Halla Barakat: The eternal spirit of revolution

This is not a eulogy for Halla Barakat, because Halla Barakat is not dead. No. Actually she is more alive than ever. Whoever thinks they can kill Halla is a fool, because Halla is a spirit that cannot be killed.

This spirit is like a tumultuous river that flows beyond the limitations of our temporal, physical world. It sweeps away anyone who tries to obstruct it, and breaks any dam that tries to block it. It spreads out into streams and tributaries, and floods every flat plain with the fertile silt of revolution. The rockier the terrain, the more violent its rapids become. 

It takes hold of anyone who turns to it with a pure heart and a hunger for freedom. Nelson Mandela, Mother Teresa and Malcolm X were all possessed by this spirit. In return, they were blessed with the bravery to speak out against tyranny. 

At 23-years-old, Halla Barakat, a Syrian-American journalist who had just graduated from Istanbul Sehir University in the field of political science, did not stay long enough in our realm for her name to resonate as much as those mentioned above, but she was nonetheless part of the same spirit. 

In her short period on this earth, she was already well-known for her activism and helping of refugees. Following in the footsteps of her mother Orouba, an outspoken critic of the Assad regime in Syria, Halla embodied the struggle of the Syrian people for freedom.  

She felt the pain of every single Syrian buried alive beneath the rubble of their homes, due to the regime’s barrel bombs. She grieved for every Syrian who drowned in the Mediterranean while trapped in the lower deck over an overcrowded boat of people seeking sanctuary in Europe. For her, every Syrian lost to this war was like losing a member of her family. 

Halla was the hand that reached out across the barbed wire fences to the children inside the refugee camps. She was the arms that embraced the honourable Syrian men and women who had lost everything to this war. She was the voice that continued to speak the truth when everyone else’s throats had become sore from shouting. While others turned their back on the Omran Daqneeshes and Alan Kurdis of this world, Halla and her mother remained by their side.

At the same time, Halla also embodied the so called “American Dream.” She was born in North Carolina and wanted to eventually return to the US to continue to represent the Syrian struggle there. Her ambition was to one day become an anchorwoman or a reporter for a top US-based news organisation. Halla could have been the next Christiane Amanpour. 

She believed in equality, democracy, human rights and justice for all people in a united Syria. Neither Halla nor Orouba wavered from their sense of righteousness, even when the initial backers of the Syrian revolution stepped back. They criticised terrorist groups and separatists who had hijacked the revolution just as much as they did the regime. Likewise, they stood firm against elements within the Syrian opposition who had softened their stance on the Assad regime. They felt entering dialogue with Assad was equal to legitimising the foreign occupation of their land and a betrayal of all those who sacrificed their lives for the cause. 

They knew the dangers they faced for sticking by their principles, and they were fully prepared to give their lives for Syria. The threats against them were endless, yet they continued to live their lives without fear. There was hardly a time that Halla wasn’t smiling. Her contagious laughter and joyful personality restored hope in everyone who still believed in the revolution. 

The conviction in her big, beautiful blue-green eyes was enough to inspire a nation to victory.

Perhaps this is the reason why Halla was targeted. Maybe it was those same eyes that reminded certain individuals of their imminent demise, and instead of admitting defeat they preferred to eliminate the source of their anxiety. 

They didn’t kill Halla. They just brought her to life in the hearts of everyone who knew and loved her. They didn’t silence Halla. They just merged her struggle with that of everyone who speaks out against tyranny and oppression for generations to come. They didn’t stop the river. They just caused it to overflow. 

Halla is the determination of the man from Homs burying his dead friend secretly at night to avoid snipers. She is the courage of the mother from Raqqa pushing her children into the sea because it’s safer than the land. She is the fearlessness of the rescue worker from Aleppo stepping out into a shower of barrel bombs with nothing but a white helmet for protection. She is the innocence of the orphan from Yarmouk collecting wild plants in the street for food. She is the anguish of the father from Ghouta who helplessly watched the convulsions of his dying children following a chemical attack. She is the nostalgia of the displaced old man from Deir Ezzor whose dying wish is to see his home one last time. She is the hope of the girl from Idlib who from the confines of her refugee camp dreams of one day becoming a doctor. 

Halla is revolution. 

Halla is freedom. 

Halla is victory. 

Halla is Syria.