Finding the Human Behind the Headline: Reflections from The Conduit Panel and My Journey with IMIX 

Some evenings stay with you. Not because they were grand or loud but because they made you feel understood. Tuesday night at The Conduit was one of those evenings. 

I was invited to speak on a panel alongside the brilliant Ali Ghaderi, Amanda Kamanda, and Inua Ellams — a conversation hosted by IMIX that explored what it truly means to seek refuge, the ways refugees are dehumanised in the media, and how we can build communities rooted in care, not pity. 

I didn’t just share my story. I shared the silence that often follows it. The exhaustion of being asked to explain your life repeatedly — and the fear of how your words might be taken out of context. I spoke about how becoming a refugee isn’t a decision that one makes. It’s something that happens to you when everything else has been stripped away. It’s not just the loss of a home — it’s the slow, painful undoing of belonging. 

I also talked about resilience. The kind you build quietly, day after day. I spoke about what it’s like to carry your homeland with you in memories and habits while trying to grow new roots in unfamiliar soil. About the loneliness that comes with starting again. About how, even when you survive, it doesn’t always feel like living — not right away. 

And still, we contribute. We build. We give. We hold jobs, create art, start businesses, and help others. We are not here to take — we are here to belong. 

And as I listened to the others on the panel, something in me softened. That lump in the throat you get when someone else’s story sounds a little too close to yours. I’ve always admired how brave people are when they choose to share the parts of their lives that still carry pain. Sitting beside them, I just felt proud — not in a loud way, but in that quiet, full-heart way. Because I know what it takes to show up after everything you’ve been through. To speak. To give. To keep going. Survival isn’t just about making it through — sometimes, it’s about standing up, again and again, when it would be so much easier to stay quiet. And they did that. We all did. What made this night feel so different was not just the honesty of the discussion — it was the way it was held. The space felt safe, not in a performative way, but in a quiet, meaningful way. That’s what IMIX does. And that’s why I trust them. 

I’ve worked with numerous refugee-focused organisations over the years. And to be honest, some of them do the job — they meet the brief. But it often feels like that’s all it is: a job. Something mechanical. You’re a ‘story’ to use, a name in a spreadsheet, a reasonable quote. 

With IMIX, it’s something else. They never made me feel like I was being interviewed. I felt like I was being heard. 

I’ve met almost everyone on the team by now, and I mean it when I say — they’re the kind of people you want in your corner. They combine the skill and sensitivity that this work should demand. They ask the right questions. They respect the answers. And they never assume they know more than the people they’re supporting. You feel that you’re working with them, not for them. That matters more than I can put into words. 

For IMIX, refugees aren’t objects to be shaped into content. We’re people. We come with layers, with contradictions, with agency. And IMIX treats that with care. They ensure every story is shared in a way that feels honest yet never exposed. Proud, but never polished for someone else’s comfort. 

That’s rare. 

And that’s why Tuesday night meant so much to me. Because I wasn’t just a voice on a panel — I was Douna. A girl who has lived through war, displacement, and bureaucracy. A girl who is tired of being reduced but still hopeful enough to keep showing up. 

So, thank you, IMIX. For holding space with integrity. For seeing the human before the headline. And for reminding me — and all of us — that dignity shouldn’t have to be earned. It should be protected. 

To everyone who showed up that night and to everyone still listening: I hope we continue to build spaces like this. Because that’s how change begins — not with shouting, but with listening. Thank you to The Conduit for hosting us with such care and intention — your space made this conversation feel truly human.