A #ShareTheJourney Reflection

 

My head is full of information and statistics, my heart is full of stories and faces, and my spirit is pondering the place in the world of Sub-sahara Africa that is such a paradox of joy and pain. The news is full of the dangers of violence and war and corruption in Africa, but no one really gets a chance to meet the people, to see under the umbrella of generalizations and hear the stories of individuals who live and work and eat and pray in this complicated land.

 

It is overwhelming to look out over the beautiful mountains of Rwanda on a sun drenched morning with a cup of coffee enjoying the gentle breeze, a virtual paradise, and recall the reality for people living in the Gihembe Refugee Camp and the brutality of the Rwandan genocide. Amidst all the beauty of the land there are people who are still traumatized by massacres, rape, and suicide. Every day they could inadvertently walk by their perpetrator.

While listening to stories about life in a refugee camp and the horrendous aftermath of the 100 days of genocide, we were also hearing in the news about the flight of refugees from Somalia and Syria, the latter being hailed as the greatest humanitarian disaster in the history of the world. I'm numb. I can't help but ask the unanswerable question, "Why?"

I realize that the mere ability to reflect on suffering is, in large part, a luxury. Yes, suffering is part of the human condition, an essential part of our experience, but the stories I listened to in Kenya and Rwanda are beyond anything I can accept as essential. What does one do with this experience of #ShareTheJourney now that we are back in the USA? Being an oldest child, I, of course, feel responsible to paint the picture of what I've seen, give voice to what I have heard, correct the media accounts, defend the orphan and widow, and advocate for refugees. How does one do that when the world has chronic compassion fatigue and Westerners are tired of hearing how selfish and greedy they are, and I have developed an aversion to sanctimony and platitudes? Simplistic answers are empty of meaning even though our world wants understanding to come in sound bites or bullet points.

I wonder if I am looking for the answers among my own people and culture. Am I trying to reason out a response for others or extrapolate an answer to "fix" the situation from my understanding of the world--one which has not included the life and experiences of being a refugee? I think people are quite capable of resolving conflict in their lands, but when a family has very little time to decide whether to flee their home or stay and face the consequences of violent attacks, there's not a lot of time for pondering conflict resolution. They're just trying to stay alive, or more realistically, keep their children alive.

There was hopelessness in Gihembe Refugee Camp when we spoke with some of the refugees who were part of an ESL (English as a Second Language) class. They were told not to ask questions about their specific cases, ask if we knew if they were going to be resettled, and, if so, when that would be, or could we help them get their cases through the process (or the pipeline). Nevertheless, these were the only questions they cared about. They asked them anyway, and they were answered by the agency representative. One of the pilgrims asked a man, "What gives you hope?" "I have no hope," was the reply.

All we could offer was encouragement to continue learning English and continuing one's education, just in case you were lucky enough to get out. In truth, no matter what the result of their refugee processing, getting an education would be beneficial, but it wouldn't bring them more water.

"Why is the West Silent?" is one of the news headlines I read just a couple of days before we departed. I don't know, but I do not have to be. If refugees are pleading for us to advocate for them, then I will. Because I was asked to, not because I think I know best what I should do for a refugee, but because their lives and stories are just as important as my own. I hope their voices continue to speak and I hope I continue to listen even if my mind grows weary of it. So many of the people working on behalf of refugees told me they keep at it, facing discouragement day in and day out, because it's worth it for even one to make it.

 

 

 

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The Importance of the Faith Community

I am grateful to have been selected to go on a pilgrimage with Episcopal Migration Ministries in March. I have immersed myself in books, web sites, and videos, devouring information about the Democratic Republic of Congo, in preparation for the #ShareTheJourney pilgrimage to Africa. The statistics, the history, the case studies, the testimonials, the photos, the processes, all wash over me and even invade my dreams.

