. Ne možemo ni da biramo karijeru. Ovo je norma u muslimanskim delovima Evrope. Čak i u najslobodnijim društvima u svetu, mi nismo slobodni. Naši životi, naši snovi, naša budućnost nam ne pripadaju, oni pripadaju našim roditeljima i njihovim zajednicama. Otkrila sam bezbroj priča o mladim ljudima koje su promakle svima nama, koji su nevidljive za sve nas, ali koji pate i pate usamljeni. Deca koju gubimo u ugovorenim brakovima, u nasilju zbog časti i zlostavljanju.
Eventually, I realized after several years of working with these young people, that I will not be able to keep running. I can't spend the rest of my life being scared and hiding and that I'm actually going to have to do something. And I also realized that my silence, our silence, allows abuse like this to continue. So I decided that I wanted to put my childhood superpower to some use by trying to make people on the different sides of these issues understand what it's like to be a young person stuck between your family and your country.
Naposletku sam shvatila, nakon nekoliko godina rada s ovim mladim ljudima, da neću moći da nastavim da bežim. Ne mogu da provedem ostatak života u strahu i skrivanju i da ću zapravo morati da preduzmem nešto. Takođe sam shvatila da moje ćutanje, naše ćutanje, omogućuje da se slično zlostavljanje nastavi. Pa sam odlučila da želim nekako da iskoristim svoju supermoć iz detinjstva tako što ću naterati ljude s različitih strana ovih problema da razmeju kako je biti mlada osoba zaglavljena između svoje porodice i svoje države.
So I started making films, and I started telling these stories. And I also wanted people to understand the deadly consequences of us not taking these problems seriously.
Pa sam počela da pravim filmove, i počela sam da pričam ove priče. Takođe sam želela da ljudi shvate smrtonosne posledice kad mi ne uzmemo ove probleme za ozbiljno.
So the first film I made was about Banaz. She was a 17-year-old Kurdish girl in London. She was obedient, she did whatever her parents wanted. She tried to do everything right. She married some guy that her parents chose for her, even though he beat and raped her constantly. And when she tried to go to her family for help, they said, "Well, you got to go back and be a better wife." Because they didn't want a divorced daughter on their hands because, of course, that would bring dishonor on the family. She was beaten so badly her ears would bleed, and when she finally left and she found a young man that she chose and she fell in love with, the community and the family found out and she disappeared. She was found three months later. She'd been stuffed into a suitcase and buried underneath the house. She had been strangled, she had been beaten to death by three men, three cousins, on the orders of her father and uncle. The added tragedy of Banaz's story is that she had gone to the police in England five times asking for help, telling them that she was going to be killed by her family. The police didn't believe her so they didn't do anything.
Pa je prvi film koji sam napravila bio o Banaz. Bila je 17-ogodišnja Kurdkinja u Londonu. Bila je poslušna, radila je sve što su njeni roditelji želeli. Pokušavala je da sve uradi kako treba. Udala se za nekog momka koga su njeni roditelji odabrali, iako ju je stalno tukao i silovao. Pokušavši da ode kod svoje porodice za pomoć, rekli su: "Pa, moraš da se vratiš i budeš bolja supruga." Zato što nisu želeli da imaju posla sa razvedenom kćerkom jer bi to, naravno, bilo nečasno za porodicu. Toliko ju je tukao da bi joj uši krvarile, a kad ga je konačno napustila i našla mladića kog je odabrala i u kog se zaljubila, zajednica i porodica su otkrili, i ona je nestala. Pronađena je tri meseca kasnije. Ugurana je u kofer i zakopana ispod kuće. Zadavila su je i tukla do smrti tri muškarca, tri rođaka, po naređenju njenog oca i ujaka. Dodatna tragedija u Banazinoj priči je da se pet puta obratila engleskoj policiji za pomoć, rekavši im da će je njena porodica ubiti. Policija joj nije verovala, te nisu uradili bilo šta.
And the problem with this is that not only are so many of our kids facing these problems within their families and within their families' communities, but they're also meeting misunderstandings and apathy in the countries that they grow up in. When their own families betray them, they look to the rest of us, and when we don't understand, we lose them.
