Exile, Art & New Lives #295

Kifah Abdulla:

Unfortunately, that I stopped when, you know, the military service, but in the prison it was a big challenge. You know, I will talk, maybe you

Reza Jalali:

will ask me a I belong to an ethnic minority group, the Kurds, who are outnumbered in Iran, in Syria, in Iraq, in Turkey. And we're the largest minority community in the world without our own homeland. So there's always been this holy desire, this dream to have our own land called Kurdistan. And just for having that dream, we get into trouble with the armies and the dictators in all these three, four countries.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

This is Dr. Lisa Belisle. You are listening According to LoveMain Radio Show 295 Exile Art and New Lives, airing for the first time on Sunday, May 14, 2017, what does it feel like to find a new homeland when it is no longer possible to live in the place of one's birth? Today we speak with two individuals who have channeled their experiences into their writing and art. Originally from Baghdad, Iraq, Kifa Abdullah is a former prisoner of war who writes, teaches and creates art in Portland. Reza Jalali came here from Iran and is now an author and the coordinator of the Office of Multicultural Student affairs at the University of Southern Maine. Thank you for joining us.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

With summer now upon us, I invite you to join us at the kennebunkport Festival, five days of celebration centered around food, wine, art, music and of course, community. This year's festival is June 5th through 10th and we're especially excited to note that Love Maine Radio's producer Spencer Albee and his band are headlining the Maine Craft music festival with special guests the Ghosts of Paul Revere. For tickets to the Maine Craft music festival and details about all the good times waiting for you at the festival, go to kennybunkport festival.com all of us at Maine Media Collective look forward to seeing you there.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

It is my pleasure to have Kiefa Abdullah in the studio with me. Kifa is a poet, artist, writer, performer, teacher and activist. Born and raised in Baghdad, Iraq, he spent over eight years as a prisoner of war in Iran. He published his first book of poetry, Dead still dream, in 2016, and he is preparing to publish his second book, Mountains Without Peaks, very soon. Thanks so much for coming in.

Kifah Abdulla:

Thanks for having me.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

I think that you may be the first prisoner of war we've actually ever interviewed, and I'm not sure that's a good thing for your sake.

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Yeah, yeah, that's a, that's kind of a. That's a huge deal. I mean, tell me a little bit about how you, first of all, how you got to be a prisoner of war in the first place.

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes. You know that when I finished my school, that college of science and by law, that the boys, the men, and then unfortunately at that time, the longest world war in the 20th century after the Second World War started between two neighbors in the Middle East, Iraq and Iran, and that time I finished my school and I must go to the war. I was an activist against the dictatorship. But then I couldn't say no. I said no. But I faced a trouble, a big trouble. And I signed, like for execution, you know, if I don't go. But anyway, I was in a waterfront, you know, and then it's like, you know, battles. Our troops, they were lost a battle and they withdraw and they left me there. And I was responsible for. To build shelters for the soldiers. And then I was lost in a big desert for three days before I captured. It was, yeah, it was beautiful. I say, you know, experience for me. But, yeah, I touched the threshold of death, something like that. And then after three days, I was under hallucination, you know, that anger and thirst. And then I was captured and I was sent to prison and I stayed for more than eight years.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So you are a student of science?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes, I studied biological sciences, you know, and I loved that, you know, but it wasn't my choice First I wanted to go to that art academy, you know. But my father, you know, like he said, when I finished my high school, you know, I said, like physics, chemistry, you know, math, you know. He said, no, you should go to that to study sciences anyway. But you can keep that, you know, that your talents, you know, that in art as hobby, you know, you know, parents. And then said, okay, you know. Yeah, that's it.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So you always had an interest in writing and art?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes. And the story about that, about art first, you know, before writing, since I was very young, in elementary school, at fourth grade, you know, in art class, the teacher, you know, that art teacher, he stood beside my desk at that time. And then he said, wow, oh, you are an artist. And it was like a shock for me. It's like lightning hit me at that time. And then he said, you should come to, you know, that we have after school, to the studio. I returned back home. I told my mom that it's okay. Then I returned again to the school. It was so quiet, calm, you know, fourth grade to go to school. And when I reached that studio and the door was half opened, just like I opened the door that moment, you know, the smell of oil colors filled my chest. It was so wonderful for me. Then he saw me. They say, come in. That was the beginning, you know, I learned from him since I was very young. But the same story that happened again when I was in middle school, the same that the teacher, the art teacher, he thought that, you know, that I'm very talent in painting, drawing. And he taught me that, how to work on murals, you know, I worked with him and I learned from several teachers, you know, about shadow and lights. I just like developed my experience with teachers in high school. I was like, I work like a professional. The art teacher said, you are an artist, you know, you should go to the art academy. Then I said, yes, I really would love that. But then the story happened, but I kept even that when I was in a college. Yes. My colleagues, the teachers, they know me that as an artist. Beside that, a biologist. But unfortunately that I stopped when, you know, the military service. But in the prison, it was a big challenge, you know, I will talk. Maybe you will ask me about that.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Yes. Well, I'd love to hear about that. I'd love to hear one of your poems. I believe you've written a poem about your experience. Would you be willing to read that for us?

