I remember when I first found out I was going to speak at a TED conference. I ran across the hall to one of my classrooms to inform my students.
我记得当我刚得知 我将在TED上发言时, 我跑过走廊进入一间教室 去通知我的同学们。
"Guess what, guys? I've been asked to give a TED Talk."
“伙计们,猜猜发生了什么? 我被邀请去做一次TED演讲。“
The reaction wasn't one I quite expected. The whole room went silent.
但结果大家的反应和我想象的不同。 整间教室一片寂静。
"A TED Talk? You mean, like the one you made us watch on grit? Or the one with the scientist that did this really awesome thing with robots?" Muhammad asked.
“一次TED演讲?”你是说你让我们在GRIT上看的那种TED演讲? 跟那个能让机器人做超酷事情的科学家一样?" 穆罕默德这样问道。
"Yes, just like that."
“是的,就像那样。”
"But Coach, those people are really important and smart."
“教练,但是那些人都非常重要而且非常聪明。”
(Laughter)
(笑声)
"I know that."
“我知道。”
"But Coach, why are you speaking? You hate public speaking."
“教练,但是你为什么去演讲?你不是不喜欢公开演讲吗?”
"I do," I admitted, "But it's important that I speak about us, that I speak about your journeys, about my journey. People need to know."
“的确如此,”我承认道, “但重要的是我在为我们发声,为你们颠沛的人生发声, 也为我的这些努力发声。 人们需要知道这些真相。”
The students at the all-refugee school that I founded decided to end with some words of encouragement.
最后,这些难民学校的学生们 说了一些鼓舞人心的话。
"Cool! It better be good, Coach."
“哇,教练,你最好能讲的好一点。”
(Laughter)
(笑声)
There are 65.3 million people who have been forcibly displaced from their homes because of war or persecution. The largest number, 11 million, are from Syria. 33,952 people flee their homes daily. The vast majority remain in refugee camps, whose conditions cannot be defined as humane under anyone's definition. We are participating in the degradation of humans. Never have we had numbers this high. This is the highest number of refugees since World War II.
有653万人因为战争或遭迫害 被迫离开家园,流离失所。 这些难民中最多的来自叙利亚,约有110万。 平均每天有33952人逃离曾经的家园。 但绝大多数人仍留在难民营中, 他们的生活状况令所有人堪忧。 我们的所作所为正使人类不断倒退。 历史上从未有关如此高的难民数量。 这时自二战以来最高的难民数。
Now, let me tell you why this issue is so important to me. I am an Arab. I am an immigrant. I am a Muslim. I've also spent the last 12 years of my life working with refugees. Oh -- and I'm also gay. It makes me really popular these days.
现在,让我来告诉你为什么这件事对我这么重要。 我是一位阿拉伯人。我也是一个移民。 我是穆斯林。 在过去12年中,我致力于帮助难民。 对了,我也是同性恋。 最近这些都让我备受关注。
(Laughter)
(笑声)
But I am the daughter of a refugee. My grandmother fled Syria in 1964 during the first Assad regime. She was three months pregnant when she packed up a suitcase, piled in her five children and drove to neighboring Jordan, not knowing what the future held for her and her family. My grandfather decided to stay, not believing it was that bad. He followed her a month later, after his brothers were tortured and his factory was taken over by the government. They rebuilt their lives starting from scratch and eventually became independently wealthy Jordanian citizens.
但我也是难民的女儿。 我的祖母于1964年逃离了阿萨德政权下的叙利亚。 当她收拾行囊带着5个孩子, 驾车逃往邻国约旦时,她怀有3个月的身孕。 那时她对一家人的未来一片迷茫。 我的祖父留了下来,他坚信一切还没有太糟糕。 一个月后,经历了兄弟们备受折磨、 自己工厂被政府强征后,他追随祖母离开叙利亚。 他们白手起家,重新开始了生活 并且最终成为了独立富裕的约旦公民。
I was born in Jordan 11 years later. It was really important to my grandmother for us to know our history and our journey. I was eight years old when she took me to visit my first refugee camp. I didn't understand why. I didn't know why it was so important to her for us to go. I remember walking into the camp holding her hand, and her saying, "Go play with the kids," while she visited with the women in the camp. I didn't want to. These kids weren't like me. They were poor. They lived in a camp. I refused. She knelt down beside me and firmly said, "Go. And don't come back until you've played. Don't ever think people are beneath you or that you have nothing to learn from others."