A problem s ovim je da ne samo da se mnoga naša deca suočavaju s ovim problemima unutar svojih porodica i unutar zajednica svojih porodica, već takođe nailaze na nerazumevanje i apatiju u državama u kojima su odrasli. Kada ih sopstvene porodice izdaju, obraćaju se nama ostalima, a kad mi ne razumemo, gubimo ih.
So while I was making this film, several people said to me, "Well, Deeyah, you know, this is just their culture, this is just what those people do to their kids and we can't really interfere." I can assure you being murdered is not my culture. You know? And surely people who look like me, young women who come from backgrounds like me, should be subject to the same rights, the same protections as anybody else in our country, why not?
Pa, dok sam radila na ovom filmu, nekoliko ljudi mi je reklo: "Pa, Dija, znaš, to je prosto njihova kultura, to je prosto nešto što ti ljudi rade svojoj deci i zaista se ne možemo mešati." Uveravam vas da biti ubijen nije moja kultura. Znate? I zasigurno ljudi kao ja, mlade žene koje potiču iz sličnih sredina kao ja, bi trebalo da podležu istim pravima, istoj zaštiti kao i bilo ko u našoj državi, zašto ne?
So, for my next film, I wanted to try and understand why some of our young Muslim kids in Europe are drawn to extremism and violence. But with that topic, I also recognized that I was going to have to face my worst fear: the brown men with beards. The same men, or similar men, to the ones that have hounded me for most of my life. Men that I've been afraid of most of my life. Men that I've also deeply disliked, for many, many years.
Dakle, u svom sledećem filmu sam pokušala da razumem zašto neke od naših mladih muslimanskih klinaca u Evropi privlači ekstremizam i nasilje. Međutim, uz tu temu sam takođe spoznala da ću morati da se suočim s najvećim strahom: smeđim bradatim muškarcima. Istim muškarcima ili sličnim muškarcima onim koji su me šikanirali veći deo mog života. Muškarcima kojih se plašim veći deo svog života. Muškaracima koje takođe istinski nisam volela dugo, dugo godina.
So I spent the next two years interviewing convicted terrorists, jihadis and former extremists. What I already knew, what was very obvious already, was that religion, politics, Europe's colonial baggage, also Western foreign policy failures of recent years, were all a part of the picture. But what I was more interested in finding out was what are the human, what are the personal reasons why some of our young people are susceptible to groups like this. And what really surprised me was that I found wounded human beings. Instead of the monsters that I was looking for, that I was hoping to find -- quite frankly because it would have been very satisfying -- I found broken people. Just like Banaz, I found that these young men were torn apart from trying to bridge the gaps between their families and the countries that they were born in. And what I also learned is that extremist groups, terrorist groups are taking advantage of these feelings of our young people and channeling that -- cynically -- channeling that toward violence. "Come to us," they say. "Reject both sides, your family and your country because they reject you. For your family, their honor is more important than you and for your country, a real Norwegian, Brit or a French person will always be white and never you." They're also promising our young people the things that they crave: significance, heroism, a sense of belonging and purpose, a community that loves and accepts them. They make the powerless feel powerful. The invisible and the silent are finally seen and heard. This is what they're doing for our young people. Why are these groups doing this for our young people and not us?
Pa sam provela sledeće dve godine intervjuišući osuđene teroriste, džihadiste i bivše ekstremiste. Otpre sam znala nešto što je već očigledno, a to je da religija, politika, evropsko kolonijalno breme, kao i skorašnji neuspesi zapadne inostrane politike, da je sve to deo slike. No više sam bila zainteresovana za otkrivanje šta su ljudski, šta su lični razlozi zbog kojih su neki mladi ljudi podložni ovim grupama. A istinski me je iznenadilo to što sam otkrila povređena ljudska bića. Umesto čudovišta za kojima sam tragala, koje sam se nadala da ću naći - iskreno jer bi to bilo veoma zadovoljavajuće - pronašla sam urušene ljude. Baš poput Banaz, otkrila sam da su ovi mladići rastrgnuti u pokušaju premošćavanja jaza između svojih porodica i država u kojima su rođeni. Naučila sam i da ekstremističke grupe, terorističke grupe iskorišćavaju ova osećanja kod mladih i usmeravaju ih - cinično - usmeravaju sve to ka nasilju. "Priđite nama", kažu. "Odbacite obe strane, vaše porodice i vaše države jer vas oni odbacuju. Vašoj porodici je čast važnija od vas, a vašoj državi, pravi Norvežanin, Britanac ili Francuz će uvek da bude belac, nikad vi." Takođe obećavaju našim mladim ljudima ono za čim žude: značaj, herojstvo, osećaj pripadanja i svrhe, zajednicu koja ih voli i prihvata. Nemoćnima daju osećanje moći. Nevidljivi i utišani su konačno vidljivi i saslušani. Eto šta oni rade našim mladim ljudima. Zašto ove grupe to rade našim mladima, a ne mi?