Kifah Abdulla:

My pleasure. I would like to read that. I call Lati Dream 1. And this is about. I was in a prison, you Know that we were like thousands in a small prison and with no windows. And this is a poem about that time. Dream I dreamt of a small window. Through it flows clean air looking over a blue sky. White clouds travel through it. Flocks of birds pass by like air. I dreamt of a small window the size of my hand overlooking a sea. My eyes travel in it into distant waves of blue. The yellow sun comes awakening the morning and the night comes inlaid with light. A window into which the snow whispers. Suspended in it the moon and the rain. Into it flow the colors of autumn and in spring the fragrant buds. A small window in which I count my mornings and my evenings. Nesting in it are my memories I cultivate in it lush dreams. I dreamt of a small window the size of my hand. I look from it to see my sweetheart. When she comes from afar she waves to me that she is coming soon Carrying between the folds of her heart happy news A small window overlooking onto the rest of a new age. I dreamt in a place where my one and only dream was. And all that I wished for was to have a small window the size of my hand. I dreamt.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So you stayed in a place where there were no windows?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

And that is why this window was so important to you?

Kifah Abdulla:

That's true. Yeah. Yeah.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

What was it like as someone who had this artistic spirit inside of himself, to be in a place where there were no windows, where there was no light coming in from the outside?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes. You know, this is true. And you know that in life that we don't know, we are very rich. We have many things, you know, that. That we don't pay for. Simple things like, you know, you can walk, you can. You can touch even that. The glass, you know, you can feel the sun, the stars, the blue sky, the water, the smell, you know, even the senses. I almost was lost many of these things. And it was a big challenge, you know, and then just like I have no way, like my memories and the dreams, like, waked me up again and returned me back to life. It's like my body was captured, but not my mind.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Were you able to do any art or any writing while you were in prison?

Kifah Abdulla:

No. Absolutely. You know, that it was like. Is forbidden and it's like a sin if they touch someone that. With, you know, a pen or pencil. But for me, you know, that it was very difficult. You know, I can say, you know, that I'm different than others. Maybe because I was very. I was an avid reader, you know, when I was young and I used to use, you know that the pen, the pencils. Most of the times then I missed them very much. But that after years, like sacred. I got that small pencil, little pencils, like 5 centimeter. And they investigate us, you know that every time, like suddenly they come, they, you know, they look for anything, just like I. I hide that. It's like my jewels at that time, you know, my treasure. And I just like hide it anywhere. You cannot imagine, you know, even in my body. But at that time, even that there was no papers and they started, you know that when I say that prison of war is completely different than a prison, normal prison. Can you imagine? Most of us, we dreamt that we will, you know, we are in a normal, we say in a normal five star prison, you can see tv, you can have a radio, you can walk, you can, you know that you can have a pencil, you can read, you can study. But they started like a brainwash. And they give us, you know, that notebooks and pens, pencils. And I started, you know that I drew many portraits of the prisoners, their portraits. And they have, you know that their pictures of family, children, wives, you know that parents. I filled the prison at that time and I. The guards, you know that. And the intelligence groups, they were mad about that. And they punished me and tortured me for that. But again, you know, that I didn't stop, you know, after years and years. But also that they forced me to paint, you know, to paint their leaders, you know, the scholars. I refused. This is like a story, you know, that maybe I talk too much, that I have many stories to talk about, you know, I was dying one time. And they don't send prisoners to the hospitals. They let the prisoners die in the prison. And unfortunately we had. We were two one, you know, the others, he died. But then I just like my fate. It wasn't my time. I saw that someone I know, he was a doctor, prisoner doctor, just like his, you know, that he see the prisoners and just like I said to him, like, goodbye. And he understood what I mean. And then he came with guards and they sent me to the hospital. In the hospital I drew that the guards, you know, you know, I drew the people, you know, it was like a kind of freedom. When I returned back to the prison, you know that it's like I had a surgery and then I refused to paint, you know, that I don't like. And they forced me, they punished me, even that I had a surgery. Then I did, you know, my finance in the press, I say, are you crazy? You know do it just like, you know, you should survive like this. But then, you know, like, after seven years in the prison, I wrote, like I say, a novel, you know, but in a notebook, in secret, just like I give. To enjoy, you know, that. With each other. Based on a true story that happened in the Netherlands. I don't. I didn't see, but also that I drew the prisoners and the prison and the barbed wires, you know, that everything. I documented everything. And just like, I kept them, you know, in secrets between the prisoners. But unfortunately, I would love to bring with them, to bring them with me, but I couldn't. Yeah.

Reza Jalali:

How.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

How is it that you were able to get out? Did they finally decide to release the prisoners of war?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yeah, you know, that the war ended in 1988, but we stayed in the prison, you know, there was no deal. But after two years, you know, like, that was in 1990, there was like, agreement between two governments, between two regimes, and by help with the International Red Cross. And just like, for almost like two months, you know, we were 70,000 prisoners and the Iranian prisoners, almost like 50,000 in Iraq. And the deal should be like, within two months. But the first time when they came to us, they said, we will return you back. We loved like with Syria, you know, because we heard many times and just like, we. We almost forgot, you know, and we will be released. But then just like they came again, and my name was in the second list, you know, big lists. And that's what happened when I returned. But I was very afraid, you know, to face that the wall after a decade, you know. Yeah, it was a big challenge.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

How did you come to be in Maine?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes, I say my fate. This is that, my journey in life. But I was a refugee in the Netherlands. And it's a long story that my life is complex, full of beauty and scares and scars. But I had at that time two children, two boys. They live here with their mom in Portland and in the Netherlands. I tried to build, you know, that myself again. And I studied in the University of Amsterdam to be that beside the artist, you know, and writer, also that teacher of biology in Dutch, to teach biology in Dutch. I didn't like that, you know, but it's very hard, you know. Then I decided to move, you know, then through that family reunion, I moved to Portland, Maine.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

How old were your boys?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes, my boys now is like the older is like Mo. He just, like, graduated from Shipra's high school. He's doing very well. He's very smart. I'm very happy for that. And he got full scholarship from three colleges. This is wonderful. One is Lake Bowdoin.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

That's wonderful.

Kifah Abdulla:

Yeah. And Middlebury School in Fairmont and in New York also.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

That.

Kifah Abdulla:

I don't know yet about that. And he is 17 years old. And the younger is, like, Khalil, his name. He is just, like, in eighth grade in King Middle School. And that guy, he is crazy about basketball. Yeah, he's 13 years old, 14 years old.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Now, how old were they when you reunited with them?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes, they were young. It's like five years old, five years ago. You know, just imagine, like, mo, he was 12 years old, and Khalil was like. Yeah, eight. Yeah, eight years old.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So it sounds like they spent some period of time when they were younger without knowing you at all.