11年后,我出生在了约旦。 使孩子们了解我们的过去艰苦岁月 对于祖母来说十分重要。 当我8岁时,她第一次带我参观难民营。 那时我并不理解, 不理解为什么带我们参观难民营 对她如此重要。 我仍记得我牵着她的手走进难民营, 她说:“和孩子们去玩吧,” 而她要去拜访难民营里的妇女。 其实我并不想去。 那些孩子们和我不同。 他们贫穷,住在帐篷里。 所以我拒绝了。 她蹲下身对我坚定地说:“去吧。 不去玩就别回来了。” 不要认为别人低你一等 或者你不能从他人那里学到东西
I reluctantly went. I never wanted to disappoint my grandmother. I returned a few hours later, having spent some time playing soccer with the kids in the camp. We walked out of the camp, and I was excitedly telling her what a great time I had and how fantastic the kids were.
我勉强的接受了。 我从未想让我的祖母失望。 在和孩子们踢了几个小时球后, 我回来了。 我和祖母走出了难民营, 路上我兴奋的告诉祖母我玩的有多开心 那些孩子有多厉害。
"Haram!" I said in Arabic. "Poor them."
“Haram!”我用阿拉伯语说,“他们真可怜。”
"Haram on us," she said, using the word's different meaning, that we were sinning. "Don't feel sorry for them; believe in them."
她说:“Haram on us,”意思是 我们都有罪。 “别为他们感到悲伤,请相信他们。”
It wasn't until I left my country of origin for the United States that I realized the impact of her words.
直到我背井离乡来到美国 我才真正明白了她的那句话。
After my college graduation, I applied for and was granted political asylum, based on being a member of a social group. Some people may not realize this, but you can still get the death penalty in some countries for being gay. I had to give up my Jordanian citizenship. That was the hardest decision I've ever had to make, but I had no other choice. The point is, when you find yourself choosing between home and survival, the question "Where are you from?" becomes very loaded. A Syrian woman who I recently met at a refugee camp in Greece articulated it best, when she recalled the exact moment she realized she had to flee Aleppo.
在大学毕业后,作为一社会团体的一员, 我成功申请到了政治庇护。 有些人不知道, 在一些国家同性恋会被处以死刑。 我不得不放弃我的约旦国籍。 这是我至今做过的最艰难的抉择, 但我别无他路。 值得注意的是, 当你必须在故土和生存间二选一时, “你来自哪里?”这一问题变得十分意味深长。 一位我最近在难民营遇到的叙利亚女子 在回忆逃离阿勒颇(叙利亚西北部城市)的经历时 对这个问题阐释的最清楚。
"I looked out the window and there was nothing. It was all rubble. There were no stores, no streets, no schools. Everything was gone. I had been in my apartment for months, listening to bombs drop and watching people die. But I always thought it would get better, that no one could force me to leave, no one could take my home away from me. And I don't know why it was that morning, but when I looked outside, I realized if I didn't leave, my three young children would die. And so we left. We left because we had to, not because we wanted to. There was no choice," she said.
她说:“我朝窗外望去,空空如也。 城市变成了碎石瓦砾。 没有商店,没有街道,没有学校。一切都不复存在了。 我曾数月躲在我的公寓里, 听着此起彼伏的炮火声,看着相继倒下的人们。 但我总是期望一切都会变好, 没有人能逼我离开, 没有人能夺走我的家园。 但不知为何,某天清晨当我望向窗外, 我突然意识到若不离开我的三个孩子会有生命危险。 所以我们离开了。 我们并不想远走他乡,但我们毫无选择。 真的没有办法”。她说。
It's kind of hard to believe that you belong when you don't have a home, when your country of origin rejects you because of fear or persecution, or the city that you grew up in is completely destroyed. I didn't feel like I had a home. I was no longer a Jordanian citizen, but I wasn't American, either. I felt a kind of loneliness that is still hard to put into words today.