The thing is, I'm not trying to justify or excuse any of the violence. What I am trying to say is that we have to understand why some of our young people are attracted to this. I would like to also show you, actually -- these are childhood photos of some of the guys in the film. What really struck me is that so many of them -- I never would have thought this -- but so many of them have absent or abusive fathers. And several of these young guys ended up finding caring and compassionate father figures within these extremist groups. I also found men brutalized by racist violence, but who found a way to stop feeling like victims by becoming violent themselves. In fact, I found something, to my horror, that I recognized. I found the same feelings that I felt as a 17-year-old as I fled from Norway. The same confusion, the same sorrow, the same feeling of being betrayed and not belonging to anyone. The same feeling of being lost and torn between cultures.
Radi se o tome, ne pokušavam da opravdam ili da nađem izgovor za bilo koje nasilje. Pokušavam da kažem da moramo da razumemo zašto neke naše mlade ljude privlači ovo. Takođe bih volela da vam pokažem, zapravo - ovo su slike iz detinjstva nekih od momaka iz filma. Zateklo me je to da mnogi od njih - nikada ne bih pomislila to - ali mnogi od njih imaju odsutne ili nasilne očeve. A nekoliko ovih mladića je na kraju otkrilo brižljive i saosećajne očinske figure unutar ovih ekstremističkih grupa. Takođe sam naišla na muškarce žrtve brutalnog rasnog nasilja, ali su pronašli način da se više ne osećaju kao žrtve tako što su i sami postali nasilni. Zapravo, otkrila sam nešto, na moje zaprepašćenje, što sam prepoznala. Otkrila sam ista osećanja koja sam osećala kao 17-ogodišnjakinja, bežeći iz Norveške. Istu zbunjenost, istu tugu, isti osećaj izdaje i nepripadanja bilo kome. Isto osećanje izgubljenosti i rastrgnutosti između kultura.
Having said that, I did not choose destruction, I chose to pick up a camera instead of a gun. And the reason I did that is because of my superpower. I could see that understanding is the answer, instead of violence. Seeing human beings with all their virtues and all their flaws instead of continuing the caricatures: the us and them, the villains and victims. I'd also finally come to terms with the fact that my two cultures didn't have to be on a collision course but instead became a space where I found my own voice. I stopped feeling like I had to pick a side, but this took me many, many years. There are so many of our young people today who are struggling with these same issues, and they're struggling with this alone. And this leaves them open like wounds. And for some, the worldview of radical Islam becomes the infection that festers in these open wounds.
S tim u vezi, nisam izabrala uništavanje, izabrala sam kameru umesto puške. A razlog tome je moja supermoć. Videla sam da je razumevanje odgovor, umesto nasilja. Videti ljudska bića sa svim svojim vrlinama i manama, umesto održavanja karikatura: mi i oni, zlikovci i žrtve. Takođe sam se pomirila sa činjenicom da moje dve kulture ne moraju da se sudaraju, već mogu da postanu prostor na kom pronalazim sopstveni glas. Prestala sam da se osećam kao da moram da izaberem stranu, ali za to su mi bile potrebne godine i godine. Ima toliko naših mladih ljudi danas koji se bore sa istim ovim pitanjima, i s tim se bore sami. A zbog toga su izloženi kao rane. A za neke pogled na svet radikalnog islama postaje zaraza koja se gnoji u ovim otvorenim ranama.
There's an African proverb that says, "If the young are not initiated into the village, they will burn it down just to feel its warmth." I would like to ask -- to Muslim parents and Muslim communities, will you love and care for your children without forcing them to meet your expectations? Can you choose them instead of your honor? Can you understand why they're so angry and alienated when you put your honor before their happiness? Can you try to be a friend to your child so that they can trust you and want to share with you their experiences, rather than having to seek it somewhere else?
