My brother, Austin, asked me to go to Syria with him in 2012. Four months later, he was taken.
Iwas at the beach withmy family when my brother, Austin, called. His schedule at GeorgetownLawSchool had prevented him fromjoining us. I slipped into an empty room at the little housewewere renting and listened, astonished, as he told me hewas planning a trip to Syria that summer of 2012, and hewas asking me to come with him.
To this day I’m not surewhy he asked me. We had been on some adventures together, to GlacierNational Park, and in the beautiful PacificNorthwest where I have mademy home, but nothing approaching these stakes. Maybe he believed Iwas up for it, that I had the same adventurous spirit burning in him, and Iwould leap at the chance, fresh out of college with vague plans for the future, to help him change theworld.
I turned him down. I couldn’t imagine myself in those circumstances, untrained, lacking thewar zone experience he had as aMarine Corps veteran with three tours behind him. I encouraged him to follow his heart, to bear witness to the escalating conflict in Syria. I believed in his vision, admired his grit andwas behind him completely. He left inMay.
OnAug.14, 2012, at a checkpoint outside Damascus, he disappeared.
Thatwas 2,964 days ago as of Friday. I have not heard frommy brother since. No one has claimed responsibility for his detention. Every single one of those days, and every day, my familywakes up hoping, praying, that this will be the last day of his captivity.
I think of that call when I read about Austin now, and howeasilymy name could have been next to his. I think of what he has endured in captivity and of what he has missed— all the birthdays, weddings and births, Thanksgivings and Christmases thatmy family and I have celebrated without him. In dark moments Iwonder if maybe, maybe, I could have been the difference. Maybe Iwould’ve said,“We shouldn’t get into this car,” maybe the hairs on the back ofmy neck would’ve stood up at the offer, andwe would have gone anotherway. Maybe he wouldn’t have stayed so long had he felt responsible for keeping me, his scrawny, inexperienced, intellectualized little brother, safe.
I don’t dwell on those thoughts, but they have persisted. They grew beneath the slowrealization that thiswould not be resolved quickly, that hewouldn’t be home in days, orweeks. Beneath the pride of every award he has received and every column calling for his return, they persist. The thought of what he has endured in eight years is made fresh in each one; I cannot avoid it. I could have been there.
No president in our history has been more personally committed than President DonaldTrumpto bringing home American citizens held abroad. Our president has made it clear, time and again: The return of Americans is a deeply personal priority for him. Itwas fromhim, thisMarch, that America first heardAustin’s name said aloud by a president. My heart leapt that day. My family appreciates the powerful effort this administration is exerting to bring him home. We have felt the progress, centimeter by excruciating centimeter.
Now, aswe approach a ninth holiday season with an empty seat at our family’s Thanksgiving, a ninth Christmas spent wondering ifAustin can see the stars, my brothers and sisters and I implore you fromthe depths of our hearts: Please help.
We beg you to reach out to your representatives in Congress. Tell them the story of the brotherwe love. Tell them it is a priority to seeAustin’s safest and soonest return. Tell them to use their power to urge the president to restore Austin to our Thanksgiving table. Every second he stays in captivity cuts a deeperwound in the hearts ofmy family, andwe canwait no longer. Help us make this summer the last he spends alone, and give 2020 a spark of brightnesswe so desperately need.
Join the campaign. Ask about Austin Tice. Bring him home.