Thread by @iyad_elbaghdadi

Today is my birthday. Here's a thread about the amazing reason I haven't celebrated my birthday in five years.

So it's 2013, some two and a half years into the Arab Spring. I've gone from unknown to a recognized activist. Living, out of all places in the world, in the UAE, the very country whose government was (still is) leading the assault on the Arab Spring.

I didn't want to have children. My ability to do activism, I felt, was aided by the fact that I had little to lose. Having children, I thought, would complicate the calculus of activism in 2013, in the heartland of the Arab counter-revolution.

And so imagine how I felt when, in late 2013, I found out I was gonna become a father.
twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdad…

A couple months earlier was the Rabaa massacre in Egypt and the Ghouta massacre in Syria. It was when the Arab Spring "died*". The counter-revolution was triumphant. They were coming after everyone. I was getting warnings about being on thin ice in the UAE myself.

And in the midst of all of that, as our future couldn't look more dark, I find out I'm going to become a father. Can you guess how I felt?

I felt... ecstatic. I remember that for days I couldn't stop smiling.
twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdad…

And the effect on my spirit as an activist was... exactly the opposite of what I thought it would be.
twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdad…

As the weeks went by, the "warnings" about my safety in the UAE increased, and the threat escalated. I had no contingency plans. I was a stateless Palestinian refugee who's only ever lived in the UAE. And yet something told me we're gonna be okay.
twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdad…

Less than three months later, I was arrested by UAE authorities and told I'm going to be expelled from the country. I was never told the reason. I wasn't charged with anything. Being Palestinian, I couldn't be sent "back home", so I was heading for prison instead.

His mother was seven months pregnant when I was arrested (we knew, by then, it was going to be a boy). We hadn't named him yet. I had no idea what's going to happen to us, but I knew I wasn't going to be there when he's born.

On the day of my arrest, I knew that my family will be shattered. I knew my son won't grow up next to his cousins or grandparents. I knew he'll be a refugee soon after his birth. I knew that he'll likely not grow up in an Arab country at all.

And so, on that day, I named him... Ismael. We were about to get uprooted, and I wanted a name that'll connect him to his roots. In Muslim tradition, the prophet Ismael was a patriarch of the Arabs, and the ancestor of the Prophet Mohammad. He was - also - a child refugee.

Plot twist: My father's name is also Ismael, and he also was a child refugee.

https://twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdadi/status/1008033877666029568

I would eventually be taken from prison to the airport, my hands chained and my feet shackled, to be put on an airplane that would take me over 5000 kms away from any Arab land. I was sent to Malaysia, where I was stranded in Kuala Lumpur airport for a month.

I feared the moment he'd be born. I wanted to be in the room to welcome him to the world, but I ended up being halfway across the world. I feared that moment. It felt like it was going to be a nightmare.

A month later and I've managed to get out of Kuala Lumpur airport and I'm now staying in the cheapest hotel in Bukit Bintang. It's only a few days away from the birth. The hour is approaching. Everything is still a mess.

And then the day came. I can't remember much details, but I remember how I felt. The anxiety was making me almost throw up. And then I saw the first pictures, and everything changed.

It felt like... sunshine. I felt like I'm bathed by some sorta mystical sunlight that cleansed my soul. Yes, I couldn't be there to hold him. Yes, I had no idea what's gonna happen next with us. But I knew in that moment that we're gonna be okay.

Here's the thing. It was my birthday. He was my birthday gift that year.

A little over four months later, in Kuala Lumpur airport (but in the arrivals hall this time), I saw my son for the first time. twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdad…

It was brief. Three days later, I got on a flight to Norway to speak at the 2014 Oslo Freedom Forum. I ended my speech that year by addressing my son (forward to about 12:00).

A couple days after my speech, I applied for asylum in Norway. I was later moved to a distant "asylum reception center" (ie, a camp) for that winter. All the while seeing pictures of my son growing up away from me, halfway across the world.
twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdad…

I'd later come to Oslo, hoping and praying that the asylum procedure will be swift so I can rejoin my family. In the next few months I'd be granted asylum, apply for a travel document, and rush to make it to Kuala Lumpur in time for...

His first birthday. And my 38th.

https://twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdadi/status/611127977154207745

And this is why I didn't celebrate my birthday in five years. It's his birthday now.

We've spent every birthday together since. This is when he turned two.

https://twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdadi/status/743804964946993152

This is him at three.

https://twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdadi/status/876039381672493056

And this is four.

https://twitter.com/iyad_elbaghdadi/status/1008411958905856005

And... today!

I was never safe any year since Ismael was born. He's of the same age as a large collective trauma that enveloped my family, and not only my family. He's a reminder that in endings, there are new beginnings, and even in difficulty, there is grace. إن مع العسر يسرا

This year is... special. I'm under police protection, and some very powerful people want me dead. I've had to endure a lifestyle change (another one), and everything is more complicated.
washingtonpost.com/opinions/2019/…

I often wonder what kind of complicated legacy I'm handing my son. It hurts me to say this, but I honestly don't even know how many more birthdays I'll have with him. Those who want me dead won't stop, neither will I.

Wisdom came in realizing that I cannot protect him from everything, neither is it my job. Overcoming the hardships of my own life made me who I am today. He'll likely inherit quite a mess himself, but ultimately it's his life's work to take that mess and turn it into beauty.

Today one of the birthday messages said "I hope life starts treating you better". I was a little confused, tbh. Life has already treated me great. I don't want another life, I want this one. It's been a great adventure. I look forward to more adventures.

Happy birthday, Ismael. May we celebrate many more birthdays together. And may you one of these years allow me to have a birthday of my own on June 17th, because you've stolen all of my birthdays since you came.

أولادكم ليسوا لكم
أولادكم أبناء الحياة
والحياة لا تقيم في منازل الأمس
- جبران خليل جبران