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.
我記得當我聽到 我要去 TED 演講的時候, 我跑到我帶的其中一個班級, 告訴那裡面的學生:
"Guess what, guys? I've been asked to give a TED Talk."
「你們知道嗎? 我被邀請去 TED 演講呢!」
The reaction wasn't one I quite expected. The whole room went silent.
但他們的反應不如預期。 整間教室只有沉默。
"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.
「TED?是那些很勵志的演講嗎? 還是那些科學家和機器人 會做出來的東西?」 穆罕默德問我。
"Yes, just like that."
「嗯,差不多是。」
"But Coach, those people are really important and smart."
「但教練,只有重要又聰明的人 會去那裡演講耶。」
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
"I know that."
「我知道啊。」
"But Coach, why are you speaking? You hate public speaking."
「你又為什麼會去演講? 你不是不喜歡在眾人面前說話嗎?」
"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."
「我是不喜歡,」我承認, 「但講關於我們的事何其重要, 那些關於你我的歷程, 是其他人需要知道的。」
The students at the all-refugee school that I founded decided to end with some words of encouragement.
我所創立的難民學校的學生 決定以鼓勵的話語結束我們的對話。
"Cool! It better be good, Coach."
「不錯呢!祝你順利,教練。」
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
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.
當今有 6530 萬人因為戰火迫害, 不得不離家異地。 其中來自敘利亞的 1100 萬人占最多數。 每天有 33,952 人逃離。 他們多數來到了難民營, 沒有人敢說那裡的條件合乎人道。 我們把人類降級。 我們從來沒有那麼多人過。 這是自二戰以來最大的難民潮。
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.
讓我來告訴你為何 這個議題對我這麼重要。 我是位阿拉伯移民。 我是穆斯林。 近 12 年我都投身難民相關工作。 噢──我還是同性戀。 這讓我近期滿受矚目的。
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
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.
我是難民的女兒。 我奶奶在 1964 年逃離 敘利亞的阿薩德政權。 那時她已經懷胎三個月了, 她帶著五個小孩來到鄰國約旦, 面對著未知的未來。 我爺爺決定留下來, 不相信情況那麼糟。 但在他兄弟被虐待以後, 他也在一個月後過來了。 他的工廠被政府控制。 他們白手重新起家, 成為經濟獨立的約旦人。
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 年後我在約旦出生。 奶奶認為知道自己的歷史和歷程 是很重要的。 我 8 歲時她帶我參觀了 我第一個難民營。 我沒辦法理解。 我不知道我們一定要去的理由何在。 我記得她牽著我的手跟我說: 「去跟孩子們玩吧。」 她自己則要拜訪一些女人。 我那時不想去。 那些小孩跟我不一樣。 他們很窮還住在難民營。 我拒絕了。 奶奶蹲在我旁邊堅定地說:「快去。 在跟他們玩過之前不准回來。 不要覺得他們比你低下, 或覺得他們沒什麼好教你的。」
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.
我不情願地去了。 我不想讓我奶奶失望。 我跟那些小孩踢了一下足球, 幾個小時候才回來。 我們走出難民營, 我很興奮的告訴她我有多高興, 那些小孩有多棒。
"Haram!" I said in Arabic. "Poor them."
「阿拉禁止!」我用阿拉伯文說。 「他們真可憐。」
"Haram on us," she said, using the word's different meaning, that we were sinning. "Don't feel sorry for them; believe in them."
「我們也是不潔的,」 她用了這個字的另一個意思, 代表我們都有罪。 「別對他們感到抱歉, 而是去相信他們。」
It wasn't until I left my country of origin for the United States that I realized the impact of her words.
一直到我來美國後 才體會到了這句話的涵義。
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.
大學畢業後我得到了政治庇護, 基於我是社會團體的一份子。 有的人可能沒察覺, 但在某些國家身為同性戀 是會被判死刑的。 我得放棄我的約旦國籍。 這是我做過最艱難的決定, 但我別無選擇。 重點是, 當你得在生存和故鄉做選擇時, 「你從哪裡來?」就會變成負擔。 我在希臘難民營遇到的敘利亞女人 描述得很好, 她在回想自己得逃離 阿勒頗的時候這麼說道:
"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.