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes, I. Yes, this is true. That's what happened. Because this is my fate, my, you know, like, my journey in life, you know, this is. It's not easy. I don't hope for anyone to face what I faced in my. In life, you know, But I'm not sad about that. Just like I accepted. It's my fate. And I experienced many things, you know, Many things. But I also. That I were in many places, you know that because. And honestly, we were in Jordan, also refugees. My kids were there, you know, they were very young. And even that, they don't know they are Iraqis, you know, that they're. You know. And when people ask them when they moved here, where are you from? You know, they say, I'm from Georgian. A man. This is, you know. Yeah, it's. Yeah.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

You have another poem that I'd like you to read for us.

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

I believe it's about.

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Being in Portland.

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes. This is this poem I called Risorgam. And you know the story about the Risorgam. I say I will rise, I will rise again. Pearls embroider the blue white canvas of Casco Bay and gulls rake the breeze. Rain drops drum on the window and a white line expands in the sky. The clouds are mothers nursing the earth. The nova star approaches the port and I yearn to see my sweet heart. Portland morning is white. The white gulls are balls of ice over the roofs the old port and silent light grips over the water. A car drives on a Franklin street and flowers open their petals along the roadsides Clouds sway on the strings of air and the pink disc rises in absolute stillness. Two fairies begin their journey in Casco Bay all things are quiet but a voice in my head singing that evening I touched my spirit it was transparent with tenderness of the breeze, my heart, a city decorated in stories of love. My eyes inlaid with colors. Green covers the earth, a new dress and buds blossom on its branches. My mind a sea filled with boats of love. My longing, a wave filled with light and my memories are gulls. Never tired of the flight. My spirit a mirror in it I saw more beauty than ever an eye could see. The moon over me is a magnolia flower and my sweetheart a spring cloud approaching. Yeah, this is this poem about my new home town, you know, Portland.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

How is it that in the face of being imprisoned for such a long time and going through a lot to get to Maine and having so many things that were so difficult to deal with in your life, how is it that you've been able to maintain the sense of hope?

Kifah Abdulla:

Yes, I lived with hope since a long time that I can say, you know, that I was an activist, you know, against the dictatorship. Beside that I was an activist for peace, you know, and also that for the women's rights, you know, it's everywhere, you know, the women, you know, that she struggles and. But I had to choose, you know, that just like I listen to myself and they say, yes, you know, I should accept what happened to me, it's okay, you know, that's what happened. Just like I wanted to go forward and this is just like a. Just in my writing, you know, that even in my painting, you can taste the hope every time, you know, beside, you know, that like my experience in life, you know, that put me in a situation, you know, to practice all these things. Yes,

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

I've really enjoyed this conversation. Your poetry is beautiful and I feel really blessed that you were able to come in today.

Kifah Abdulla:

Thank you very much.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

And to share this with me, I've been speaking with Kifa Abdullah who is a poet, artist, writer, performer, teacher and actress activist currently living in Portland. Thank you very much.

Kifah Abdulla:

You are very welcome. It's a great honour. Thank you.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

today to have with me Reza Jalali, who is an author and the coordinator of the Office of Multicultural Student affairs at the University of Southern Maine. Reza co authored the 2009 book New Portraits of Our Immigrant Neighbors, which told stories of recent immigrants and has since then published three additional books, three more books. It's great to have you in here today.

Reza Jalali:

Thank you. Thank you.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So I've been interest in your story for quite a while because you

Kifah Abdulla:

I

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

think in reading originally the new Mainer's piece, you talked about this interesting limbo space that you found yourself in as someone who's of now of Maine but also of elsewhere.

Reza Jalali:

I call it the in betweenness. It's really being in the no man's land emotionally and spiritual. So you belong to two wards at the same time with one foot in each. And it sounds easy, but it's quite hard. And at times I come across immigrants that seem to live in two worlds at the same time. And they tend to wear a mask when leaving their homes. And inside their homes they have created this world which is really not real. It's imaginary. It resembles what's home to them. Small piece of home with old pictures and things that remind them of home. And then they walk outside and then these other different worlds and we see that again in all immigrants, including myself.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Tell me about your growing up years.

