Years before lifeless bodies began washing onto Mediterranean shores, before panicked refugees flooded European borders, before humanitarian aid was fervently debated in governing bodies across the world, a love story between a young Syrian and a Manitou Springs retiree unfolded in a Middle Eastern cybercafé.

Syria, 2011

The ground was already unstable.

In a land carefully watching its neighboring countries topple their corrupt regimes and publicly slay their leaders — a time now known as the Arab Spring — the ruling body of Syria, helmed by controversial President Bashar al-Assad, was on high alert for dissidents. The domino effect seen in the political takedowns of Libya, Jordan, Oman, Iraq, Lebanon, and so many other Arab nations was making its way toward Syrian soil and its president, a former ophthalmologist and hotly contested figure for the undemocratic way in which his father appointed him to the presidency, was anxious to demonstrate his intolerance for political uprising.

And then he got his chance.

On a city wall in the sleepy Syrian border town of Daraa, a group of minors — some as young as 10 — scrawled a message to President al-Assad from a spray-paint can:

The people want the regime to fall. It’s your turn, doctor.

The boys could have no way of knowing that with each emission, they were striking the proverbial match in a gas tank. They were captured, incarcerated, and savagely beaten at the order of their infuriated president. The made-examples were returned, but instead of invoking fear and silence, their harsh punishment stirred the already unsettled hearts of the Syrian people, propelling them into the streets to protest their iron-fisted regime, igniting a brutal civil war that rages on to this very day.

And amidst the merciless massacres and daily fights for survival, Lawrence Ahmadi watched helplessly as the life he loved spilled into disarray like blood in the streets of Damascus.

“A few short days ago we witnessed another senseless act of terrorism. Our hearts go out to the families, friends and loved ones of those lost and injured in Paris, and in other acts of terror around the world.  Our first priority remains the safety of our residents. We will work with the federal government and Homeland Security to ensure the national verification processes for refugees are as stringent as possible. We can protect our security and provide a place where the world’s most vulnerable can rebuild their lives.”
— Gov. John Hickenlooper

Denver, 2015

Here on the more languid end of the River North District, Lawrence settles in for what promises to be a mostly uncomfortable dredging of memories he’s labored tirelessly to put behind him. His demeanor is relaxed and his voice, thickly laden with an Arabic accent that lands like velvet, is softer than what we’re used to here in the states. His olive skin is radiant and impeccable, and icy blue eyes smolder beneath his thick, dark mane. He is beautiful and exotic, a displaced but assured young man. Next to him, his American husband looks on lovingly and gently reiterates a few lines of questioning that head into decidedly distressing territory — but it’s easy to wonder where the line of inquisitive indecency begins after listening to the young Syrian’s harrowing tales from home; ‘blood brings blood’ is a phrase the 26 year old frequently returns to as he segues from one day’s tale to the next.

His husband, 63 year old George Powell, is a fit, youthful, Richard Branson-type who’d look perfectly natural on a surfboard or striding up The Incline, as he does so often. His hair is silver, full. He can’t help but look protectively at Lawrence, and lean toward him as the stories get dark, as though to remind him silently that those days of chaos and torment are behind him. As they recall the quagmire of getting Lawrence onto American soil, their hands slide toward one another atop the table, breaking softly at intervals only to rejoin minutes later, subconsciously magnetized as two people in love tend to be.

They met five years ago on a gay-centric chat site aimed at connecting men who are curious about men from other countries. The pair struck up an online friendship, both looking to one another for insights into their respective cultures — George was taken on vicarious trips to the cities Lawrence traveled to for his promising modeling career; Lawrence rode virtual shotgun on George’s life as a retired engineer in one of the most beautiful places to live in the United States.

Though Lawrence had boyfriends and the dalliances expected of a young man, he was tied down to nothing but life. And George, also of few obligations that needed constant tending, enjoyed the casual routine of swapping stories with a friend in a faraway land.

“President Obama must develop a comprehensive strategy to address the developments in Syria and eradicate the threat of ISIS once and for all. We can’t let people into the United States who haven’t gone through a thorough background investigation and vetting process, ensuring that they won’t do harm to our country and its national security.” — Sen. Cory Gardner

Descent Into Destruction

Syria, 2012

“No one says no to me.”