「我往窗外看去, 但只看到一片荒蕪。 到處都是瓦礫。 沒有商店、沒有街道, 更遑題學校了。所有東西都消失了。 我在公寓住了幾個月, 聽著炸彈墜落,看著人們死去。 但我相信明天會更好, 沒有人能逼我離開, 沒有人能奪走我的房子。 可是一個早晨我看向外頭, 我驚覺如果再不離開, 我的三個小孩就死定了。 所以我們只好離開。 這是因為我們必須離開, 不是自己的意願使然。 我們別無選擇。」她說。
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.
當你無家可歸之時, 當你的母國因 恐懼或迫害而拒絕你時, 當你的故土被摧毀殆盡時, 你會很難相信自己屬於 任何一個群體。 我那時不覺得我有家。 我不再是約旦人, 但我同時也不是美國人。 孤寂感油然而生, 至今仍難以言喻。
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.
大學畢業後,我急切地 想要找一個可以稱為家的所在。 我在州與州之間徘徊, 最後來到了北卡羅來納。 善心的民眾可憐我, 他們幫我繳房租, 或在我去應徵時幫我買食物或衣服。 這只讓我更覺得自己的孤立無能。 直到我遇到了莎拉小姐, 一個美南浸信會教徒, 在我人生的低點給了我一份工作, 讓我開始產生自信。 莎拉小姐在北卡羅萊那州的 山區有一間餐館。 我原本以為是因為我優越的成長環境 和七姊妹學院的學歷, 讓她給我管理餐廳的機會。 但我錯了。 我從洗盤子、 清廁所、顧烤架開始做起。 我態度謙卑,也明白了 努力工作的價值。 但更重要的是,我覺得被重視了。 我和她們家一同慶祝聖誕節, 她也試著跟我一起過齋戒月。
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.
我記得對她出櫃那時我緊張萬分── 畢竟她是美南浸信會教徒。 我坐在她旁邊 並說道:「莎拉, 我是一名同性戀。」 她的回應讓我永生難忘。
"That's fine, honey. Just don't be a slut."
「沒關係,親愛的。 別當個蕩婦就好。」
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
(Applause)
(掌聲)
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.
我最後移到亞特蘭大, 仍試著尋找我的定所。 三年後我遇到一群難民小孩在踢球, 我的旅程有了奇妙的轉折。 我走錯路進到了一間公寓大樓, 看到這些小孩在踢足球。 他們赤腳踢著殘破的足球, 並用石頭計分。 我大概看了一個小時, 之後我笑了。 他們讓我想起了家。 想起了我兒時在約旦街道上, 和兄弟姊妹一起踢球。 我加入了他們的賽局。 他們一開始還有點疑義, 因為他們認為女生不會踢球。 但我當然會。
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.
我問他們有沒有組隊過。 他們說沒有,但是願意試試看。 我慢慢地說服他們,並組了隊。 這群小孩會讓我對難民、貧困 和人性上有了深刻的一課。 來自阿富汗的三兄弟── 魯拉、努爾拉和扎比伍拉── 扮演了主要角色。 一天我遲到,卻發現 場地上沒有半個人。 我很緊張。 我的團隊是喜歡練習的。 他們應該不會錯過才是。 我從車子出來, 兩個小孩從垃圾桶後跑出, 焦急地揮著手。
"Coach, Rooh got beat up. He got jumped. There was blood everywhere."
「教練,魯被人打啦。他被人圍毆。 到處都是血。」
"What do you mean? What do you mean he got beat up?"
「你說被打是甚麼意思?」
"These bad kids came and beat him up, Coach. Everybody left. They were all scared."
「有一群壞蛋跑來打他,教練。 大家都很害怕地跑了。」
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.
我們上車來到魯住的地方。 我敲了敲門,努爾來幫我開門。 「魯在哪裡?我得跟他談談, 看他好不好。」 「他在他房間,教練。他不想出來。」 我敲了門。
"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."