Reza Jalali:

I had a happy, happy childhood. I grew up in this small, dusty border town between Iran and Iraq called Kashir, the Palace of Shireen, named so in honor of Shirin, the beautiful Armenian queen and her tragic love affair with this poor stonecutter. So it's called the City of Lovers in Iran because the name of the city actually represents this very ancient love story. But life was hard at times and at times I had a happy childhood. I was the youngest in a family of nine. So it took me a while to understand that I do have just one real parents because to my young eyes I thought I had all my older brothers and sisters. There was such a vast difference in age where all my parents. So I thought I had like six fathers and five mothers and it was fun. And it was just once I got to my teen years I started to write poetry and I must that made really bad poetry and that I started to get into trouble with the secret police and then life became difficult.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

I'm relating to your large family story. I'm the oldest of 10, so I was probably, I was the mother to many of my young brothers and sisters. And that's not as normal here, I believe.

Reza Jalali:

No, it's not. It's not. In fact, it's even changed in Iran and many parts of the world. I mean, we have only two children and again, there's a clear departure from the old tradition where families would have 10, 11, 15. So. But it was really wonderful. And being the youngest was of course, lots of fun because again, you had your older brother's wives, my sister in laws, who also would take care of me. They didn't have children of their own yet. So I had all these people who managed to spoil me.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So that must have been difficult when you needed to leave because you were leaving a very large family behind and

Reza Jalali:

a familiar community and the landscape which I loved. And I was forced to leave. I was one of those who was kind of displaced because of the international politics of the time. I belong to ethnic minority group, the Kurds, who are outnumbered in Iran, in Syria, in Iraq, in Turkey. And we're the largest minority community in the world without our own homeland. So there's always been this holy desire, this dream to have our own land called Kurdistan. And just for having that dream, we get into trouble with the armies and the dictators in all these three, four countries. So it was hard to leave. But I went to India and I had to learn a brand new language and I was all on my own. And that's how I relate to many of my students here at usm. The asylum seekers, the displaced young persons who are coming from different parts of Africa, Latin America and Asia, live in Maine, and I see myself in them. And so I went to school and I did quite well. I was so naive. I thought I would go back to Iran, marry a Kurdish woman and raise a very large family in the same town. But I guess my fate had something else in mind and I ended up in Portland, Maine, as a refugee years later.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Do I remember correctly that there was some foreshadowing in your life that you would actually be leading this different fate than other members of your family?

Reza Jalali:

That's right. That's right. It seems, according to a tale in my extended family, my fate had been protected long before when a baby. The story goes something like that. Every good story starts with a knock at the door and my mother, carrying me, the youngest of her nine children, answers it to find a group of singing gypsy women. And one of them offers to tell their fortune in exchange for money. And my mother, Khanum, we called her Stretches one hand out while holding onto me tight. For the common myth back then was that the gypsies would snatch silly babies to raise them as their own. The gypsy woman loses interest in reading my mother's palm and instead peeks at my face and sighs. You baby, shall drink much water in strange lands, she says in her broken far sea, her face turning pale because she knows such really not so good news would mean less reward. My mother gets upset on hearing her youngest might move to faraway land to live among strangers. So she curses the unfortunate woman, throw some change at her before shutting the door. And so I heard the story, of course, many, many, many years later. I was sitting in a hotel room with my mother in Istanbul, Turkey. I couldn't go to Iran and she couldn't get a visa to come and see me once I got to United States. So we would meet in Europe and she would leave Iran and I would go to Europe, and we'd spend some time sitting together and sharing stories in a hotel room. It was really quite strange and surreal. And so we got to talk. And then she got to. I still get emotional talking about it. And she shared a story with me, and I had tears in my eyes because I thought, wow, it did happen. That gypsy woman was absolutely right that I spent almost two thirds, more than 2/3 of my life outside of my homeland. Yes. So it's strange how these things happen.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So it's not bad enough that you need to leave the place of your birth and leave your family, but the fact that your mother can't come visit you and you can't go visit her and that you're both in a limbo.

