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COMMENTARY
The journey of immigration often unfolds in a predictable arc: frustration, followed by acceptance, and ultimately, love. Yet for over forty years, I remained trapped in that first, painful stage. I came to America fleeing the Arab world, where my work as a journalist—one who dared to question regimes and religious dogma—made me a target. Seeking asylum in the United States was not a choice; it was a necessity for survival. For granting me refuge, I am profoundly grateful to America.
But gratitude soon gave way to disillusionment. I quickly realized I had escaped one form of tyranny, false democracy, and corruption only to encounter another. Within mere weeks, it became disturbingly clear that the democracy I had idealized from afar was, in practice, an illusion—a system where governance is neither truly by the people nor for the people. Instead, I found a nation riddled with corruption so vast and systemic that it defied my imagination. This realization anchored me in a perpetual state of alienation. My sense of belonging, so eagerly anticipated, never materialized.
I arrived in the United States equipped with a strong legal education, fluency in multiple languages, and a wealth of experiences from my time across Europe. I had hoped these assets would help me build a new life, one where I might find solace and stability. Yet my heart remained tethered to Europe, my spiritual home, a continent whose culture, history, and values resonated with me in ways America could not. Still, I persisted. I studied, worked, and eventually retreated into academia, carving out a life in the so-called “Ivory Tower.”
Becoming a tenured professor allowed me to create a small sanctuary within an often-chaotic environment. Teaching journalism, English, political science, and American government, I experienced moments of pride in America’s ideals—the principles of liberty, justice, and the intricate system of checks and balances that theoretically safeguarded them. But these moments were fleeting. One scandal after another shattered my fragile optimism, exposing cracks in the very foundation of the principles I taught.
What kept me afloat was my biannual return to Europe—a ritual that felt like a pilgrimage to the home my soul still yearned for. Dividing my time between America and Europe gave me balance, though at a steep cost. In building a life in America, I forfeited residency rights in several European nations—England, France, and Italy among them. These losses felt like losing pieces of myself, fragments of an identity I could never fully reconcile with my existence in the United States.
Now, in my retirement, I find myself unable to return to Europe, the place that always felt like home. Instead, I am left to watch from a distance as the America I once admired continues to unravel. Its institutions, perhaps hijacked, seem unrecognizable. Its values, once beacons of hope, feel eroded, leaving behind a shell of what might have been.
To my fellow Americans, I offer this plea: awaken. Open your eyes to the realities around you. Shake off the self-imposed stupor of apathy and demand accountability from those in power. Resist the manipulation and remember the timeless words: “You cannot fool all of the people all of the time.” There is still hope, still time, to reclaim the democracy America was meant to embody.
America, I love you. But my love comes with sorrow and an unshakable longing for the better version of you that could still rise from the ashes.
I LOVE CALIFORNIA, with its diverse landscape and progressive spirit, offers a glimpse of what we could achieve together.