War devastates countries. It displaces residents, orphans children, widows wives and bleeds the color out of land until it is left barren. But war is much more than clashes and casualties — culture fights to survive in war as well.

My mother lived the first half of her life in Sudan and speaks of it with fondness — the river she and her sisters swam in, the sharp black coffee, the cats and goats, and the rich diversity that the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces has been targeting in the country’s nearly three-year civil war. 

Sudan is home to pyramids, tombs, temples and three UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Cultural sites, including mosques and more than 20 museums, like the National Museum of Sudan, have been victimized and destroyed by both sides’ militaries, threatening to rewrite the country’s history and national identity in a zealous pursuit of power.

My mother left Khartoum, the capital city, for New York and later Washington, D.C., and has not seen her home in years. The United States Department of State issued an advisory prohibiting travel to Sudan last October, but even if she could return, what would be left?

A country cyclically plagued by turmoil, Sudan is witnessing the world’s largest and fastest-growing displacement crisis, with more than 12 million people forced to flee their homes, according to the International Rescue Committee. 

Watching the museums and monuments that hold the history of your country reduced to rubble while cultural identity is lost in the debris is like grieving a home twice — a home that seems impossible to rebuild without the sites and artifacts that make culture what it is. 

Though I have never visited Sudan, I am certain that when I do, the river and cats may still be there, but it will not be the same place my mother grew up in, instead forever changed and scarred by loss.

As conflicts escalate in many Middle Eastern and Arab countries, more and more people are made refugees. U.S.-Israeli strikes in Iran on Feb. 28 plunged much of the region into disarray, forcing hundreds of thousands of people to leave their homes behind.

When conflict pressures you to abandon your country, you risk losing much more than a tangible home; symbols of your identity, from traditions and language to foods and cultural garb, are all at stake. 

In 2022, the U.S. had 1.7 million immigrants from Middle Eastern and North African countries, including Iran, Egypt and Iraq, according to the American Immigration Council.

Serli Jabnian, a junior studying business administration, said spending her childhood in Syria was a dichotomy — beautiful and difficult because she grew up in wartime.

“I can’t say that I experienced that much of Syrian culture because of the war,” said Jabnian, who immigrated to the U.S. when she was 12.

When conflict tears you away from your homeland, it places the preservation of your heritage in jeopardy as well. For many immigrants in the U.S., conformity to an image of “whiteness” is mandated. Policies like mass deportations and travel bans on majority-Muslim and African nations force immigrants to live in fear of their identity being discovered and targeted. 

By sowing terror, the Trump administration fosters the expectation that immigrants must assimilate to the U.S. by repressing their own cultures. As a consequence, some may avoid speaking their native language in public or openly expressing their religions, especially as anti-immigrant and anti-Muslim rhetoric continue to rise. 

“It’s very hard to build a future in Syria now,” Jabnian said. “I hope to go back and do something in Syria, just for the culture, or to build it back.”

Perhaps one of the countries suffering the most from cultural erasure is Palestine, which is recognized by 157 United Nations member states, out of 193 total, as a country. The Israeli military uprooted around 3,000 olive trees, a symbol of Palestinian national identity, in a village in the West Bank. Universities, churches and mosques have been demolished, leaving the future composition of the country uncertain, similar to other war-torn countries in the region.

As over one million people return to Khartoum, Sudan’s Prime Minister, Kamil Idris, declared this year a “year of peace” for Sudan and its people.

It is easy to feel disconnected from your culture, especially if you were not raised in the same country as your parents or do not speak the language. But in a time where so much culture is being erased, from Sudan to Palestine to right here in the U.S., it is crucial to connect with our heritage.

Whether on the battlefield or in the political arena, we cannot let our cultures become casualties caught in the crossfire. We must remember and celebrate our cultures by wearing our abayas, eating basbousa and knafeh, hanging our flags, and celebrating our holidays — and we must do it proudly. The only way our cultures will be kept alive is through us.