Reza Jalali:

Absolutely. And that's a common story shared by millions of other immigrants, that they are unable to go back to their countries of origin, and their siblings, their loved ones, cannot visit them here for one reason or the other. So that has been really part of the. The heartache that I could not go back. I did manage to go back years later, but by then my mother had passed away, and then she couldn't come here because it's extremely hard for Iranians to obtain a tourist visa or otherwise. And of course, the disruption in the political, diplomatic relationship between Iran and the US which, by the way, they used to be really good friends. I go out of my way to remind my American friends that Iran and the US were close allies not that long time ago, some 30, 40 years ago. It's heartbreaking to see that these two countries, which have so much in common in terms of old friendship, in terms of Americans being responsible for establishment of the first schools in Iran, first girls schools established in Iran by Americans. And there's so much shared history between these two nations. And I'm not talking about governments here, necessarily, the people. Even if to this day you were to visit Iran and many American journalists and diplomats would back me on this, Iranians as a society are the most pro American communities in the Middle east, perhaps after the Israelis. They love America and everything about America. Now the government is a different story, of course, and they have their own agenda, their own worldview and their own political agenda, which is not necessarily the same as the United States. But we're talking about people here. So it's sad to see these two nations going through these years of distrust and mistrust. And of course for good reasons, the Iranian regime has been responsible for most of the misunderstanding.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

You were in trouble with, I'm guessing the government or someone.

Reza Jalali:

Secret police.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

The secret police because of your couple of reasons.

Reza Jalali:

My belonging to the Kurdish ethnic group was one problem that was a huge liability. And the same thing, by the way, Iraqi Kurds were in trouble with Saddam Hussein. If you recall, Kurds in Turkey are now involved in almost a civil war with their respective government. The same thing is true about Syria. The Kurds are fighting not only the Syrian regime as we speak, but ISS and helping Americans in their fight and battles against jihadists. And in Iran, the same thing was true. Is continues to be true. So being a Kurd was a misfortune in those days. It didn't help that I wrote poetry, that I was active in the politics of the time. I was a troublemaker.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Why would you take that chance if you knew that you were already going to be put into this risky category because you were a Kurd, why would you put yourself even further at risk by writing poetry and being an activist?

Reza Jalali:

The short answer? I was young and foolish and I loved the politics of my time. And I did not like what was going on with Kurds, how we were treated. We lived like shadows in our own homelands. We were the second class citizens, men and women. And the government went out of its way to tell us that we did not exist. We were the indigenous, we are the indigenous people of that land. So there was this cultural genocide against Kurds in Iran. Now there were physical genocides against Iraqi Kurds, but in our case they were trying to stop us from speaking our language, wearing Kurdish clothes and also listening to Kurdish music, playing Kurdish music. And I did not like that. So really, going back, maybe I would have not Done that, perhaps I would have stayed away from the politics of the time and focused on writing better poetry. I don't know.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

So it wasn't because your poetry was not good that they were giving you art. It was just that your poetry, my

Reza Jalali:

poetry just happened to be bad. That really, we didn't have a secret police saying, oh, you write bad poetry, you're going to get into trouble. That actually would be quite nice. That would be an ideal world where you would have an office going after bad poets. Now it was really, it was worse than that. In all seriousness, that again, and my story, by the way, is quite universal. Young persons, be it in Argentina, be it in Turkey, in Syria, in France, in the United States, we see young people now participating in marches against the current administration. So it's the same story almost everywhere that young persons continue to be engaged and involved in the politics of their time and their land. And it's not really bad news necessarily. We want young people to be involved and engaged. I think the opposite of that can be horrible if young people stop caring for the planet or stop caring what goes on in their countries and their societies.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

You are the coordinator of the Office of Multicultural Student affairs at the University of Southern Maine. And I'm guessing that you've seen over the time that you've been doing this some interesting changes.

