A clean-cut young boy, no more than seventeen years, with eyes full of nerves and excitement, took the microphone. “I shed tears over my beloved Damascus, with the eyes of a wronged revolutionist,” he sang. His voice stilled the room not only with its sorrow, but with its strength. With his strength. We shall call him Wassim, although that is not his name. Wassim is a Syrian refugee teen living in Turkey. He crossed with his sister and parents. His brother continues to lang