A Review of Tima Kurdi’s “The Boy on the Beach”
The Refugee Crisis
The image of a dead boy on a Mediterranean beach in September 2015 was something that shook the world and, in Canada, brought down and toppled a government. It exposed the world to the Syrian refugee crisis in ways previously thought unimaginable. But do people still remember that picture? Has the spotlight shifted to the circus of the Trump presidency? Maybe, but that boy, Alan Kurdi, is further memorialized in his Canadian aunt’s breathtaking new memoir, The Boy on the Beach. If you had any doubts that the Syrian refugees were anything but a peaceful, loving people, you should have no doubts by the end of this book. It’s a bit of an odd memoir in that it is less about a person — though both Tima’s and Alan’s stories and journeys plays a large part, which is a different tact to take because Alan was someone so young — and more about a family.
The book is divided into three parts. The first third of the book is about Tima’s family life in Syria with her parents and siblings prior to the current war. It’s painted vividly, a place where jasmine fills the air and all the teenaged girls aspired to be like Madonna. There are portraits of simple, loving family life — such as the tale of when Tima’s mother found out she smoked, and implored Tima to do it in front of her so there would be no secrets between the two. And your mouth may water at the descriptions of delicious, exotic foods. The second third is more about the events that lead to young Alan’s death — along with his mother’s and sibling’s. The wistfulness of the first third gives way to a more devastating account of what it is like to live as a refugee, displaced from a war-torn home with all of its inherent sufferings. Finally, the last third is more about the aftermath of the story of Alan’s death breaking in the media and his father’s attempts to come to grips with the loss of his children.
As you can tell, The Boy on the Beach is kind of like three books in one. The last third, in particular, feels like an extended advertisement for Tima’s new charitable foundation, which is the only slight knock against the book. However, this memoir deftly weaves its chronology together, giving Western readers an idea of what Kurdi’s family gave up — both positive and negative — in deciding to become refugees, how they struggled to make ends meet, and how they have the hint of hope that war will be over eventually, and some sense of normalcy will return to Syria.
The book succeeds in making interested readers want to do something — however big or small — to help refugees. My own eyes were opened to the realities of refugee living as, too often, the media portrays refugees as being needy and helpless. While refugees certainly have their needs, The Boy on the Beach made me realize that systemic injustice prohibits them from meeting their basic needs — but that refugees also can be as resourceful as anyone else. So the book does make readers want to do something more for these hardworking people.
What is particularly heartbreaking about the book is that it chronicles the frustrating paperwork that goes with sponsoring refugee families — asking for documents that refugees simply don’t have. In this sense, the book is a powerful indictment of the previous Harper Conservative government in Canada. (That said, the author has some implied words about Justin Trudeau, who did a lot at the outset of his election as Prime Minister to bring in more Syrian refugees, but, now, not so much.)
The book also works as a personal journey: we learn how Tima came to the profession of hairstyling, but gave that up to focus more squarely on helping others, doing so even when she can barely help herself. This is a story of transformation, of circumstances making someone else into a better person, no matter how awful those circumstances might well be. You get the sense that Tima has grown as a person throughout her life (as we all do) and even though this title was written by a ghostwriter (as alluded to in the acknowledgements), Tima has a singular voice that is heartrendingly honest.
As a former member of the media, I found the passages that grapple with the impact of the now famous photos of Alan Kurdi washed up ashore to be illuminating. On one hand, Tima wrestles with the invasion of privacy for her family of having such graphic images published. On the other, Tima understands that the photos galvanized a movement worldwide to help others. I admire her honesty, as well as her candid admission that while she had a great many suitors in the media and government who wanted to help, not all of them did so. (Notwithstanding the fact that she was met with some heavy trolling online, which I did not know about until now.)
Overall, The Boy on the Beach is a volume that comes with the force of a wallop upside the head. My own views on refugees changed from passive and unsure acceptance to full-blown acceptance in the face of Trump’s travel ban, and this book just added weight to that change of thought. I had to wonder, “Am I doing enough? What else could I be doing?” all as a result of reading this book. I already have my fingers in many pies — writing reviews is just one of them — but, nevertheless of what action I do wind up taking, this book is a stark reminder that refugees face their plight day in and day out, not just when a media event comes along. All in all, The Boy on the Beach should reawaken readers to the fact that the word refugee does not equate to the word terrorist, and, for that and other things, this book is — fortunately or unfortunately, you decide — necessary reading.
Tima Kurdi’s The Boy on the Beach: My Family’s Escape from Syria and Our Hope for a New Home was published by Simon & Schuster Canada on April 17, 2018.
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