This, from an local authority figure who’d been aggressively pursuing Lawrence for weeks. “He wanted to sleep with me,” Lawrence says, unable to hide his disdain, “but I told him no; I wasn’t attracted to him.” When his advances were rebuffed for the last time, the bruised lawman used his access to find Lawrence’s private phone number, and demonstrated his threatening reach by calling the young man up and addressing him by his birth name — something few people knew. Lawrence’s blood ran cold.

In Syria, being gay is a crime punishable by up to three years in prison. His fear of being outed came to fruition when the spurned admirer outed Lawrence to local police and his family.

He was immediately thrown into prison for “carnal relations against the order of nature.”

“We were chatting before Lawrence went to prison,” George says. “When he was arrested, he just stopped messaging me all the sudden. After a few months, a rumor was posted on his Facebook page that he had been killed. I was despondent.”

Adra Prison, on the outskirts of Damascus, has been described by human rights organizations as crowded, mismanaged, corrupted, and an unchecked breeding ground for brutality. Lawrence says that even among the list of heinous offenses for which Adra’s prisoners were doing time, homosexuality was one of the more vile accusations with which an inmate could be burdened. As an Arab man without a beard, his face had a more feminized look that garnered unwanted attention in the prison’s general population. “I shared a room with rapists and other sexual offenders,” he says. There, homosexuals are especially wise to hide their crime. “When people find out, they want to abuse you sexually.” He refers to instances where his jailors tried to ‘humiliate’ him physically. “I wanted to die. You have to be strong if you want to survive, and that takes a real emotional effort to do all the time.” When he alerted to someone standing post that he just couldn’t take anymore, they agreed to transfer him to a different population, but not before further humiliation and name-calling. He was subsequently housed in a peripheral wing of Adra that offered, relatively speaking, safer accommodation than general population. “They put me in the ‘gay’ room,” he recalls. “There were about ten of us, most of them arrested for wearing feminine clothing. He says the new crowd was no more hospitable than the one he just left.

“Here, I wasn’t physically tortured, but even if they tried, I wouldn’t feel it — I was empty.” He says both his new jailers and fellow inmates were cruel. “[Syrian gays] aren’t supportive of each other. Even outside of prison, they stab each other in the back. They are insecure and incomplete, and make things even more of a scandal.”

Inside was no different.

The worst part for Lawrence, however, was not knowing when he was going to get out. “Each week, you fill out release papers and they’re sent to the judge. If he signs it, you can leave.” One week, he went before a judge and broke into tears. “I was crying because it was a woman, and I thought I was safe to release my emotion. ‘I have zero [prior] crimes,’ I told her. ‘I have a good background, and I have all the factors to be a successful person. Please release me.’” He’s become slightly upset at the memory. “She overlooked me, treated me like I was a bug. That was awful. I feel like I opened up and was really honest with her.”

After three months of hopelessness, he was released. He’d experienced the most grueling thing in his life up to that point, all because he refused to sleep with a man in a position of significant power. Though the man put him through hell, Lawrence refuses to name him.

“He has a family that I don’t want to shame or remind of his tresspasses,” he says. “And I have forgiven him.”

He adds quietly: “He burned to death in the war.”

What happened after prison marked a turning point in life as Lawrence knew it.

Though his parents are well-educated, forward-thinking people, he was subsequently disowned upon release, but not before being beaten by his brothers and an uncle — an intended honor killing.

“Part of the ordeal involved them pulling out some of Lawrence’s hair,” George says. “It so traumatized him that to this day, Lawrence won’t let anyone, even me, touch his hair.”

When he fell unconscious from the vicious attack, his familial assailants took a break. Luckily, his sisters and aunts stepped in and helped him outside to escape. His spirit, however, was crushed. “It’s better for a man to be a thief or do drugs than to be gay,” Lawrence says.

“Before jail, I had everything a young man could ever imagine. I had a great, handsome boyfriend, I was doing well financially, I went to an expensive university, had a great family,” he says. “Now I thought, ‘I’m hopeless.’ I was jumping from place to place at friends’ houses. I was lost. I went from one extreme to the other. I needed an emotional push to get on my feet again, but no one did that. The only one who could do that was me.”

Cybercafés were a lifeline to the outside world.

