Reflections on Seven Years in the US

Seven years ago, I came to the US as a Fulbright scholar to pursue a Masters degree in HR and business at Purdue University, the top program in the world. My dream was to go back to Syria after finishing my degree and continue building what I started before leaving, a world-class career center.

That never happened.

Eight months after we left our beloved country, Assad and his gangs started slaughtering cities one after another, releasing all criminals and thugs from jails, opening the borders to Al Qaeda, and selling the country to Iran and Russia. He created the enemy that never existed, except in his media and in the minds of his pathetic followers. The ugly world believed the ugly narrative, a self-fulfillment prophecy that created the saddest story we've ever witnessed.

We lived for six years in one of the most conservative places in the US, Indiana. Although, my wife and I were gainfully employed (I worked at a top career center in the country and my wife worked at the state library,) yet, we faced bigotry, ignorance, and assault from those who let their fear of "others" take over their souls. We wanted to go back to our country, but the war killed our dreams of doing so. Our American friends and coworkers, whom we are forever indebted to their generosity, were more than a family to us and they surrounded us with their love and care.

Last year, we moved to California - The Bay Area to start writing a new chapter. I landed a job at Stanford and started my doctoral education, and my wife joined a startup in SF. New state, new jobs, new house and new daycare for our toddler. We live in a very expensive state, yet the warm weather and the liberal and diverse environment were worth the move. More importantly, this place offered us to build a new family of friends. A new place we call home.

2016 was the hardest year in our lives. We never imagined that any sorrow and compassion left in our hearts after everything happened to our country, families and friends, we simply reached a state of compassion fatigue. Then, we heard the worst news you could ever hear. I lost my friend, the beloved uncle of my daughter, my wife's brother Mustafa, a brilliant engineer who was killed by those who call themselves: Muslims.

We didn't come to the US as refugees, but now we are considered as refugees, we feel like refugees, and people treat us like refugees. Worse, We are perceived as "potential terrorists" in the eyes of the new administration that was elected by +50 million Americans.

The irony is that, what I do for living, is helping students throughout their journey toward finding meaningful work, while I, and a whole generation of Syrians, are still struggling to find meaning in this life. I know I am fortunate though. This generation of Syrians not only don't have the meaning to live for, they don't even have the means to stay alive.

We haven't seen our families since we came in 2010. Our hope - and dream - for this year was to go and see our families in a neighboring country like Lebanon, and let them see the first grand-daughter in both families. But after today's news, on the expected indefinite ban on Syrian refugees, our dreams have completely vanished. They are replaced with nightmares. If we leave the country, we will never be able to come back, and if we don't, only God knows if we will be able to see our family and our country again.

I often end my presentations and articles with the famous quote: "The best is yet to come," but this time, and with everything I see and hear on the news, I am emotionally numb, and I prefer to end my reflections with something I hope it is not going to happen "The worst is yet to come."

Iyad Yacoub, 01.26.2017 - Los Altos, California

-----

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are my personal views and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of my current or future employers.