Ima jedna afrička poslovica koja glasi: "Ako mlade ne uvedete u selo, spaliće ga, samo da osete njegovu toplinu." Volela bih da pitam - muslimanske roditelje i muslimanske zajednice, hoćete li da volite i brinete za vašu decu, a da ih ne primoravate da ispune vaša očekivanja? Možete li da odaberete njih, umesto vaše časti? Možete li da razumete zašto su tako besni i otuđeni kad stavite svoju čast ispred njihove sreće? Možete li da pokušate da budete prijatelj svom detetu kako bi moglo da vam veruje i moglo da deli sa vama svoja iskustva, umesto da mora to da traži negde drugde.
And to our young people tempted by extremism, can you acknowledge that your rage is fueled by pain? Will you find the strength to resist those cynical old men who want to use your blood for their own profits? Can you find a way to live? Can you see that the sweetest revenge is for you to live a happy, full and free life? A life defined by you and nobody else. Why do you want to become just another dead Muslim kid? And for the rest of us, when will we start listening to our young people? How can we support them in redirecting their pain into something more constructive? They think we don't like them. They think we don't care what happens to them. They think we don't accept them. Can we find a way to make them feel differently? What will it take for us to see them and notice them before they become either the victims or the perpetrators of violence? Can we make ourselves care about them and consider them to be our own? And not just be outraged when the victims of violence look like ourselves? Can we find a way to reject hatred and heal the divisions between us? The thing is we cannot afford to give up on each other or on our kids, even if they've given up on us.
A našim mladim ljudima koje privlači ekstremizam: možete li da priznate da je vaš bes pokrenut bolom? Hoćete li da nađete snage da odolite tim ciničnim starim muškarcima koji žele vašom krvlju da ostvare sopstveni profit? Možete li da pronađete način da živite? Možete li da uvidite da je najslađa osveta da vi živite srećne, ispunjene i slobodne živote? Živote koje određujete vi i niko drugi. Zašto želite da postanete tek još jedno mrtvo muslimansko dete? A što se tiče nas ostalih: kada ćemo da počnemo da slušamo naše mlade? Kako da ih podržimo da bi preusmerili bol u nešto konstruktivnije? Misle da nam se ne sviđaju. Misle da ne marimo šta će da im se desi. Misle da ih ne prihvatamo. Možemo li da pronađemo način da se osećaju drugačije? Šta nam je potrebno da ih vidimo i prepoznamo pre nego što postanu bilo žrtve ili počinioci nasilja? Možemo li se naterati da brinemo za njih i da ih smatramo našima? A da ne budemo prosto zgroženi kad žrtve nasilja liče na nas? Možemo li da nađemo način da odbacimo mržnju i zacelimo podele između nas? Radi se o tome da ne možemo da priuštimo da odustanemo jedni od drugih i naše dece, čak iako ona odustanu od nas.
We are all in this together. And in the long term, revenge and violence will not work against extremists. Terrorists want us to huddle in our houses in fear, closing our doors and our hearts. They want us to tear open more wounds in our societies so that they can use them to spread their infection more widely. They want us to become like them: intolerant, hateful and cruel.
Svi smo u ovome zajedno. A na duže staze, osveta i nasilje neće funkcionisati protiv ekstremista. Teroristi žele da budemo šćućureni od straha u našim kućama, da zatvaramo naša vrata i srca. Žele da razjapimo još rana u našim društvima kako bi mogli da ih koriste i što više šire svoju zarazu. Žele da postanemo poput njih: netolerantni, puni mržnje i okrutni.
The day after the Paris attacks, a friend of mine sent this photo of her daughter. This is a white girl and an Arab girl. They're best friends. This image is the kryptonite for extremists. These two little girls with their superpowers are showing the way forward towards a society that we need to build together, a society that includes and supports, rather than rejects our kids.
Dan nakon napada u Parizu, moja prijateljica je poslala ovu sliku njene kćerke. Ovo je bela devojčica i arapska devojčica. Najbolje su prijateljice. Ova slika je kriptonit za ekstremiste. Ove dve devojčice sa svojim supermoćima nam pokazuju put napred ka društvu koje moramo zajedno da izgradimo, društvu koje uključuje i podržava, umesto da odbija našu decu.
Thank you for listening.
Hvala vam na pažnji.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)