“The only reasonable option was to leave Syria,” George says. “Rather than take the chance of being caught at the border for shirking his military obligation, I sent him the [$3000 it took] to pay off the draft.”

Syria, 2012

War had officially broken.

Fed up with President Bashar al-Assad, Syrian citizens protested nationwide for him to step down. When he responded violently, they took up arms and the Free Syrian Army (FSA) was formed. Add chemical warfare, innumerable massacres, and ISIS to a region that already espoused anti-LGBT sentiments and you get an environment where gay men can expect death sentences at the hands of any and all parties involved.

The Syrian government’s military, desperate for warm bodies to arm, instituted a draft that was now overlooking sexual preferences. Lawrence, having already lost his family, friends, schooling, and life as he knew it was now being sucked into war. Even though the regime lifted restrictions against gay servicemen, the stigma — and potential death at the hands of his own comrades — was almost certain. He went into hiding, avoiding military checkpoints and laying low in Damascus. Bombs were set off regularly, randomly. Food prices soared in the sudden scarcity.

“The only reasonable option was to leave Syria,” George says. “Rather than take the chance of being caught at the border for shirking his military obligation, I sent him the [$3000 it took] to pay off the draft.”

Being excused from military service didn’t make life any easier. He was still without a home, without friends, without family. He’d learned now that his home was destroyed and members of his family were killed. “That took me a lot of time to get over,” he says. By this point, he was hiding in basements with no food, no electricity, and no heat. Syrian winters can reach sub-zero temperatures, and many have perished from the cold alone.

“I take issue with President Obama and Governor Hickenlooper’s refusal to address the realities of the national security risks posed by the federal government continuing to admit thousands of refugees from Syria without the capability to stringently verify their identities and backgrounds.” — Rep. Scott Tipton, Pueblo

Death At The Doorstep

Families in the ancient Syrian city of Homs huddled quietly and braced themselves amid announcements that the Syrian government was sending troops their way — not for their safety, but in spite of it. Water, electricity, and communication lines were cut. A sickened hush fell over the people.

Just hours before the announcement, Lawrence remembers normalcy in the city where he now resided. Children were playing in the streets as some of his friends stepped out to get juice.

In the distance, President Bashar al-Assad’s army progressed, bent on flushing out the town of rebel fighters. In the sudden darkness of places meant to be safe, children clung to their parents as the roar of helicopters and tanks shook the earth beneath them.

Then the shelling started.

“The whole house started to shake,” Lawrence says, looking at the ceiling of Out Front’s office as though channeling his eye movements from that day. “It was so, so scary. It was,” he mimics a whirring sound, then fans his fingers and thumbs a few times suggesting explosions. “We didn’t know which direction they were coming from. When people ran outside, they were hit. We didn’t know where to hide.”

The first deaths are thought to have come from helicopter gunners who opened fire upon flyover, killing 11 people instantly, including a family of five.

Homes were reduced to rubble with entire families inside. Though the government claims the attacks were targeted, the staggering amount of civilian casualties suggests the shelling was less than discriminate.

Lawrence says at least 40 people were killed in the streets. The people he knew who had stepped out for juice? “They were turned into body parts.” He keeps his voice steady but his eyes betray him. “At one point, a lot of missiles hit a street I was on, and I ran for shelter but the building was hit — dust everywhere. When I ran to another place, another missile hit. One hour, there were bombs; the next hour, there was quiet. I could have died so many times that day. There was no safety, no guarantee I would live. It was the scariest experience of my life.”

He managed to escape Homs and sleep at a friend’s. When he returned the next day, the scene was almost unrecognizable. “Just the day before, the place was alive — there were children playing outside, people walking around. When I came back, the place was empty. There were ghosts in the street,” he says, and George reiterates “ghost town” for me. “There were holes here, holes there. There was blood all over the street … so quiet, so empty. All in one day … destroyed.”

Amid the destruction, his grandmother’s house.

“I had some silent tears. I’ve never known that feeling. This is a stage of my life I’ve worked very hard to delete.”

Back in the states, George, beside himself with worry, sent him money for the first time: $600 for food. In a land where a loaf of bread (usually $1) was now $40, Lawrence would have been well-advised to make the money stretch any way he could.

