breaking stereotypes
In the past month I have eaten delicious food at the various night markets in Taipei, fallen in love with the global city that is Hong Kong, walked through the most glamorous casinos of Macau, ridden rickshaws in Hanoi, seen Ho Chi Min's dead body, biked through a small village in Vietnam, stood in the mayor of Kuala Lumpur's yard watching the city lights light up the night sky, met with Gobind Singh Deo (a member of parliament in Malaysia)...I've done things I never dreamed I would get the chance to do, met people who are changing the world. Seen sights I will never forget and views that look like they come from a painting. All of these things have impacted me in one way other another. I can feel myself changing and growing, in ways that are difficult to put words to or truly articulate.
I spent Christmas in Hanoi, Vietnam by myself for our ten day break. It was some much needed time alone to reflect on all the things I have done and places I've been in the past 4 months. And Hanoi is now one of my most favorite cities in the world! There is something about the messy chaos of the city; no traffic rules, people eating and lounging and laughing on the street as if it's their dinner table, cooking on the street, smells and sounds, so unfamiliar from any other place. Some people would say Hanoi is dirty, I would say it's real, raw and inherently beautiful. People are really just living their lives as is, unapologetically. There is something to be said about the simplicity and authenticity of that, of not constantly climbing to be something you are not, a struggle people in the States know well; better job, better house, better car. We do not know how to simply be, and we desperately try to cover up the mess that is life.
I do believe the most profound growth comes from discomfort. There was one moment not mentioned above that really lingered in my mind, and that was a dinner we had with an Afghan refugee and two other refugee families in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
It was arranged through an organization called the Picha Project, a social enterprise that offers catering of traditional meals cooked by refugee families to companies, events, and organizations. We had the opportunity to go to a refugee's home and spend some time listening to their stories while eating some delicious food. The two families were brought together and introduced to the Picha Project by a man named Anwar, who came to Malaysia alone, his wife and five children still back in Afghanistan. There is a strong Afghan refugee community, this is how Anwar and the other two families got to know each other. With essentially no way to make money, Anwar suggested the group approach Picha Project.
While Malaysia is a safe place for people to seek refuge, there is not a lot of support for people to start their lives over. United Nations helps in the process of getting schools set up in people's homes, shops... wherever there is space available, since refugee children are not allowed to attend Malaysian schools. But there is no hope of becoming a Malaysian citizen, it is impossible. Malaysia isn't a place for people to permanently resettle, but rather a stepping stone country while they wait to be relocated to Australia or the US. Sometimes this relocation process takes 10 years, or 20, sometimes a whole lifetime...there are some families who have been stuck in this grey area for generations- in a place where they can't live like a citizen, don't have the same benefits, but are just waiting to be moved to a new country they can call home. Life is extremely difficult in this grey area; no income, healthcare, education and always the possibility of being arrested and forced to pay a large fine simply for being in this country.
As we were listening to Anwar's story, I was thinking how awful it would be to be living day by day, unaware when or where you were going to get money for a meal next. Or not knowing when you were going to see your family again, if ever... and then it was brought to our attention that this life that these people have now is a hundred times better than living in a war zone. It is better than walking down the street and seeing intense fear for ones own life worn on every face you walk by. To live in a place where that fear isn't in every word you hear or eyes you see is enough, the other difficulties are minor in comparison.
Anwar talked to us about his family who he had to leave behind in Afghanistan. He was a prominent figure in his community, a writer and publisher who's own life was threatened, hence why he had to flee alone. It costs thousands and thousands of dollars to get a person out of Afghanistan to a safer place with all the visa and smuggling fees. Anwar will spend his whole life trying to save up enough money to bring the rest of his family over. It will cost between $15,000-$25,000 to bring all 5 of his children and his wife; a nearly unattainable goal. I wondered if deep down Anwar knew he would never see them again, and what might feel like. How does one completely give up everything they had in a past life? Anwar has found himself washing dishes under the table for some money, or sewing hijabs. He went from being a prominent figure to doing odd jobs to scrape by and stay out of trouble with the law. He smiled when we asked him about what he used to write about, it was clear it was something he missed talking about and missed doing.