 

Living in the Houston, TX area, I've met several refugees and immigrants, and even connected with Interfaith Ministries of Great Houston (https://www.imgh.org/), the local affiliate of Episcopal Migration Ministries of the Diocese of Texas. I still don't know how these families manage to survive going through the multi-phased process, relocation, and resettlement in America! I know the practicalities of the interviews, the training, the sponsors, and the basic provision of shelter, food, and clothing when they arrive. But, I am talking about finding life, making a home, and maintaining self-sufficiency in a new world in a relatively short time frame.

In a nutshell view of what a typical Congolese refugee might go through from flight to resettlement, here's what it looks like. Try and place yourself in a similar situation.

First of all, you hear that rebels are on their way to your village. It has been a constant pattern of flight and hiding for a few years. Most women you know have been raped, many of your friends have died or disappeared, so you flee and hide your family the minute you hear of trouble. You have one minute to grab what you need in a bag and run.

You then join with other people from the village, some from other villages, on their way to a refugee camp across the border. It is safer in numbers, but you most likely will face many dangers: rape, hunger, dehydration, illness, violence, and even death. (I have a friend who lives in Houston who fled the Rwandan genocide in the 1990s. She had a daughter and twins. She fled the village without knowing where her husband was. She made it to Kenya, but not before she was raped and one of the babies beaten to death tied on her back. The surviving son graduated high school at a Jesuit school in Houston recently. He wants to become a priest becaues it was the Jesuits in Kenya that took them in, kept them safe, and helped get them to the United States.)

Once in the refugee camp you still must find ways to protect yourself from rape, illness, violence, etc. Did I mention that the Congo is considered the rape capitol of the world? Yes, rape is an often practiced weapon of war these days.

At this point I am aware that apart from the physical damage suffered, most refugees are dealing with extraordinary degrees of psychological, emotional, and spiritual assault. Living in cramped quarters with several thousand who are also trying to get a grip on what just happened to them and their families probably does not allow one to process and heal very easily. These temporary settlements become rather permanent.

 

I think it is easy to generalize in this way and never actually interact and hear from a person who has lived as a refugee. Those few I've known who have fled violence in their countries and endured horrible hardships have also been joyful, grateful, and full of dignity. I guess I'm just not sure I'd fare in the same way, and I am sure a number do not, but there is something about suffering that can either destroy a person or make them what I'd call human plus. It's the plus (we might call this God, Spirit, Christ, or a Higher Power) that seems to be the thing that makes the difference.

In some of the research I've read on the reesettlement of peoples in the US, it appears those that "make it" are the ones plugged into a faith community right away. They are invovled with this community several times a week. Now, that's the plus I am talking about becuase once they reach the US, they may be free from persecution and have access to education, but they have to learn a new language, learn all the unspoken rules about a new culture, learn the laws of a different society, and find a way to become financially independent in six to nine months. When a church steps in to sponsor a family, it appears most of refugee families are able to do just that.

So what does that mean for us who represent the faith communities in the United States? If case studies and other research are finding that these commuities, and in our case the Episcopal Church, do aid a family fleeing persecution in becoming productive citizens of the US and engaged members of the Church, then how could even the skeptic refuse to step up and become a friend?

In an age when the Church is often purported to be losing its relevance, here is yet another example of why that might not be the case at all. Church, faith, community, relationship. That is the link to survival, it is ministry, it is hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Missed the webinar last night?

Watch it here!

Resiliency and Hope webinar #ShareTheJourney with Congolese Refugees

Reminder about webinar on the Congo this Thursday

Here's the link to sign up for the webinar this Thursday:

February 19 Educational Webinar

Please join Kurt Bonz, Program Manager for Episcopal Migration Ministries; Allison Duvall, Episcopal Migration Ministries' Church Relations Manager; and Katie Conway, Policy Analyst for Immigration and Refugees in the Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society's Office of Government Relations, in a church wide webinar on Thursday, February 19 at 7:00 pm EST. 

Participation is via registration here: https://attendee.gotowebinar.com/register/6141019095904459265