But now, in a bombed-out basement back in Homs, huddled with children, Lawrence didn’t have his own safety in mind. Many people were hiding in what was left of the city, whispering among themselves and trying to be emotionally supportive of one another. “I stopped thinking about myself,” he says. Though hungry and homeless, he turned his attention to a group of children. “I can survive as an adult,” he told himself. “The children around me cannot. They [are] so little and they need milk.”

So he used the money George sent him to buy milk and water for everyone in the building.

“I felt so responsible for those children,” he says, the air a little heavier. “While I’m enjoying my life, I still think about those children.”

I ask if he knows what happened to any of them.

“Some were killed, some were burned, some escaped to the EU, Turkey, Lebanon,” he says. “Lots of stories. We still send money to those children.”

“The first obligation of the Federal Government is to ensure the safety and protection of the American People. While this is a step forward in ensuring a security check for any refugee admission into the US, there is still much to be done.” — Rep. Mike Coffman, Aurora

Love Amid War

“Neighbor hates neighbor,” Lawrence says, speaking to the nature of civil war. “Everyone is scared of each other.” From updates obtained from his aunt and sister, he learned that many more people he knew had died, victims of the al-Assad regime and his detractors. But he held on. “If I let negative energy control me, I would have already committed suicide. I wanted to be stronger. I wanted to stay positive.”

In spite of the chaos and anguish, his online relationship with George was evolving into something beyond friendship, and more than ever, keeping Lawrence safe became a priority for George. Between the increasing flirtation, the two made plans to get Lawrence out of Syria and into Lebanon, and then eventually to the UN refugee center in Beirut.

“I thought it would be easy,” George says, but when Lawrence arrived in Lebanon, the reception wasn’t warm. “Many Lebanese made gay Syrians feel unwelcome.” In Beirut, Lawrence endured checkpoints manned by Hezbollah, a militant Islamic group. He spent nine months in a land that wanted his bribe money more than it wanted him. George, never wavering, made it possible.

“I wanted him in my life,” he says.

“At this point, I naively thought I could just buy Lawrence a flight from Beirut to Chicago,” he explains. “Then maybe Lawrence could get off at O’Hare International and ask Homeland Security for asylum based on his sexual orientation.”

The frustration of the time is evident in his expression. “It didn’t turn out to be that easy.”

Hard-won visas were going to be necessary.

“The SAFE Act enables us to continue accepting refugees while strengthening our already-extensive vetting process so that we are taking every step within our power to ensure the safety of the American people.” — Rep. Jared Polis, Boulder

Beyond the Border

Beirut was getting more and more dangerous for Syrian refugees, especially young gay ones, so the pair decided it was best to get Lawrence to Turkey; he wouldn’t need a visa to enter the bordering nation and other Syrians were having better luck with the UN refugee agencies in the Turkish city of Istanbul.

“They’re more accepting and open-minded in Istanbul,” Lawrence says. “There were many Asian and European people there.” Though he says there was still a bit of racism — “It happens everywhere.” — he admits the culture of acceptance was “way better there than in Syria and Lebanon.”

In Turkey, Lawrence registered at the UN as an LGBT refugee. There was a significant community of gay and trans people from Syria and Iraq established in Taksim, the more progressive side of Istanbul where many of the foreign consulates are located. Many of the gay and trans interlopers came from wealthy families who funded their stay in Taksim while they waited up to three years for the UN to complete its refugee-vetting process.

None of the Syrian refugees were allowed to work in Turkey, and thousands of them were living on the streets. When Lawrence passed them, entire families preferring the cold sidewalks of Taksim to the ravages of war at home, he gave them what he could.

“Stray dogs also enjoy Lawrence’s generosity,” George adds.

Fleeing the death and brutality of home — and the hopelessness of unwelcoming regions surrounding it — hundreds of thousands of displaced people scratched together what they could to board overcrowded rafts and brave rough seas headed for Greece. Others would take their chances carrying everything on their backs toward checkpoints and border police. If they were lucky enough to cross, they could begin the long march into Germany and other European countries. Initially, the exodus was received, albeit begrudgingly at times. Then many countries clamped down, their staunch refusal to admit any more migrants shedding light on the global crisis of what to do with the swells of Middle Eastern and African refugees seeking safety.

