465,000 Syrian refugees

Copright: UNHCR

Across the region, the number of Syrian refugees registered or awaiting to be is unfortunately now more than 465,000. Many families are telling us they are sedating their children during their terrifying flight, to keep them quiet and calm.

Take the time to read, hear, and watch our latest info on the situation, compiled on Storify: http://rfg.ee/fISvn

©UNHCR / B. Sokol

In addition to the overflowing refugee camps in Turkey and Jordan, Egypt is also accepting Syrian refugees.

The children, what about the children..

facts versus empathy

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It only matters what I can prove.” – Kaffi,  “A Few Good Men”

Some days it really feels like this. Rebutting the Korean government’s arguments for the dismissal of a refugee case feels like a wheel in a hamster’s cage – a repetition going nowhere, from the appeal to the Supreme Court.

I believe your story. I feel your hurt. I’m so sorry for everything you had to go through. I’m so sorry for your loss. But how do I tell you that what matters is cold, hard facts that prove your fears? Yes, you are supposed to have the benefit of the doubt, but not in this country. We still have a long ways to go.

I am forced to think of the workings of the Korean government, how to prove the case and how to work around the UN convention on refugees. I’m sorry for the tough questions I ask. I’m sorry that I ask you to recall memories and dates you wish to erase.

The contradicting juxtaposition is so frustrating.

But as ‘hopeless’ as a case may be, and as ‘powerless’ as I feel, I can’t just start out thinking of my responsibility as a ‘lost cause’ and I can’t do a slapdash job because even though there’s nothing in it for me, it’s everything for somebody else. This has led to my decision that I don’t care whether the case has a chance or not, and I don’t care if I’m being inefficient with my time. I’m giving you my best. And whatever the results, let me go through the emotions with you whether you’re disappointed, angry, hopeless, scared, hurt… Whatever it takes, gimme the full ride – teach me full on what ’empathy’ means. Teach me your resilience. Teach me your faith.

Feeling powerless and hopeless, I can handle. Being cold, calculating and rational, I can’t. My emotions win my rationale, but I really can’t let my rationale or efficiency win, because that I really don’t think I can handle.

God, give me the wisdom and discernment to realize that my best is not always good enough but that your love is always great enough.

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Hebrews 11:13, 39-40 – “All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth… These were all commended for their faith yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.”

powerless

It was the second time in my life that I felt so..  powerless… The feeling that I couldn’t do anything to help pierced my heart. The first time I felt this overwhelming emotion was in the face of death. Hearing the news of the death of one of my closest friends had driven me to shock and unimaginable grief. I had felt so small and powerless, I wanted to resist but knowing that nothing I could do or could’ve done would change the situation left me feeling fragile and broken.

It happened again.

On Monday, three Palestinian refugees from Syria came to the Refuge pNan, the NGO that I am currently working for as a legal aid intern.  I have been interested in helping Palestinian refugees since two years ago when I went to the states and learned intensively about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. My heart went out to those people who were victims of an unending conflict. Perhaps it was the shock of discovery of a modern-day conflict and unresolved hurt. I understood the narratives of both sides and I did not want to associate myself with any political side, but it was inevitable that I empathized with those whose pain and suffering were most clearly evident in their confined lives within refugee camps. That was how my interest in the Middle East was sparked. Here was something that was pulling my heart strings, something I did not want to leave at book knowledge, and something that was beyond ephemeral infatuation or mere fascination. That led me to apply for internships to the various field offices of UNRWA (the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees in the Near East) in Beirut and Amman, and also to the Seoul UNHCR office. Unfortunately, I never heard back which made me realize that I was underqualified. As a recent college graduate, I had no practical experience working with refugees and furthermore I did not have the language. This year, I have been blessed to work with a Korean NGO that aids international refugees/asylum seekers in Korea and with the help of amazing people, to begin studying Modern Standard Arabic and Egyptian Colloquial Arabic. It’s very exciting times because of how much I am learning and how it is daily shaping my thoughts.

Coming back to Monday, all of this made me very excited to interview/talk with these people who had visited our office and to listen to their story. They were impatient. They were helpless. It wasn’t their country of choice, but they wanted to stay in Korea. They wanted a chance to study further. They wanted to work. “For a better life,” they said. As procedure, I had to ask about the difficulties they faced if they returned to Syria. “Neither Assad or anti-Assad [forces] want us.” And when I pressed for more details, they said “We could talk all day and all night.” They showed me their travel documents issued by the Palestine Center and Syrian government. They showed me the UNRWA papers stating they were Palestinian refugees. They did not want to be called refugees. They did not want to be called Syrian or Palestinian. “We are not Syrian citizens. We are not Palestinians. We are stateless.”

As a third culture kid, I can slightly imagine what it feels like to not belong anywhere. They were born in a refugee camp. They grew up in a refugee camp. They are not Syrian citizens. They have never been to Palestine. They have never been to what is now, the state of Israel.

They wanted a better opportunity. They are entitled to a better opportunity.

My greatest question was, was it not enough that they were internationally recognized refugees? The answer was no.