Anwar talked about the mental struggle of adjusting to life in Malaysia. He has been here for five years now, but the first year he found himself frequently wondering where his office was, where his family was, where he was. It was a sharp and traumatic transition, leaving a life behind forever. He went to the doctor to get medication to help with his PTSD but it quickly became too expensive to keep up with. He is doing better now as he consciously focuses on what is real and tangible, in an effort to stop the confusion he has with aspects of his old life. He says he is able to find happiness in everyday life here in Malaysia, keeping busy. But I have to say that I have never seen so much sadness in a person, in the way they speak, move and even smile. Personally I can't image the amount of pain Anwar has felt in his lifetime, I cannot imagine the weight of it. It's unfathomable to me, almost abstract. Leaving everything you identity with; your family, job, home, country...to all of the sudden not have any of those things. To move forward seems impossible to me. But he has done it, and so has the millions and millions of other refugees across the world. They have done the impossible and carried that with them as they will for the rest of their lives. Anwar, along with the other two families at the dinner, do not know what the future will hold, but never less they continue each day and get up to do what needs to be done.
I would say to keep all this in mind next time you are having a bad day or something is hard. But I don't really think it's appropriate or possible to compare the pain refugees feel to our own lives, it's too different, the gap is too wide and I personally could never compare anything I have gone through to the mountains they have climbed over. Anwar and refugees all over the world are a huge display of human strength, an ability to survive the unbearable. I have never thought about how I take something so simple for granted- having a country to call home. How lucky I am to be a citizen of not only a nation, but a nation where it's citizens hold such privilege.
The importance of this dinner was about breaking stereotypes. To deconstruct this idea of "they are taking our jobs" to learn about who "they" are, more than just an "other". Refugees could be any of us, it could happen to anyone. How dare we close our doors to other humans in need, just because we were born into circumstances that gave us the privilege of never having to endure the same pain? The truth is, we didn't do anything to deserve the privilege we have. Where we are born is arbitrary. That "illegal immigrant", it could have been you or it could have been me. I wanted to share Anwar's story to shed some light on this. Refugees didn't ask for the circumstances they were put in, and they don't want to have leave their home country because it has become a war zone. They aren't trying to "steal our jobs" but simply make a living and make a life. It is our responsibility as global citizens to be open, welcoming, and willing to take people in and give them a second chance at a life that we all so desperately want, a life of safety for ourselves and our families.
I spent Christmas in Hanoi, Vietnam by myself for our ten day break. It was some much needed time alone to reflect on all the things I have done and places I've been in the past 4 months. And Hanoi is now one of my most favorite cities in the world! There is something about the messy chaos of the city; no traffic rules, people eating and lounging and laughing on the street as if it's their dinner table, cooking on the street, smells and sounds, so unfamiliar from any other place. Some people would say Hanoi is dirty, I would say it's real, raw and inherently beautiful. People are really just living their lives as is, unapologetically. There is something to be said about the simplicity and authenticity of that, of not constantly climbing to be something you are not, a struggle people in the States know well; better job, better house, better car. We do not know how to simply be, and we desperately try to cover up the mess that is life.
I do believe the most profound growth comes from discomfort. There was one moment not mentioned above that really lingered in my mind, and that was a dinner we had with an Afghan refugee and two other refugee families in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
It was arranged through an organization called the Picha Project, a social enterprise that offers catering of traditional meals cooked by refugee families to companies, events, and organizations. We had the opportunity to go to a refugee's home and spend some time listening to their stories while eating some delicious food. The two families were brought together and introduced to the Picha Project by a man named Anwar, who came to Malaysia alone, his wife and five children still back in Afghanistan. There is a strong Afghan refugee community, this is how Anwar and the other two families got to know each other. With essentially no way to make money, Anwar suggested the group approach Picha Project.
