Meet Tarik Samman
My name is Tarik Samman. I was born in Lowell, Massachusetts, to a Syrian immigrant family that came here in the 1980s chasing the American Dream. Through hard work and determination, my parents built a stable life and were able to save up enough money to afford a home. But after the terrorist attacks of 9/11, that killed thousands of innocent Americans, a wave of Islamophobia and government surveillance made life in the U.S. feel increasingly unsafe for us. Out of fear for their children, my parents sold the home they had worked toward for years and returned to Damascus, leaving behind the American Dream.
I could never let go of Massachusetts or the American Dream. I spent my childhood in Damascus dreaming of the day I would return to the state where I was born and build a life in the place my family once called home.
In 2011, the Arab Spring ignited the Syrian Civil War. Overnight, our neighborhood became a place of checkpoints, explosions, and terrorist attacks. The constant threat of violence became part of daily life, and the fear that once pushed us out of America returned in an even harsher form. Fear began to tighten its grip on my family as the conflict dragged on, and with no end in sight, we faced the inevitable decision to leave Syria.
Meet Tarik Samman
My name is Tarik Samman. I was born in Lowell, Massachusetts, to a Syrian immigrant family that came here in the 1980s chasing the American Dream. Through hard work and determination, my parents built a stable life and were able to save up enough money to afford a home. But after the terrorist attacks of 9/11, that killed thousands of innocent Americans, a wave of Islamophobia and government surveillance made life in the U.S. feel increasingly unsafe for us. Out of fear for their children, my parents sold the home they had worked toward for years and returned to Damascus, leaving behind the American Dream.
I could never let go of Massachusetts or the American Dream. I spent my childhood in Damascus dreaming of the day I would return to the state where I was born and build a life in the place my family once called home.
In 2011, the Arab Spring ignited the Syrian Civil War. Overnight, our neighborhood became a place of checkpoints, explosions, and terrorist attacks. The constant threat of violence became part of daily life, and the fear that once pushed us out of America returned in an even harsher form. Fear began to tighten its grip on my family as the conflict dragged on, and with no end in sight, we faced the inevitable decision to leave Syria.
As my family began rebuilding their lives in America, we traveled to Texas, then to California, but I always felt a connection to Massachusetts, the place of my birth. After graduating from the University of California, Irvine, I earned a master’s degree from Columbia University and moved back to Massachusetts to begin working as a Research Associate at Harvard Law School.
My father always described Massachusetts as a home for thinkers, dreamers, and people who push the world forward. I see the truth of his words in the courage of the people here each and every day. From protests demanding accountability, to sit-ins and hunger strikes confronting injustice, to workers unionizing for fair contracts, people in this state never shy away from a fight. They refuse to sit on the sidelines or wait for someone else to lead. They act when action is needed, no matter the cost.
These people are the true protectors of the American Dream because they choose to strengthen the democracy that makes it possible. They are the gatekeepers, and I know I have to stand alongside them to reach the American Dream. So I joined them and became an organizer with the Harvard Academic Workers Union and fought alongside them to improve the living conditions of 3,000 academic workers. Yet on that journey toward the American Dream, I once again found myself confronting fear.
As my family began rebuilding their lives in America, we traveled to Texas, then to California, but I always felt a connection to Massachusetts, the place of my birth. After graduating from the University of California, Irvine, I earned a master’s degree from Columbia University and moved back to Massachusetts to begin working as a Research Associate at Harvard Law School.
My father always described Massachusetts as a home for thinkers, dreamers, and people who push the world forward. I see the truth of his words in the courage of the people here each and every day. From protests demanding accountability, to sit-ins and hunger strikes confronting injustice, to workers unionizing for fair contracts, people in this state never shy away from a fight. They refuse to sit on the sidelines or wait for someone else to lead. They act when action is needed, no matter the cost.
