[SHAPE YOUR FUTURE]
Society has a set of stories it tells itself about who refugees are and what they look like. But let me tell you a different story. My story.
I'm a filmmaker and a refugee from a small village in northern Syria. In our village, growing up, there was no stable electricity supply. We spend most of our nights around gas lanterns and told stories about Syrian mythological superbeings that protected the vulnerable. I was a boy who loved the stories of superheroes. But later on, these stories shifted to tales of heroes that my family has to face under the Assad dictatorship. One of my uncles was killed under torture. My father had to burn his books before they were even published in order to protect us from the regime. He burned his dreams along with his books.
These stories must not be forgotten, my parents insisted. The stories stopped being a pastime. It became a form of resistance. I studied filmmaking and focused on documentaries. Documentary filmmaking, you see, became my way of resistance. I documented stories of Syrians who opposed the Assad regime, in 2011, when the revolution started. I was arrested, tortured and sexually assaulted.
When I was released, I left Syria. I was traumatized and tried to end my life. My wife stood by me and helped me hang onto life. But as a result, I stopped making films. Despite my arrest and torture, I took many risks in order to see my family.
So a year later, when the Assad regime lost control of the north of Syria, I was able to visit my hometown. There, I met many inspiring Syrians, real life superheroes who stayed behind to save lives. I was captivated by how genuine they were. Without planning, I took out my camera and started filming, I felt inspired. These real-life superheroes saved the filmmaker in me.
Khalid was one of the heroes in my first feature film, "Last Men in Aleppo." Khaled was a simple man who dreamed to be a firefighter, but he couldn't follow his dream. So he worked as a house painter. When the war destroyed his city, he found his calling. He joined the White Helmets, a group of Syrian volunteers who formed a civil defense organization to rescue civilians from their bombed homes. Khalid saved hundreds of lives. While doing that, he died as a hero.
The second hero is Dr. Amani Ballour, whose story I told in my second film, “The Cave.” It's a story of an extraordinary woman who founded an underground hospital in eastern Ghouta. She treated injured children, victims of atrocities, while bombs fell around them. As a female scientist, she defied sexism and patriarchy to save civilians who suffered two attacks with chemical weapons.
And then there are the two superheroes who saved my own life. Khalil Ma'touq and Anwar al-Bunni. They are the lawyers who took up my case and got me out of the most notorious torture facilities in Damascus. While Anwar now is in Germany, fighting for justice for Syrian refugees, Khalil was arrested in 2012 because of his work. We don't know anything about him because the Syrian regime continues to deny his arrest, but his work is not in vain.
It's for Khalil I faced my torturer in Germany. In June 2020 I gave my testimony at the first trial on Syrian state of torture before a German court in Koblenz. It is for Amani and Khalid I'm still the filmmaker today. They inspired me to create a new cinematic universe of superheroes, based on their quest to end injustice.
Creating this cinematic universe has not been an easy journey. It's been a brutal struggle against racism and discrimination in the film industry, an industry dominated by people who think they know how the audience, how you want a film about Syrians to be, how you want superheroes or refugees to look. But refugees look just like me. These refugees were superheroes who defied the status quo and stereotype. So I will not stop. I owe it to them. I owe it to my daughter, the young refugee child. To tell the stories of superheros who look just like her. For her, I will continue to resist.
Thank you.