2014

After several months of 30-page refugee applications and three-week waits between interviews that were more like interrogations, George’s impatience could be tempered no longer.

“I want to come to Istanbul,” he told Lawrence, and on October 17, he made it happen.

When the two finally saw one another in the Istanbul airport, they threw their arms around each other. Lawrence had scouted out a small apartment where they could live together while George helped him navigate even more of the convoluted UN refugee process. Almost like war, George says, there were brief periods of intense, bureaucratic activity separated by long periods of simply waiting. But unlike the ugliness of war, Istanbul was a fascinating mix of ancient European city and exotic Arab capital that artfully accommodated the two during intervals of departmental stagnation.

“There was an endless supply of mosques, markets, restaurants, museums, neighborhoods, and coffee shops where adventurous young Europeans congregated,” George reminisces.   

They explored the city together and fell hopelessly in love. Two weeks after George arrived in Istanbul, he suggested to Lawrence that they apply for a K-1 “fiancé” visa.

Lawrence said yes.

“Republicans openly admit their goal is to completely stop the flow of Syrian women and children into the country. That is against our values of who we are as a nation.” — Rep. Ed Perlmutter, Wheat Ridge

The Process Begins

For the next five months, George and Lawrence worked on Lawrence’s visa applications. When the UN learned of Lawrence’s fiancé visa application at the US Embassy, they forced the pair to choose between having Lawrence continue his quest for refugee status, or continuing his quest to become a same-sex married man. For the second time, Lawrence affirmed his will to marry George. His refugee application was cancelled, and after a fresh round of dozens more applications, interviews, and medical exams, the end was in sight. They moved from Istanbul to the capital city of Ankara to be nearer the US Embassy and continued their romance, waiting for the gates to open.

The landscape of Ankara, unfurling in welcome for George and Lawrence, was a seduction of modernity. The buildings, with the exception of a few of the embassies, were striking and contemporary — a departure from the ancient cities, some of which had been reduced to rubble and chaos, left in Lawrence’s wake. Among skyscrapers lay chic office buildings, state-of-the-art hospitals, and luxury hotels with expensive shoes continually crossing their thresholds. Ankara’s highways, like arteries pulsing with vitality, cut through the city with late-model cars and a rush of traffic that outpaced Istanbul remarkably. Sidewalk cafes and restaurants in this new land radiated Western characteristics and the landscape, just as their shared life, was evolving before their eyes. The sole anachronism were black-clothed agents and police watching the comings and goings of people at the embassies, a subtle reminder that the region was not immune to bedlam.

When George was confident that Lawrence would get his K-1 visa, he flew back to the US to complete his taxes. Once again, Lawrence was on his own, this time to complete yet another medical exam and brave the final interview at the US Embassy.

Two days after his exam and vaccinations, he was given a sealed envelope and told to bring it to his next interview at the US Embassy. A week later, Lawrence was once again in front of agents at the US Embassy in Ankara, a thick folder of documents and his sealed medical records his only company.

Just beyond an unmarked, gray door lay security checkpoints, not unlike ones conducted by airport security. A female inspector wanted to see Lawrence’s passport and embassy invitation. Once satisfied, she assigned Lawrence a number and seated him among a host of other applicants. Called to the front, a window separated Lawrence from an embassy employee and a translator. They interrogated him about his relationship with George, reviewing the evidence of it that Lawrence brought along, but ultimately told him they needed more: photographs, emails, testimonials from friends regarding the nature of their relationship, Facebook conversations, etc.

Lawrence returned to their apartment in Istanbul. The rental agent told Lawrence that US Embassy employees came by and asked questions about his relationship with George — specifically, whether they’d been living together and if they appeared to be in a romantic relationship. The agent confirmed both, and the Embassy agent seemed to be satisfied.

Next, Lawrence and George went to work finding as much evidence of their relationship as possible, compiling hundreds of Facebook messages, Whatsapp chat transcripts, and emails. Lawrence dug up scores of photographs of the two of them, some intimate and awkward to have printed by a commercial printer. The end result was an inches-thick package of printed documents. This was hopefully the final package they’d need to send the US Embassy.