「魯,出來吧!我們講一下話。 我得看你好不好,要不要去醫院。」
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,
他出來了 。 他的臉上有一道疤痕,嘴唇也裂了。 他渾身發抖。 我看著他, 並請其他人打電話給他們的媽媽, 因為我得跟他去醫院。 他們打了電話, 而媽媽也來了。 她開始用波斯語尖叫,我背對著她。 其他男孩笑著在地上打滾。 我感到困惑, 因為這並不好笑。 他們告訴我媽媽是在說
"You told me your coach was a Muslim and a woman." From behind, I didn't appear to be either to her.
「你們明明告訴我 你們的教練是穆斯林女性。」 而我從背後看來一點都不像。
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
"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,」我轉身告訴她。 「我作證──萬物非主,唯有真主。」 這是穆斯林的信仰宣言。 她很疑惑, 但慢慢開始相信, 眼前這個美國樣、 穿短褲、沒頭巾的女人, 的確是穆斯林。
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.
他們的家庭逃離塔利班。 幾百位村民 都被殺了。 他們家父親被塔利班抓走, 幾個月後被送回來, 已經沒有了生命。 他們逃到巴基斯坦, 而兩個分別為 8 歲和 10 歲的男孩, 為了生計每天織地毯 10 小時。 他們獲知能在美國 重新開始時有多麼高興, 只有千分之一的幸運兒有這個機會。 他們就像中了大獎。
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.
這個故事並不特別。 每個我接觸的難民都有 差不多的遭遇。 我接觸孩子, 那些看到母親被強姦, 父親被剁手指的孩子。 一位孩子看見一顆子彈 穿過她祖母的腦門, 因為她拒絕惡棍 抓她的小孩去當童兵。 他們的故事都很駭人。 但我每天看到的 是希望,是復甦,是決心, 是生活的愛, 還有能夠重獲新生的感激。
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."
一晚我在男孩的公寓, 他們的母親在清完 18 間 旅館客房後回來。 她坐下,努爾開始幫她腳底按摩, 並說他畢業後會好好照顧她。 她疲憊的面容露出了微笑。 「感謝老天。感謝生命。 我們在此何其有幸。」
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.
近兩年,人們反難民的情緒激增。 這個現象布及全球。 這個數字不斷攀升, 因為我們都毫無作為, 也沒有抵擋。 問題不是阻止難民來到這裡, 而是在怎麼讓他們不會 被迫離鄉背井。
(Applause)
(掌聲)
Sorry.
對不起。
(Applause)
(掌聲)
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.
還有多少苦難, 我們到底還要遭受多少苦難? 又要有多少人離開家園, 在我們說出「夠了!」之前? 一億? 我們不僅因為跟他們無關的暴行 羞赧、斥責、拒絕他們, 我們還做了二度傷害, 而且是在他們 應該被歡迎接納的時候。 我們剝奪了他們的尊嚴, 對待他們就像是在對待罪犯。
I had a student in my office a couple of weeks ago. She's originally from Iraq. She broke down crying.
我辦公室前幾個禮拜來了個學生。 她是伊拉克來的。 她哭了出聲。
"Why do they hate us?"
「他們為甚麼討厭我們?」
"Who hates you?"
「誰討厭妳?」
"Everyone; everyone hates us because we are refugees, because we are Muslim."
「所有人。因我們是難民, 大家都討厭我們。 也因為我們是穆斯林。」
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.
以前我能安撫我的學生, 沒有人會排斥難民。 但現在不行了。 我沒辦法解釋怎麼有人會在店裡, 拉掉她母親的頭巾。 或者敵隊的同學, 直接叫她恐怖分子, 叫她滾回原本的國家。 我也沒辦法安慰她, 她的父親一生奉獻給了美軍, 擔任美軍的翻譯, 但這沒辦法使她成為 被尊重的美國人。
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.
我們接納的難民為數不多。 我們安置的難民少於 0.1%。 這 0.1 的數字對國家的利益 大於對他們的利益。 莫非所謂「難民」, 就是骯髒污穢的? 就是應該羞恥的? 他們不應感到羞恥。
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.
我們的生活日新月異, 除了人道關懷之外。 因為征戰,有 6530 萬人 離開故土。 這是史上最大的數字。 我們才是該感到羞恥的人。
Thank you.
謝謝大家。
(Applause)
(掌聲)