How a Long-Shot Scholarship Changed a Refugee’s Life

Mariela Shaker fled Aleppo, Syria, by bus in the summer of 2013, clutching a violin case on her lap. It took a brutal civil war to fulfill her ambition of living in America.

Her destination was Monmouth College. The small liberal-arts institution in rural Illinois had offered scholarships to eight or so Syrians as part of a nascent global effort to sustain educational opportunities interrupted by the war. She’d applied in a hurry, a long shot as Aleppo fell apart.

When I first met Shaker to report on the Syrian students, she spoke in halting English and dodged my early attempts to talk. Eventually she invited me to a sunny room on the campus where she practiced violin five hours a day. She told me about her journey, pausing occasionally to land on the correct English word. Then she asked to play a song. With music, there was no hesitation.

She began a new life. Shaker obtained refugee status and legal permanent residency and earned degrees from Monmouth and DePaul University. She has become a cultural emissary: Since 2015, she has performed and spoken more than 70 times, including at Lincoln Center, the United Nations, and the White House. Now Shaker is teaching violin at Monmouth, the quiet place she considers her American home.

In Syria, the war goes on. More than 5.6 million people have fled since the conflict began, and millions more are internally displaced. An estimated 200,000 university-age students have had to suspend their education. They are unlikely to resume it here: President Trump’s 2017 travel ban bars all Syrians from entering the United States. Syrians can still apply for — and receive — admission and scholarships to American colleges. But without visas, the students can’t come.

Shaker recently spoke with The Chronicle again about opportunity, its absence, and how her life is unfolding now.

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When we first met, your family was still in Aleppo, and it was very hard to communicate with them. How are they now?

They had really tough years between 2013 and 2016. Mortars were falling there like crazy. Our neighbor just across the street was killed by bombs falling in our street.

Right now it’s calmer in Aleppo. But I feel the city has lost something, the spirit.

Have you been back?

No, I cannot go back. It’s too dangerous. Sometimes I feel like, What can we do to change it? And I believe education, trying to help people who are still there, is the best thing we could do. Education is the best weapon to defeat extremism and ignorance. In Syria I was so keen to find my future, to find my education, to be able to dream.

I count myself so fortunate. But fortune alone does not help. You need to have ambition about life, otherwise it would be so dark. For my friends there, I always ask them to try to improve their language, to try to contact people. Email is free, I say. Try to email people. Try to find any window to jump out of the war.

When you got to Monmouth, many Syrians were coming to American colleges, with an estimated 827 still enrolled.

It makes my heart so happy to know that they are succeeding. Most of them are graduating. They’re hired by Google, Apple, Goldman Sachs, and other big companies. This is proof that these people are not coming as a burden. They are able to be part of the new community and country.

What do you wish you could clarify or explain about refugees?

The best thing is not to listen to rumors. Come meet people in person, talk to them. Learn from their stories. Hear about what they have been going through.

I had an Uber driver in Chicago from DePaul to my home after an orchestra concert. He was a Syrian refugee who had arrived in the U.S. only four or five months before. I was just amazed. He couldn’t even speak the language but was still working to help his family and support himself. He was just trying to follow the rules and be a good resident here, to adjust to the new country. He was so excited his children were going to school again.

How has President Trump’s travel ban affected this momentum?

Some students with scholarships were not able to get visas to come here. I support the president of the U.S. trying to protect residents. But it’s unfair to ban all people who are coming here to continue their education. The Syrians who are coming here are doing so well. It’s important to judge case by case.

What can American colleges do now to support Syrian refugees?

By taking Syrian students, by offering scholarships to ambitious students who deserve to be here.

Even knowing that they might not be able to come?

If we give up, then this is the end. People in Syria are suffering a lot there to continue their education. They are fighting until the end to be able to find any hope. They will apply everywhere.

You’re an optimistic person. Do you ever have moments of frustration or sadness?

I post sometimes on Facebook that I’m in Malaysia presenting, or I’m in Hong Kong. People think it’s a fantastic kind of lifestyle. But it is not like that. There are so many challenges — with visas, with passports — that it has never been easy here. Especially being separated from my family. I am so attached to my mom. I hope one day I will be able to put them in a safe place. Hopefully soon.

You’ve performed all over the world. What do you try to convey to your audiences?

Music can be much more powerful than words. It makes the world more connected. It makes people feel your pain. When you lose your home, music is all that’s left to tell the story — about people who are still suffering, about students who have lost everything, about children.

Music was a bridge that saved my life. For me, music is a prayer for peace and love.

Five years ago, you said that Monmouth immediately felt like home to you. A couple years later, you told me you felt the United States was where you wanted and needed to be. Do you still feel that way?

It has always been my dream to come here. Sadly, it happened during wartime.

Regarding Monmouth, I am still so excited about the place. I still practice in the same room. I decided to come back last year because I was so attached to the place and the people here. My professors here, David and Carolyn Suda, took me in. They gave me a home. I got more than I deserved, more than I dreamed of.

Even with the political changes and travel restrictions, do you still feel that bond with the United States?

Of course. It is so strong. Nothing can break it.

Do you think about what your life would have been like if you’d stayed in Aleppo?

Who knows. Maybe I would not be alive now. But I knew that I was going to try and knock on every door. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew for sure I wasn’t going to give up easily.

Shortly after you came to the U.S., you said your goal was to play professionally to “let my country be proud of me.” Have you succeeded?

I’m still very passionate about music, but my life and career have taken kind of a different path. I’m now more concerned about people. I’m more concerned about humanitarian issues. I have done what I came here for. Now it’s time for me to give back to all the people who supported me.

I would like to be the ambassador from my Syria to the U.S. I would really love to combine music with advocacy and diplomacy.

You mean you want to be the Syrian ambassador to the United States?

That’s right.

What have you learned being on a different kind of stage with your humanitarian work?

My music has gotten more intense — more dramatic, dark. I perform mostly now in minor keys, not the major ones, the happy ones. I try to put all the drama into playing.

Coming here, feeling safe, it opened my eyes to see the world from a different angle. To see what people are still struggling with in Syria.

This story is not about myself, but about every girl who found herself trapped in the war and fought for her voice to be heard. It’s about ambitious people who don’t give up. It’s about refugees who are trying to find any way to be free.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.