While he waited, Lawrence spent his days visiting the Syrian and Iraqi acquaintances he’d made back in Istanbul. He kept quiet about his application status and the fact that he may be leaving soon out of respect for the others; so many of their futures were hanging in limbo and they had no way of knowing whether they’d get the opportunity to leave legally, or if they’d be alongside the desperate masses risking European border crossings in the dead of night.

Neary two weeks went by until Lawrence received notice of a package he must pick up. Once he proved his identity to the postal clerk, he was given a parcel. Fumbling, heart racing, he opened it and found his passport — along with his visa pasted onto one of the pages.

In shock, he asked a rather annoyed English-speaking attendant to confirm that he was indeed looking at a genuine passport and visa to the US. Lawrence couldn’t form words. He raced to call George in the middle of a Mile High night, and confirmed that they’d been granted access to their new lives — Lawrence was cleared for takeoff.

“Millions of Syrian refugees are desperately seeking protection, caught between ISIS’ brutality and al-Assad’s violent regime. This crisis threatens stability in the region and requires regional solutions. As we are being asked to shoulder some of this burden, regional partners like Saudi Arabia need to step up and do more.” — Sen. Michael Bennet

A Syrian in the States

April, 2015

The plane touched down in Houston after 11 hours.

Homeland Security took a few hours in their document-checking process, and released an ecstatic young Syrian into the arms of his American fiancé. He was jumping and shouting, a young man whose hardship and fortitude managed to evolve into safety and welcome; whose body, now tightly wrapped in the embrace of his lover, could feel the mesmer of opportunity that only the truly grateful experience in this American life.

“It feels like a dream to me,” Lawrence says softly. “I never imagined life would be this perfect.”

Recent Days

Six days after terrorists killed 129 people in calculated attacks across Paris, some US congressmen, senators, presidential candidates, and citizens banded together in solidarity with the French people, but also in anti-refugee rhetoric. This posed particularly bad news for a White House program that planned to grant 10,000 Syrian refugees asylum in the United States. Moving swiftly, Republicans in the House crafted a measure entitled the Security Against Foreign Enemies (SAFE) Act. The bill would ensure that three of the highest security officials in the US — FBI Director James Comey; Director of National Intelligence James Clapper; and Homeland Security Secretary Jeh Johnson — would personally verify that each refugee America took in posed no risk to the country.

With the aid of 47 of President Obama’s 188 Democrats who broke with the White House in support, the SAFE Act passed the House by a 289–137 margin. Now it moves onto the Senate — also controlled by Republicans — for approval. If that happens, Congress will have the passed the strictest refugee-screening process in the history of America. Should Obama then veto the SAFE Act, Congress would need to vote again, this time garnering support from two-thirds of each chamber to override the president and ensure SAFE’s implementation.

US Attorney General Loretta Lynch balked, citing that the requirements were an impossible task for the administration.

“To ask me to have my FBI director or other members of the administration make personal guarantees would effectively grind the program to a halt,” Lynch told reporters at a news briefing.

At the time of printing, none of the terrorists subsequently killed by French forces have been identified as Syrian refugees.

“I’m sad for the new generation,” Lawrence says. “At least I have good memories about beautiful Syria. The mountains, the sea, so many historical places. The new generation sees nothing but blood, sadness, hunger.”

“Are you ever going back?” I ask, and his face makes me think this is something he’s asked (and already answered) in his mind.

“I’m as loyal to the US as I am to Syria,” he responds. “I want to work for the pride of the US as much as I would for Syria.” He’s resolute. “I have a great affection for both [countries], but I never want to live in Syria again.”

He doesn’t, however, believe that would be the case for the majority of people fleeing their native land. He says many Syrians, steeped in their history and culture, are quite comfortable with the Middle Eastern way of life, and would most likely return.

The two exchange looks.

“[None of this] would have never ever be accomplished without George. He’s passionate and loving — everything good. I’m blessed. His life is my life,” Lawrence says as he reaches for, and kisses, George’s hand. “We come from absolutely opposite cultures, but we have morals, compassion, generosity, and family unity in common.”

For now, the pair are working toward Lawrence’s continued education, and are speaking out in favor of human rights advocacy — something for which both of their renewed lives are testament.

“Some people think that my journey has ended,” Lawrence says, still hand in hand with George.

“My journey has just begun.”