很难想象当你失去了家, 当你因为恐惧和迫害不得不离开祖国, 当你成长的那个城市被夷为平地时, 你能有归属感。 我不曾有拥有家的感觉。 我不再是约旦公民了, 但我也不是美国公民。 我心中一种孤独感油然而生, 至今难以用言语表达。
After college, I desperately needed to find a place to call home. I bounced around from state to state and eventually ended up in North Carolina. Kindhearted people who felt sorry for me offered to pay rent or buy me a meal or a suit for my new interview. It just made me feel more isolated and incapable. It wasn't until I met Miss Sarah, a Southern Baptist who took me in at my lowest and gave me a job, that I started to believe in myself. Miss Sarah owned a diner in the mountains of North Carolina. I assumed, because of my privileged upbringing and my Seven Sister education, that she would ask me to manage the restaurant. I was wrong. I started off washing dishes, cleaning toilets and working the grill. I was humbled; I was shown the value of hard work. But most importantly, I felt valued and embraced. I celebrated Christmas with her family, and she attempted to observe Ramadan with me.
大学过后,我急切地想寻找一个能称之为家的地方。 我在各州间辗转 并最终留在了北卡罗来纳州 那些同情我的热心人 为我付房租 或是请我吃饭,为我的面试准备套装。 但这更让我感到孤立无援,无能为力, 直到我遇到了萨拉女士。 她是一位美南浸信会信徒,她在我人生的低谷接纳了我并给予我一份工作。 从那时起,我开始对自己有了信心。 萨拉女士在北卡的山上拥有一间餐馆。 起初我想是因为我优越的成长环境 和七姐妹学院的学习经历, 使她让我管理餐厅。 但我错了。 我从洗盘子、 打扫卫生间、打理烧烤干起。 在谦恭的态度下,我明白了努力工作的价值。 但最重要的是,我感到自己被尊重,被接纳。 我和萨拉女士一家共同欢庆圣诞节, 她也试着和我庆祝斋月。
I remember being very nervous about coming out to her -- after all, she was a Southern Baptist. I sat on the couch next to her and I said, "Miss Sarah, you know that I'm gay." Her response is one that I will never forget.
我仍记得当我向她出柜时我多么的紧张-- 毕竟她是一位美南浸信会信徒。 我俩坐在长椅上, 我说:“萨拉女士,您知道吗,我是同性恋。” 她的回答令我终身难忘。
"That's fine, honey. Just don't be a slut."
“亲爱的,这没什么。别做一个荡妇就好。”
(Laughter)
(笑声)
(Applause)
(掌声)
I eventually moved to Atlanta, still trying to find my home. My journey took a strange turn three years later, after I met a group of refugee kids playing soccer outside. I'd made a wrong turn into this apartment complex, and I saw these kids outside playing soccer. They were playing barefoot with a raggedy soccer ball and rocks set up as goals. I watched them for about an hour, and after that I was smiling. The boys reminded me of home. They reminded me of the way I grew up playing soccer in the streets of Jordan, with my brothers and cousins. I eventually joined their game. They were a little skeptical about letting me join it, because according to them, girls don't know how to play. But obviously I did.
最终我搬到了亚特兰大,仍旧找寻着我真正的家。 三年后,当我遇到一群在外踢球的难民儿童时, 我的这趟旅程有了奇特的转折。 我误入了一间大楼, 看见了一群在外踢球的孩子。 他们光着脚踢着一个破烂不堪的足球 并用碎石头计分。 我注视着了一小时, 之后脸上洋溢着笑容。 这群男孩让我想起了家。 想起了小时候我在约旦街头 和兄弟姐妹们我踢球的模样。 最后我也加入了他们的游戏。 他们对我的加入感到怀疑, 因为在他们印象中女孩不会踢球。 但显然我踢得不错。
I asked them if they had ever played on a team. They said they hadn't, but that they would love to. I gradually won them over, and we formed our first team. This group of kids would give me a crash course in refugees, poverty and humanity. Three brothers from Afghanistan -- Roohullah, Noorullah and Zabiullah -- played a major role in that. I showed up late to practice one day to find the field completely deserted. I was really worried. My team loved to practice. It wasn't like them to miss practice. I got out of my car, and two kids ran out from behind a dumpster, waving their hands frantically.
我问他们他们是否已经组队了。 他们说并没有,但还是乐意的。 我逐渐赶超了比分,最后我们首次组成了一支队伍。 这群孩子很快让我 对难民、贫穷、人道有了更多了解。 来自阿富汗的三兄弟,Roohullah、 Noorullah和 Zabiullah 在这个中间发挥重要作用。 但有一天当我迟些到达球场时发现没有一个人。 我感到十分担忧。 我的队员们热爱训练, 他们不像是会错过练习。 我下了车,看到两个从垃圾桶后跑出来的孩子 疯狂地挥舞着双手。
"Coach, Rooh got beat up. He got jumped. There was blood everywhere."
