Transcriber: Cordelia Gu
Reviewer: Annet Johnson Today, I have three short stories for you. The first story is about how I landed
in prison and what they did to me there. As most young teens,
I was aimless and powerless. But the only group that realized
how powerful my group was, was the regime of Syria. I remember going to the streets. I remember raising my hand up, jumping,
saying, “Freedom, dignity, and democracy!” I remember the soldiers coming to
the demonstration, trying to shoot people. I remember myself running away ... to my aunt’s house where I lived. Then intelligence services attack
the house, my aunt’s place. I lived there with my three cousins:
two boys and one girl. They snatched the older boys and they considered releasing me because I was that
“not a threat, young, little Omar.” My female cousin, 16 years old,
Noor reared back at them and said, “You have to let them go,
they didn’t do anything wrong!” They were her brothers. They ignored her, so she reared
her fist back and “boom” punched the soldier in the face. He fell on the stairs. And one thing for you to know,
soldiers don’t like to be punched, especially by a girl. Aggressively, they took the boys,
Noor, and me to prison. We were not allowed
to say goodbye to our parents. We’re not given a phone call. We could not say goodbye to our pets. We were just taken to prison
and placed in different cells. But Noor was the only one
who was unafraid. She was strong enough to keep yelling, but this time she was yelling to know if her brothers
and cousin were still alive. I was in shock! I had two fears: the first one was the fact that I would
be tortured every day and I may die; the second fear was the fact
that there was a mouse in the cell. As a child, my mom used
to tell me that, if you lie, a mouse will come and eat
your ears while you sleep. I didn’t want to be earless. (Laughter) So I could not stop thinking
about it, I could not sleep. The guard would come every day
and throw a piece of bread on the ground. It looked dirty, bloody, and I was not
hungry because I wanted to be home. The mouse ... loved the bread. She loved it. She would eat it, enjoy it,
and I’d be looking at her with fear. I became so tired so I’d sleep
and I’d wake up ... because of the mouse. She awakened me, not by eating my ears,
but by walking on my body. I shook the first time, but after
three days I stopped fearing her. After the fifth day, we became friends. Even though I was alone in prison
for the first time in my life, I did not feel alone
because she was with me, that beautiful friend. On my last day in this cell, she, the mouse, was waiting
for the delivery of the bread, but the guard came empty-handed. He had nothing but fury. I was screaming, “Open the door!” The mouse panicked, she tried to run away. But his feet were faster: “boom!” stomped on her. She died. Alongside her, my hope died ... because I realized that I was next. I could hear my cousins suffering, screaming from the overwhelming torture
they’re going through. I can still remember that sound,
that voice of them screaming, something I don’t want to remember,
I don’t want to hear ever again. They were begging to die, every single day. Until one day ... their wish ... was granted. I never heard from them again. Now we’ll never hear from them again. One hope was left: the brave, beautiful Noor. She was the only one left for me. She was my only hope. But the news came soon after, she also had died. I lost everything and everyone. Which leads me to my second story, how I found hope. I was transferred to another prison, crowded cells, a lot of people,
very small squares. I was assigned a square to sit in,
but I have to take turns; stand up for four hours
and sit down for four hours. Sleep like this and wake up like this ... for years. In these cells, sleep was not the problem. The least of my problem was the sleep,
because we were tortured everyday. Our fingernails were pulled out, and I was punched every day! I was beaten every day,
whipped every day, and I lost all the power,
all the energy, that I ever had. But every day there was
something very surprising. When they would take me back
from the torture floor to my room something would renew and that was my hope. In my cell were well-educated, emotionally intelligent, innocent people from all different walks:
doctors, psychologists, engineers, teachers, lawyers, economists,
everyone, and many more. The doctor would teach me
how to take care of my wounds. Without his advice, I would have
died of infection a thousand times. The lawyer invented a system
where we could share our food fairly. The psychologist told me
how to cope with my trauma, how to treat it while
it’s still being created, and the professor taught me
how to deliver a speech, how to learn, and how to teach. These people were the relationships
that saved my life. They became the best of friends I ever had and probably will ever have. They showed me that
there is a place beyond pain, where hope, kindness, imagination ... flourished. They showed me that
pain can have a purpose. Pain has the power to make
you new, to wake you up. It can transform you from a broken,
helpless prisoner to a resilient warrior. I remember asking myself the question, “If they could not kill me
in three years of time and hours of torture and pain, maybe I am invincible?” That’s what enormous pain
can make you: invincible. Which leads me to my final story: what will I do with the rest of my life? I will honor those who didn’t
have the chance to make it out. I will honor and help those
who are still left behind, millions of refugees as well. How many can I save? Everyone, every single one! Because I have a commitment, to support and work,
to help those who are oppressed in Syria, but also in Ukraine. We warned the entire world from Syria
that Putin is capable of these atrocities; he will commit them in Syria,
but also in Ukraine. And if we don’t stop him in Ukraine, another country will
suffer the consequences. People will suffer, they will
have to flee their homes. Millions and millions
will flee their homes, be killed, or tortured. I may be Syrian, but this month,
I am Ukrainian because I am a<i> </i>human. I’m also Tim Young, a California man who served 22 years
in prison for a crime he did not commit because of the injust
U.S. criminal justice system. He is now on death row, a feeling I can recall. He called me from prison
and said, “Hey, man. You are my inspiration. You made it despite
all these difficulties. But I wonder, I didn’t do anything wrong,
why won’t they just let me go?” That’s what I’m doing right now
with my Georgetown classmates. While others fight
that connection that exists, we’re at court to prove
this man’s innocence. Kids, he deserves to be free. And I know, the walk
to freedom is very long, but we are prepared for the long run. These are the three stories
I have for you today, and I’ll leave you with a tiny note. A question I always get asked, “You don’t seem traumatized,
you seem empowered, happy, joyful. What is that, a miracle?” Do you believe in miracles? I do ... because I received a phone call. It was a female voice ... and she said, “Hi, it’s me.” A voice I recognized. The beautiful, brave lady
that punched the guard in his face, made it out! I believe in miracles
because she, like me, is alive. Because she learned
and could use her pain to become that resilient warrior. You, me and her, everyone,
have suffered physical and mental pain. All of us know how it feels. All of us have the chance ... to transform ourselves
from broken, aimless, powerless people to the invincible people. (Applause)