Reza Jalali:

Absolutely. At times I talk about that, it feels like we went to sleep one night in Portland, Maine, only to wake up the following morning to see the water has come to our harbor. The change has been dramatic. It's been amazing. When I came to Portland, Maine some 30 years ago, I had very few immigrants. And now again, it's unbelievable. If you were to walk down Forest Avenue, drive down Forest Avenue, you would see the number of stores, businesses owned and run and managed by, by immigrants. And it's quite amazing because all this is happening in a state where steel continues to have the off putting title of being the widest state in the country. But that's changing in a southern part of the state. One out of five residents in the greater Portland area is now a new Mainer. So yes, in my office at the university where I work, I've seen a change. When we started this program, we have perhaps 20 to 30 new Mainers. I'm not talking about international students. That's a different program. I'm talking about folks who are here as immigrants, as refugees, asylum seekers or children of immigrants. And now we have, our numbers are close to 500. And I personally know that in perhaps five years, if not less, we would have a thousand or fifteen hundred. We would have perhaps half of our student body as New Mainers. And I make that assumption and estimate that based on the number of New Mainers studying in middle schools in the greater Portland area high schools, Dering High School, to give you an example, now has more minority students than the non minority students. Two years ago they crossed that threshold. Historic, that here you have a high school in Portland, Maine with larger number of minority students than white students. So we hope that some of them would end up at University of Southern Maine. And if some of them show up at our doorsteps, we should be all set, because we are. We are in need of students. Our enrollment has been down and we need more students as other universities across the nation do. So it's good news. And there are opportunities, there are challenges. But I'd like to focus more on the opportunities. And to me, it's an old story. There's nothing new about this. This is the story of America. This is part of the narrative of America. Waves of different immigrants coming here, establishing roots and calling this place home. And in the process adding to the richness and contribution to the magic we call America.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Tell me about your art, your writing, and what that has meant to you as a means of communicating your own personal story.

Reza Jalali:

Well, to me, some of these stories need to be shared, need to be told. And there are indecent regimes in my part of the world, dictators, tyrants who go around renaming towns and rivers and mountains and trying to rewrite the history. So to me, writing an exile is one way that I could make sure some of our stories will not be forgotten. I write about the faceless, the invisible people of the world, some of them whom arrived here as refugees and asylum seekers. I tell their stories, my own story. And again, I want to make sure that. That some of these stories are kept for future generations. The heart aches of having to leave Kurdistan and coming here to start a brand new life. And how painful that can be at times. And at the same time, it can be a very positive experience. It can be a transforming experience. So my writings, in my writings I try to give life to not only the people who are no longer with us, but also the old keys to buildings which no longer stand. I remember when my mother was a refugee, became a refugee in her own country in Iran, forced to move to a safer part of the the country because of the Iran Iraq war, which went on for eight years. She would wear a key around her neck, and by doing so, she was reminding us of Our ancestors home, which we had lost through the war. And I thought that was so unique and wonderful till I realized that it wasn't only my mother who was doing that. I start to imagine that Jewish shopkeeper in Poland was forced to leave his business and his community because of the violence. The Hitler era violence in Germany must have also had a key around his neck, perhaps to remind him of what he had lost. So these are universal stories of loss, of sense of despair. When you see the boatloads of Syrian refugees leaving the war torn Syria, they must be so desperate to put their lives on board and risking their lives and the lives of their loved ones. You notice something totally broken and rebroken about this world. So as an artist, I'm trying to write about that, how broken our world is and perhaps can we repair it. So my stories are all not about despair. And really I want to make sure that people would not stop reading my stories, would not give up on me. But there's also hope somewhere there that we have to find ways to repair our broken world.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

When you speak to your own children

Reza Jalali:

in your own family about they don't listen to me. I'm kidding.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

That's shocking. Somebody whose kids don't listen to them. How strange. But let's assume at some point they will listen. Most children. My experience, at least with my kids who are a little older, is that they eventually come back and they start listening again. Yes. What are some of the things that you would like them to understand about you as a person and you as a person of the world?