“教练,Rooh被人欺负啦。 那里到处都是血。”
"What do you mean? What do you mean he got beat up?"
“你说什么?他被打了?”
"These bad kids came and beat him up, Coach. Everybody left. They were all scared."
“那些坏蛋跑过来打了他,教练。 大家都吓坏所以跑开了。”
We hopped into my car and drove over to Rooh's apartment. I knocked on the door, and Noor opened it. "Where's Rooh? I need to talk to him, see if he's OK." "He's in his room, Coach. He's refusing to come out." I knocked on the door.
我们上了车直奔Rooh的家里。 我敲了敲门,Noor打开了门。 “Rooh在吗?我要和他谈谈,他还好吗?” “他就在房间里,教练。他不肯出来。” 我又敲了敲门。
"Rooh, come on out. I need to talk to you. I need to see if you're OK or if we need to go to the hospital."
“Rooh,出来!我们需要谈谈。 你还好吗?要不要去医院?”
He came out. He had a big gash on his head, a split lip, and he was physically shaken. I was looking at him, and I asked the boys to call for their mom, because I needed to go to the hospital with him. They called for their mom. She came out. I had my back turned to her, and she started screaming in Farsi. The boys fell to the ground laughing. I was very confused, because there was nothing funny about this. They explained to me that she said,
他出来了。 他的脸上有道很深的伤口,嘴唇也裂了, 并且浑身发抖。 我看着他, 让他的两个兄弟打电话给他们的妈妈, 因为我要陪他去医院。 他们打了电话给妈妈, 后来妈妈到了。 当她用波斯语尖叫时,我正背对着她。 她的孩子们笑得地上打滚。 我感到费解, 因为并没有什么值得好笑的。 孩子们向我解释道她说,
"You told me your coach was a Muslim and a woman." From behind, I didn't appear to be either to her.
“你们不是说你们的教练是穆斯林而且是女性?” 因为从背影看起来我都不像。
(Laughter)
(笑声)
"I am Muslim," I said, turning to her. "Ašhadu ʾan lā ʾilāha ʾilla (A)llāh," reciting the Muslim declaration of faith. Confused, and perhaps maybe a little bit reassured, she realized that yes, I, this American-acting, shorts-wearing, non-veiled woman, was indeed a Muslim.
“我是穆斯林,”我转过身对她说, "Ašhadu ʾan lā ʾilāha ʾilla (A)llāh," 这是穆斯林的信仰宣言。 她起初有些疑惑, 可能慢慢地消除了疑虑, 最终相信了, 我这一个行为举止如美国人,短发且不戴头巾的女性, 的确是穆斯林。
Their family had fled the Taliban. Hundreds of people in their village were murdered. Their father was taken in by the Taliban, only to return a few months later, a shell of the man he once was. The family escaped to Pakistan, and the two older boys, age eight and 10 at the time, wove rugs for 10 hours a day to provide for their family. They were so excited when they found out that they had been approved to resettle in the United States, making them the lucky 0.1 percent who get to do that. They had hit the jackpot.
这个家庭从塔利班逃脱。 他们镇上数以百计的人 被塔利班残忍杀害了。 他们的父亲被塔利班关押, 几个月后,见到的只是冰冷的尸体了。 这个家庭逃离到巴基斯坦, 那时年长的两个孩子还不过8到10岁, 为了家里生计每天编织10小时的地毯。 当他们得知已被批准安置到美国时, 他们欣喜万分, 因为他们是那幸运的0.1%。 他们如同中大奖般幸运。
Their story is not unique. Every refugee family I have worked with has had some version of this. I work with kids who have seen their mothers raped, their fathers' fingers sliced off. One kid saw a bullet put in his grandmother's head, because she refused to let the rebels take him to be a child soldier. Their journeys are haunting. But what I get to see every day is hope, resilience, determination, a love of life and appreciation for being able to rebuild their lives.