While Malaysia is a safe place for people to seek refuge, there is not a lot of support for people to start their lives over. United Nations helps in the process of getting schools set up in people's homes, shops... wherever there is space available, since refugee children are not allowed to attend Malaysian schools. But there is no hope of becoming a Malaysian citizen, it is impossible. Malaysia isn't a place for people to permanently resettle, but rather a stepping stone country while they wait to be relocated to Australia or the US. Sometimes this relocation process takes 10 years, or 20, sometimes a whole lifetime...there are some families who have been stuck in this grey area for generations- in a place where they can't live like a citizen, don't have the same benefits, but are just waiting to be moved to a new country they can call home. Life is extremely difficult in this grey area; no income, healthcare, education and always the possibility of being arrested and forced to pay a large fine simply for being in this country.
As we were listening to Anwar's story, I was thinking how awful it would be to be living day by day, unaware when or where you were going to get money for a meal next. Or not knowing when you were going to see your family again, if ever... and then it was brought to our attention that this life that these people have now is a hundred times better than living in a war zone. It is better than walking down the street and seeing intense fear for ones own life worn on every face you walk by. To live in a place where that fear isn't in every word you hear or eyes you see is enough, the other difficulties are minor in comparison.
Anwar talked to us about his family who he had to leave behind in Afghanistan. He was a prominent figure in his community, a writer and publisher who's own life was threatened, hence why he had to flee alone. It costs thousands and thousands of dollars to get a person out of Afghanistan to a safer place with all the visa and smuggling fees. Anwar will spend his whole life trying to save up enough money to bring the rest of his family over. It will cost between $15,000-$25,000 to bring all 5 of his children and his wife; a nearly unattainable goal. I wondered if deep down Anwar knew he would never see them again, and what might feel like. How does one completely give up everything they had in a past life? Anwar has found himself washing dishes under the table for some money, or sewing hijabs. He went from being a prominent figure to doing odd jobs to scrape by and stay out of trouble with the law. He smiled when we asked him about what he used to write about, it was clear it was something he missed talking about and missed doing.
Anwar talked about the mental struggle of adjusting to life in Malaysia. He has been here for five years now, but the first year he found himself frequently wondering where his office was, where his family was, where he was. It was a sharp and traumatic transition, leaving a life behind forever. He went to the doctor to get medication to help with his PTSD but it quickly became too expensive to keep up with. He is doing better now as he consciously focuses on what is real and tangible, in an effort to stop the confusion he has with aspects of his old life. He says he is able to find happiness in everyday life here in Malaysia, keeping busy. But I have to say that I have never seen so much sadness in a person, in the way they speak, move and even smile. Personally I can't image the amount of pain Anwar has felt in his lifetime, I cannot imagine the weight of it. It's unfathomable to me, almost abstract. Leaving everything you identity with; your family, job, home, country...to all of the sudden not have any of those things. To move forward seems impossible to me. But he has done it, and so has the millions and millions of other refugees across the world. They have done the impossible and carried that with them as they will for the rest of their lives. Anwar, along with the other two families at the dinner, do not know what the future will hold, but never less they continue each day and get up to do what needs to be done.
I would say to keep all this in mind next time you are having a bad day or something is hard. But I don't really think it's appropriate or possible to compare the pain refugees feel to our own lives, it's too different, the gap is too wide and I personally could never compare anything I have gone through to the mountains they have climbed over. Anwar and refugees all over the world are a huge display of human strength, an ability to survive the unbearable. I have never thought about how I take something so simple for granted- having a country to call home. How lucky I am to be a citizen of not only a nation, but a nation where it's citizens hold such privilege.
The importance of this dinner was about breaking stereotypes. To deconstruct this idea of "they are taking our jobs" to learn about who "they" are, more than just an "other". Refugees could be any of us, it could happen to anyone. How dare we close our doors to other humans in need, just because we were born into circumstances that gave us the privilege of never having to endure the same pain? The truth is, we didn't do anything to deserve the privilege we have. Where we are born is arbitrary. That "illegal immigrant", it could have been you or it could have been me. I wanted to share Anwar's story to shed some light on this. Refugees didn't ask for the circumstances they were put in, and they don't want to have leave their home country because it has become a war zone. They aren't trying to "steal our jobs" but simply make a living and make a life. It is our responsibility as global citizens to be open, welcoming, and willing to take people in and give them a second chance at a life that we all so desperately want, a life of safety for ourselves and our families.
Comments
Post a Comment