These people are the true protectors of the American Dream because they choose to strengthen the democracy that makes it possible. They are the gatekeepers, and I know I have to stand alongside them to reach the American Dream. So I joined them and became an organizer with the Harvard Academic Workers Union and fought alongside them to improve the living conditions of 3,000 academic workers. Yet on that journey toward the American Dream, I once again found myself confronting fear.
Fear is not confined to authoritarian regimes or far away war zones. It can seep into even the most prestigious institutions. At Harvard, I witnessed how fear took hold on campus. I saw it manifest in the quiet pauses of colleagues describing global events, in the hushed conversations of students hesitant to speak on polarizing issues, and in the anxious eyes of an international academic worker weighing the risks of signing a union card. It is a fear of consequences, of backlash, of stepping out of a line drawn by all too familiar instruments of control. This is a fear that I understand and deeply sympathize with. Having lived it, felt it, and carried it with me from Damascus. It silences voices, suppresses dreams, and isolates individuals. It deprives us of liberation, while simultaneously building a profound sense of frustration and resentment that simmers just below the surface of our communities.
Since Trump has taken office, fear has intensified across immigrant communities, campuses, and families in Massachusetts. I kept waiting for leaders like Hakeem Jeffries and Katherine Clark to stand up, to show courage, to say clearly and loudly that this country belongs to all of us. But the feckless silence is now louder than the attacks, and no red line goes uncrossed. That catastrophic silence is what convinced me that I have to step forward.
People with a story like mine are not expected to enter American politics. But we deeply understand what is at stake. We know why this country cannot be allowed to slip into the conditions that force families to flee their homes. We know the value of America and the opportunities it can present because we have lived without them.
Massachusetts is full of families just like mine, who came here seeking the American Dream. It is a state that is home to students, workers, and immigrants who deserve safety, dignity, and a fair chance to thrive. I am running for all of them. I am running to keep the American Dream possible and affordable; to ensure that no child grows up fearing for their life or their future; that no family feels unheard or unprotected; and that the visionaries, innovators, and dreamers who come here are met with opportunity rather than discrimination or hate.
I believe we can do better. We must do better. And together, we will.
Tarik Samman
Fear is not confined to authoritarian regimes or far away war zones. It can seep into even the most prestigious institutions. At Harvard, I witnessed how fear took hold on campus. I saw it manifest in the quiet pauses of colleagues describing global events, in the hushed conversations of students hesitant to speak on polarizing issues, and in the anxious eyes of an international academic worker weighing the risks of signing a union card. It is a fear of consequences, of backlash, of stepping out of a line drawn by all too familiar instruments of control. This is a fear that I understand and deeply sympathize with. Having lived it, felt it, and carried it with me from Damascus. It silences voices, suppresses dreams, and isolates individuals. It deprives us of liberation, while simultaneously building a profound sense of frustration and resentment that simmers just below the surface of our communities.
Since Trump has taken office, fear has intensified across immigrant communities, campuses, and families in Massachusetts. I kept waiting for leaders like Hakeem Jeffries and Katherine Clark to stand up, to show courage, to say clearly and loudly that this country belongs to all of us. But the feckless silence is now louder than the attacks, and no red line goes uncrossed. That catastrophic silence is what convinced me that I have to step forward.
People with a story like mine are not expected to enter American politics. But we deeply understand what is at stake. We know why this country cannot be allowed to slip into the conditions that force families to flee their homes. We know the value of America and the opportunities it can present because we have lived without them.
Massachusetts is full of families just like mine, who came here seeking the American Dream. It is a state that is home to students, workers, and immigrants who deserve safety, dignity, and a fair chance to thrive. I am running for all of them. I am running to keep the American Dream possible and affordable; to ensure that no child grows up fearing for their life or their future; that no family feels unheard or unprotected; and that the visionaries, innovators, and dreamers who come here are met with opportunity rather than discrimination or hate.
I believe we can do better. We must do better. And together, we will.
Tarik Samman