Like many before me, I arrived in the United States after taking a circuitous, sometimes dangerous route through life. Young, alone and penniless, everything I owned was packed into the one suitcase I carried. Yet guided by a dream of a better life, I stepped ashore confident that I could escape the pains of my past. America became my haven. I fell in love with this country and gained an unparalleled admiration for, and commitment to, all of the greatness of this land and its people.

When the refugees from Somalia began arriving in the U.S. after the civil strife of 1993, I was hopeful that they too would find America to be a country where they could live, work, and raise their families without fear. I hoped they would find what I had found in this great country: opportunity and acceptance.

After the Somalis came to the U.S., they soon found themselves living much the way many poor minority groups live here, crowded into economically disadvantaged areas of big cities like Chicago, Detroit and Atlanta. In their new neighborhoods they were forced to confront the ravages of poverty: drugs, violence and crime. Not wanting to compromise their strong family ethics, they searched for a community in which to live that embodied all of the values they held dear. They settled on the town of Lewiston, Maine – a town I personally knew to be friendly and hospitable. One thousand one hundred Somalis from all over the country made the trip to their newly adopted “hometown”.

At first warmly welcomed by the community, seeds of fear and distrust soon began to sprout among some townspeople. Was it that the Somalis were black? Was it their Muslim religion? Was it the foreign language they spoke? Was it the fear that these new residents would be welfare dependent, competing for the same economic resources many locals also depended upon?

A firestorm of controversy suddenly erupted when Lewiston’s Mayor Larry Raymond, publicly stating what some felt privately, sent an open letter to the Somali elders advising them that the city’s resources were strained to the limit and asking them to tell friends and family not to move into the city. The letter’s content was interpreted as racism by some and a rallying cry by white supremacist groups across the country. The international media dubbed the situation the “Somali invasion” and soon descended upon Lewiston, exacerbating an already inflamed situation. The Somalis closed themselves off from the media. Local government officials suddenly became quiet. The white supremacists, seeing a venue for their own agenda, swooped into town and many ordinary citizens became even more threatened and fearful.

This story and the plight of these good Somalis became my obsession. I set out searching for the truth, tracing the events that led to the chaotic, roiling, dark cloud that engulfed this city – a city I thought I knew so well. What had happened? Why did things change so drastically, so quickly? Is there one ultimate truth that serves as the answer?

By making The Letter, I offer a comprehensive look at the dynamics of immigration many cities and countries worldwide now confront in this age of “globalization”, and the clash of alien cultures and religions that inevitably follows.

Ziad H. Hamzeh, Director