“I would like you to close your eyes. Imagine that you have lived on the Moon for 15 years, and now you are returning to Earth. You land in Yemen. It is a very peaceful country. Begin to imagine a peaceful Yemen.”
I was sitting in a grand but tired Council room in Birmingham’s Town Hall. I was aware of a slight nervousness, my own, mingled perhaps with that of the others who were present; Yemeni diaspora from across the West Midlands, humanitarian aid groups, Members of Parliament and people like me who are connected to Yemen in some way. I grew up in a city called Taiz which has been hit pretty hard by the “Invisible War”.
The idea for the event came just four months before. I had been invited to an All Party Parliamentary Group for Yemen event and I met Taher Qassim for the first time, the founder of Friends of Yemen. As we enthused about Yemen, we shared our pain, even despair, at the apparent impossibility of Yemenis from different sides of conflict being able to work together.
While we shared, something new was sparked; hope. Now hope is an intoxicating thing where there has been none; we were both undeniably excited. We speculated. As the world awakened to the tragedies in Yemen, perhaps Yemenis, not only in Yemen but also right here in the UK, would be feeling as we did. We would host an event, we would have it in Birmingham, and it would be about peace. It might not work, but hope had thrown us into an open space of risk and believing in others, shouting a peace cry convinced that others would join. Taher then started to contact different organisations and individuals to make the workshop happen.
And now here we were. It was a Saturday afternoon, yet 50 people had gathered from far and wide to be part of a new conversation and movement. Perhaps I was nervous because it was new, but I sensed the undercurrents of suspicion. Some more overt; a whispered “which side do you support, you must know there is only one side that should win?” I pointed silently at my little wooden badge that said “I’m with Yemen”. Would it be possible to put these differences aside?
We were being led by peace-advocacy worker Kate Nevens from Saferworld; it was her fun but authoritative voice that rang out now. I did as she said, and closed my eyes.
I was landing in Yemen after 15 years on the Moon. Despite the benefits of imaginary travel through time and space, to begin with I only imagined complete desolation. The silent cry of mothers. The abandoned shells of homes, hospitals, markets. Tiny bodies struck with cholera, life literally running out into the ground. I was so used to these thoughts that they filled my mind.
But Kate went on: “Think about what it would look like on the streets in a peaceful Yemen, what would the children be doing? What would you see?”
Slowly, I imagined the view from my bedroom window where I grew up, the light wind in the fruit tree where the little yellow weaver bird was making her nest.
The hundreds of tiny lines of smoke rising from the mountain slopes as villages baked their bread. The peaceful streets were far from quiet, clattering with the sounds of laughter, bustling with greetings and street venders, goat herders and honking horns. Along the little rough stone alleys between the houses washing lines full of colour billowed out. The school playgrounds were full. Even as dusk fell, no one feared to go outside. Children wandered through the balmy evening eating toasted watermelon seeds as the old men watched on street corners and drank their tea.
I realised that tears were pouring down my face. I had not thought of Yemen in this way for so long. In all my grief about the War, I had stopped remembering her beauty. But the spell was breaking. I listened in absolute wonder as others across the room called out what it was that they had seen; everyone was describing the same thing. In almost no time, we had covered a board with our vision, scribbled on paper shapes of hearts and doves.
The scene was set: we were gathered together for peace. The rest of the afternoon sped by. We watched a short film about the infrastructural impacts of war, providing context for why action for peace is so crucial. Guest MPs held a panel and spoke of their love of Yemen, support for the diaspora and commitment to speak up for peace. Their presence and contributions felt deeply honouring, giving power and purpose to our fledgling peace movement.
Bursting with ideas, snatches of conversations and new-found friendships (and also very good sandwiches), we split into four workshops to design small projects that we as the diaspora could initiate to support peace in Yemen.
Group themes included children and young people, women, mental health, and local humanitarian organisations. Such was the enthusiasm after our learning, an extra group was formed on sustainable peace. Everyone seemed to get louder and louder as we considered current challenges, shared connections and drew our ‘headlines’ as if they were newspaper stories.
At the end we gathered back as a whole room, and discussed our next steps. We wanted to do this again. We wanted more MPs to be involved. We wanted other regions to join the movement and form a national platform for the Yemeni diaspora and friends to act together for peace.
We also took some pictures, swapped numbers, and laughed a lot. Trying to get out of the room in time for closing was joyful chaos, like a peaceful Yemeni street.
If you have been wondering, as I was, whether it is possible after so much violence and conflict to find a way to come together, I think we would like to say: there is hope for peace in Yemen. We are ready for a new movement, and it has already started. I hope you can be part of it.
To be part of this new ‘Together for Peace in Yemen’ movement contact Taher Qassim via email: taherqassim@gmail.com. You can get involved in many ways that include; helping your region join the movement, asking your MP to join ‘Friends of Yemen’, being part of one of our project subgroups, or requesting a free “I’m with Yemen” badge.
Written by Dr Rachel Handley, Vice-Chair of the Faculty of Public Health’s (FPH) Yemen Special Interest Group (SIG). To join or to find out more about the SIG, click here.
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