Improving Relations, Whoop by Whoop

"Go East! Go West!

"Lebanon is the best!"

The chants grew louder. A sea of arms unfurled a flag emblazoned with a cypress tree. Standing in front of the White House, the teenagers -- in business suits, denim miniskirts, Converse high tops or traditional head scarves -- belted out the Lebanese national anthem.

They were among a group of about 600 students from predominantly Muslim countries who had just arrived for a year-long exchange program sponsored by the State Department.

This week they are dispersing across the United States to the host families with whom they will live for nine months. But last week they ran around the nation's capital as if on an adrenaline high.

"Lebanon! Lebanon! Wooooh!!"

Christine Habib, an adult supervising the students, laughed. "Okay, khalas, fahemna! " ("enough, we get it!")

"It's definitely one of the most enthusiastic groups" in the three years since the program began, Habib said. "I don't know if it's because of the political climate this year, but they have a lot of energy, which is good. It's better than them being downtrodden."

War raged in some of their countries, resentment simmered in others, but exploring a new city, visiting white-columned monuments, meeting with State Department officials and buying U.S. Capitol snow globes seemed to help open their eyes to a world beyond their homelands.

That was the point. The Youth Exchange and Study Program started in 2003 as a way to improve relations between the United States and Arab and Muslim countries. "The idea was that targeting youth would be the most effective way," said Mary Karam, director of grant programs for AYUSA Global Exchange, one of several organizations administering the program, which this year has students from 24 countries, plus the West Bank and Gaza.

Participants are selected based on grades, English aptitude and leadership skills. Applications have increased each year since the inception of the program, which costs about $11.5 million annually and is free for the students.

In the beginning, some parents were hesitant to send their children abroad because of political tensions, especially after the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. But after the first group returned, more were emboldened. This year, more than 18,000 students applied for 660 slots.

"Some friends told me, 'Don't go to America; Americans aren't Muslim,' " said Khalil Ebrahim, 16, a Yemeni who will spend the year in Las Vegas. "But America is a democratic country, and studying here is better than in Yemen because here you have your choice."

Even as they embraced America, fears about home lingered. "Our contacts with our parents are kind of blocked," said Abdul Rahman Loutfi, 16, a hot dog in one hand and his tie knotted rakishly around his curly hair. A guitar and basketball player, Loutfi will live with a family in Glenmoore, Pa.

Like others from Lebanon, he left his country in vastly different straits than it was when he sent in his application.

"It's getting really serious, like, people are getting killed," he said. "I never thought I'd leave this way. Everything's kind of changed; everything's kind of ruined."

For some, leaving was its own adventure. "We slept in a hotel in Beirut for one night, then we went to the U.S. Embassy and from there we were picked up by two military helicopters," said Rima Maarouf, 16, who will live in Brainardsville, N.Y. "That was cool -- like, Marines in helmets . . . and we got Marine food. It's not so delicious."

Birzha, 16, an Iraqi (for security reasons the State Department did not allow publication of the Iraqis' last names), called the north, where she is from, "the safest place in Iraq." She said that, as a Kurd, she wanted Americans to know one thing: "That we exist. That we are a nation."

Some were already making cultural adjustments. When Fares Atef, 15, tried to walk by the White House in a Yemeni robe with a curved dagger in his sash, a security officer advised him to leave the dagger on the bus.

Esraa Gomaa, 17, an Egyptian, said she was surprised at how multicultural the United States is. "At the hotel, I thought the people working there would be all Americans, white Americans," Gomaa said. "But no. I found Indians and many people from all over the world."

Back on the bus, Maarouf had a message for Americans. "We're not terrorists; we're just regular teenagers," she said.

From the back of the bus, the Lebanese national anthem rose up, then morphed into another song, one that some of their parents might have sung in Lebanon in the 1970s, during their own war-wracked teenage years.

"We will, we will -- ROCK YOU!!"

Hearing it, others smiled and joined in.