Reza Jalali:

Well, now they're older and listen to me in college, both of them. But when they were younger, they must have thought me as this crazy dude who listens to this strange music and then sometimes wipes a tear after listening to this music and looks at these old black and white family albums and then has these books in strange languages and spends tons of his time listening to the news and worrying about what's going on in the Middle East. I recall, to give an example, I recall the time when our daughter would come home and would tell me, dad, when I bring my friends home, could you not cook those strange dishes that smell funny? My friends don't like that. Can't you be. She would say that to my wife and I, can't you guys be like normal parents and just serve us like pizza? My kids, my friends, don't like what you make. And it was heartbreaking. We found it quite funny, but quite heartbreaking that there was this now vast gap taking place culturally between our Kids and us. And now, of course, they love the food we make and their friends love the food we make. And they don't think I'm crazy, and they understand why at times I'm very sad. So, as you said, they come around. But children of immigrants really live in a different world than us, than the parents. So the generational intergenerational tension starts soon. They become immigrants much faster than we do. We do it reluctantly. We keep on hanging onto that old world because this is fading hope, and it fades as the time goes by. Then maybe, maybe going back would become a possibility. I mean, I run into my friends from Armenia here locally in Portland, Maine, who still talk about Armenia. I run into friends from other parts of the world who talk about their communities, about their towns, about the villages, about the house where they grew up, with a sense as if they're going to go back tomorrow. So it's quite natural for all of us to feel that way. But the kids become Americanized really quickly. They learn the language fast, and they want to listen to, quote, unquote, American music, and they like to fit in, which is quite natural. And they don't want to stand out and be different. And I remember our son coming home when he was in the middle school, and he has this gorgeous Kurdish name. And he said, dad, I want to be called Michael starting today. And I knew, I knew as an educator, as a former social worker, I knew what he was going through, so we didn't show any resistance. But cool, Michael, awesome. You're Michael starting today. And then six months later or three months later, he forgot. The point is, you're trying to fit in not so much with us. We have the skills to really live two different lives, different than one another.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

Well, it has really been wonderful to have you in the studio with me today, and I appreciate all the work that you have done to help others be part of Maine, the way that you have become part of Maine. I've been speaking with Raisa Jalali, who is an author and the coordinator of the Office of Multicultural Student affairs at the University of Southern Maine and also author of multiple books and father to children living in this area and husband. Thank you so much for coming in.

Reza Jalali:

Well, thank you so much for having me. And I want to thank you and all this wonderful work you do in keeping Portland a healthy and safe and wonderful and vibrant place for all of us. Thank you, love.

Dr. Lisa Belisle:

With summer now upon us, I invite you to join us at the kennebunkport Festival, five days of celebration centered around food, wine, art, music and of course, community. This year's festival is June 5th through 10th and we're especially excited to note that Love Maine Radio's producer Spencer Albee and his band are headlining the Maine Craft of Music Festival with special guests the Ghosts of Paul Revere. For tickets to the Maine Craft Music Festival and details about all the good times waiting for you at the Festival, go to kennybunkportfestival.com all of us at Maine Media Collective look forward to seeing you there. You've been listening to Love Maine radio show number 295, exile art and New Lives. Our guests have included Kifa Abdullah and Reza Jalal. For a preview of each week's show, sign up for our E Newsletter and like our LoveMain Radio Facebook page, follow me on Twitter as DRLISA and see our LoveMain Radio photos on Instagram. We'd love to hear from you, so please let us know what you think of Love Maine Radio. We welcome your suggestions for future shows. Also let our sponsors know that you have heard about them here. We are privileged that they enable us to bring Love Maine Radio to you each week. This is Dr. Lisa Belisle. I hope that you have enjoyed our Exile Art and new live show. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your day. May you have a bountiful life.