也许他们的故事并不奇特。 我接触的每个难民家庭都有类似的遭遇。 我接触过一些孩子, 他们的母亲曾被凌辱或父亲被砍下了手指。 曾有一个孩子亲眼目睹祖母被射杀, 仅因为她阻止孩子被抓去当童子军。 也许他们一路的辛酸挥之不去, 但我我每天所见的是希望,是适应,是决心, 充满爱的生活 和对能够重建家园的感激之情。
I was at the boys' apartment one night, when the mom came home after cleaning 18 hotel rooms in one day. She sat down, and Noor rubbed her feet, saying that he was going to take care of her once he graduated. She smiled from exhaustion. "God is good. Life is good. We are lucky to be here."
有天晚上我在孩子们的家里, 他们的母亲一天打扫了18间宾馆房间,疲惫的回来了。 她坐下来,然后Noor给她做脚部按摩, 并说一旦他毕业了就会开始照顾妈妈。 她疲惫的面容里难掩笑意。 “感谢上苍,感谢生活,让我们足够幸运呆在这里。”
In the last two years, we have seen an escalating anti-refugee sentiment. It's global. The numbers continue to grow because we do nothing to prevent it and nothing to stop it. The issue shouldn't be stopping refugees from coming into our countries. The issue should be not forcing them to leave their own.
在过去的两年,我们发现排斥难民的情绪逐渐升级。 并且是全球性的。 难民数持续上升都是由于 我们的不作为。 问题不应该在于阻止难民涌入我们的国家, 而是应避免他们被迫逃离家园。
(Applause)
(掌声)
Sorry.
抱歉。
(Applause)
(掌声)
How much more suffering, how much more suffering must we take? How many more people need to be forced out of their homes before we say, "Enough!"? A hundred million? Not only do we shame, blame and reject them for atrocities that they had absolutely nothing to do with, we re-traumatize them, when we're supposed to be welcoming them into our countries. We strip them of their dignity and treat them like criminals.
我们要遭受多少苦难, 我们要遭受多少苦难? 多少人需要背井离乡 直到有人说“够了!”? 一亿? 我们不仅对未参与过的暴行的他们 感到羞愧、责难、排斥, 我们还让他们受到二次伤害, 我们本应欢迎他们来到我们的国家啊。 我们剥夺了他们的尊严并 像对待罪犯一样对待他们。
I had a student in my office a couple of weeks ago. She's originally from Iraq. She broke down crying.
几周前,一个学生来我办公室。 她来自伊拉克。 进入办公室后她嚎啕大哭。
"Why do they hate us?"
“他们为什么讨厌我们?”
"Who hates you?"
“谁讨厌你啦?”
"Everyone; everyone hates us because we are refugees, because we are Muslim."
“所有人!所有人都讨厌我们,因为我们是难民, 我们是穆斯林。”
In the past, I was able to reassure my students that the majority of the world does not hate refugees. But this time I couldn't. I couldn't explain to her why someone tried to rip off her mother's hijab when they were grocery shopping, or why a player on an opposing team called her a terrorist and told her to go back where she came from. I couldn't reassure her that her father's ultimate life sacrifice by serving in the United States military as an interpreter would make her more valued as an American citizen.
曾经,我对我的学生们保证说 世界上大部分人并不讨厌排斥难民。 但这次,我无法安慰她。 我无法解释当她的妈妈到杂货店购物时, 为何有人要撤掉她的头巾; 当她和小伙伴玩游戏时,为何对方小孩称她为恐怖分子, 或是让她打哪来回哪去。 我无法安慰她 即使她的父亲一生 都在美国军队中担任翻译, 这本更应使她成为美国公民。
We take in so few refugees worldwide. We resettle less than 0.1 percent. That 0.1 percent benefits us more than them. It dumbfounds me how the word "refugee" is considered something to be dirty, something to be ashamed of. They have nothing to be ashamed of.
我们仅接收了全世界如此少的难民。 我们只安置了少于0.1%的难民。 我们的获益甚至多余这0.1%的难民。 难道难民这个词十分卑劣吗?或是值得羞愧吗? 这让我无言以对。 他们不应感到羞愧。
We have seen advances in every aspect of our lives -- except our humanity. There are 65.3 million people who have been forced out of their homes because of war -- the largest number in history. We are the ones who should be ashamed.
我们生活中的方方面面都在进步—— 除了人道。 因为战争,已有653万人被迫 离开家园, 这是人类史上最大的难民数。 我们不应感到羞愧吗?
Thank you.
谢谢各位。
(Applause)
(掌声)