On Fear

"But is it safe?" It seems to be the first question that Americans ask about traveling to the Middle East. My answer is almost always a confident, "Yes, of course." Even though I know that's not completely true.



I've always been a worrier. When I'm at home in Colorado, I worry about car accidents, I worry about walking alone at night, I worry about accidentally burning my apartment down. I've been known to declare my younger brother dead because he didn't return my phone call for a few hours. And so, of course I worry here too. In fact, I rely on that low level of anxiety to keep me alert and aware here, where I am so thoroughly out of my element.

But the reason that I'm so quick to gloss over these worries is because what I'm trying to say is, "It's not what you think." Being here, I realize how deeply the perception of the Middle East as a blood-soaked war zone full of hostile people has seeped into my psyche. I realize it because sometimes I'm surprised that living here is so intensely ordinary. Most days, what I focus on is getting through life. I go to the office, I buy groceries, I get stuck in traffic. And so do the people around me. They go to school, they cook dinner, they walk the dog. And instead of hostility, the people I have encountered so far have been deeply gracious and hospitable.

I don't mean to minimize the incredible suffering that conflict and war have wreaked on this region. And I also realize that being a foreigner gives me protection that local people don't have. What I'm trying to say is that, in the U.S., we've allowed our perceptions of the Middle East to dehumanize the people here. That somehow because we believe this region is violent and has always been violent, then we are able to turn off our empathy. What I find devastating about living here is that the violence occurs amidst such ordinary daily life.