The conclusion of the staff discussion over this case was that they had absolutely no chance of being recognized by the South Korean government because they already have international protection by the UNRWA. What that means is that the UNRWA recognizes the need for international protection and has granted them this in the form of refugee camps. As long as they remain in the refugee camps, they are ‘protected.’  It means they have a place that can return to and as long as they stay there, they are ‘safe from persecution.’

I did not go to the office today, but I heard that they came back and the grim reality was described. It is heartbreaking because the choice that they have is not a choice anyone wants to have. They have to go back or they can apply to seek aslyum in Korea but they will become trapped within the country for an indefinite amount of time. If they choose to apply, during the application period, the South Korean government does not legally allow them to work. They cannot study. They cannot work.  This is probably what they had to hear today. This is what I realized was the reality for them on Monday.

I heard that they did not take it well. If I were in their shoes, I would not take it well. I would be angry. I would not think that it was fair.

His travel document told me he was the same age as me. He spoke English like me. He was educated like me. He was just someone like me.

I had a glimpse of the things that I will encounter in the future. It makes me wonder is empathy enough. It made me wonder if there was actually anything I could do (in the future) –  I have a story of healing and a story of love – is this simplistic naivety?

It made me understand why some Palestinian youth become suicide bombers (not in any way to suggest that the people I met will engage in terrorism) especially if they have had family members killed. I know what it feels like to want to blame someone for the hurt that you feel. The vicious cycle continues – eye for eye and tooth for tooth. But I understood where it comes from. Because you feel powerless. I think they believe (wrongly, of course) that it empowers them.  I don’t support it, but don’t you understand where it comes from?

Again, I want to reiterate that I am neither pro-Palestine nor pro-Israel – I am pro-peace.

But, I feel powerless. It is hard to control my feelings and one good cry isn’t enough. I feel powerless.

stop the repatriation of north korean refugees

Interviewed in front of the Chinese embassy by KTV:

vodplayer.jsp?cid=418515

 

leavening

His hands meshed the dough making it look like a child’s play with play dough and he used a can of tomatoes to flatten it out on the kitchen counter, not forgetting to spread a thin layer of flour. I asked him his recipe, but being the good cook that he was he simply smiled and said that it was a secret. The flattened dough was placed on a pan over the fire and began to slowly leaven taking its naan form. The smell filled the tiny kitchen making body and heart warm.

“What do you want to do?” I asked, after playing the words around in my mind. It seemed such an innocent question, but in the circumstances I realized that it was loaded with hope. Hope which may appear far away for someone who has been forced to wait endlessly. Was it too cruel to ask about an uncertain future? ‘What do you want to be?’ was another similar question on my mind, but it seemed too rude to ask when it was obvious who he currently was – an asylum seeker, waiting to be recognized as a refugee. But genuine curiosity slipped my tongue before I could measure how much I was prying or how much of hope he was not wishing to reveal.

“What do I want to do?” he repeated, as if this was not something he was asked very often or had given much thought.

“Yes, after…” I paused. ‘After you receive refugee status’ was what I wanted to say, but in this new world that I had only stepped into a couple of weeks ago, I wasn’t sure if I should sound so matter-of-factly, again worried about how much of tangible hope my words should allow. In the weeks since I joined the NGO, I had witnessed several instances during interviews in which staff members sat across from refugee applicants and began their sentences with, “To be completely honest with you…” It is a hard task to be both empathetic and firmly objective. I didn’t want to create an elephant in the room, but here I was being true to my overly-sensitive worrisome character. I quickly rephrased to get across what I meant.

“Do you want to study more? Do business?”

He seemed to consider the possibilities. “You know, I tried to open a restaurant here. But some Korean people stopped me everytime.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it. And Korean people always side with Korean people. Even when they do something bad, because they are Korean, they say it is okay.”

I instinctively frowned at the thought of the injustice committed and the bitterness that could be heard in the tone of his voice. The fact that he identified me as a ‘Korean’ revealed the defensive daggers behind his words. How many people I wondered had falsely told him so or chosen to justify the injustice or how many times had his story fallen upon deaf ‘Korean’ ears. I tried to tell him that not all Koreans were like those malicious men that he had had to face, and not all Koreans were forgiving of such acts, but my mumbled fading words had already lost an audience. I couldn’t ask any further questions because I realized that our conversation had come to an end as long as he only associated me as a ‘Korean’ – if only he knew that I (along with many other ‘Koreans’ out there) value humanity over nationality.

My mind briefly recounted back to a conversation I had overheard in the office about how some Korean gang members had harassed Khalil[*a psyeudonym] and forced him to close his stall every time he attempted some sort of livelihood.

It cannot be easy to be discriminated for having a different skin color or being of a different nationality. And having written and read that sentence, I realize that that could be the biggest understatement of a lifetime and what do I know when I, the yellow-skinned, small-slanted eyed Asian blend in so well in this largely homogenous society, when I do not know what it is like to have people dart suspicious glances at me on the streets or walk away when I sit down on the subway.

I realized that endless waiting cannot but dim hope and a foreign country and culture are not so embracing or warm. But I hope that I don’t always have to be embarassed of being a ‘Korean’ in front of guests from other countries.

taken from http://www.bbcgoodfood.com