Catch me in Kathmandu: Refugee Reflection
As this election season has come to a close, there has been a great deal of talk about immigrants and refugees. This semester I have had the opportunity to immerse myself in the Tibetan refugee community. I have spent a total of seven weeks living with two different Tibetan families, one in Kathmandu and one in Dharamsalah, India. I have been fortunate to get to know so many incredible people. My program focuses on studying Tibetan and Himalayan peoples and includes various lectures from Tibetans as well as learning basic Tibetan. Furthermore, during my month long independent study project I am volunteering at a Tibetan school teaching English. All of these experiences have shown me that there is a vast gulf between the rhetoric I have heard in the United States during the election season, and the true plight of a refugee community.
Refugees are a large and diverse group—there are refugees fleeing many different situations, from many different places, each with their own unique cultures. I feel, however, that that there is a pressing need for people to understand the basic meaning of the word. By definition, a refugee is a person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster. A refugee does not leave their homeland by choice—rather, they are forced to flee because of their circumstances. This has become abundantly clear to me in my experiences with the Tibetan community. Many of them are fighting, politically speaking, to one day be able to go back to their homeland. Many others pray daily to be able to return. At the school where I teach, there is an extra prayer on Fridays that includes praying for the freedom of Tibet. As I observe them, I can hear the wailing in the children’s voices and see the longing in their eyes, desperately praying to be united with a homeland they have only heard about in family stories. These children know that the country they were born in, living in, and most likely will die in, is not their country, not their homeland, and not where they desire to be. They are only beginning their complex path of attempting to navigate the balance of learning the culture, language, and customs of the place in which they are living, while preserving their own unique culture, language, and customs—things that are extremely vulnerable being in exile. I have seen this first-hand when I teach them. Whenever I use a Tibetan word, basic phrase, simple sentence, or demonstrate any basic knowledge of their culture their faces light up with utter delight that someone outside their community has taken an interest and sought to learn about their language and culture. Furthermore, in addition to this balance, they also are attempting to succeed in the modern world, navigating technology, learning English and understanding contemporary events.
Life as a refugee is more than just wanting to go back to your homeland, or struggling to balance life across different cultures. It often involves struggling to get by. Very few Tibetans have a passport, and instead must go through a complex cycle of bureaucracy to get documents that allow them to travel. They also do not have citizenship, making things even more difficult—not that many even want citizenship, as they don’t feel they are citizens of their host country. They are extremely thankful to their host country, but they know in their hearts that it is not their country. This lack of documentation leads to problems beyond just the ability to travel, as it seriously impacts their job prospects. Many people who I have spoken to have alerted me to the difficulty they have getting long-term contracts, or being promoted to management jobs. Companies and leaders see they don’t have citizenships and so only want to give them year-to-year contracts for fear that they will leave—a terribly sad irony. This prevents social mobility and leaves many who have worked hard all their life, studying long hours on the foretold promise that education will give them opportunities to succeed, yet being stuck in the same position, without hope for advancement. The situation is even worse in Nepal, which because of its growing relationship with China, has been forced to be stricter with its refugee community, offering them less documentation, and preventing assembly and displays of political dissent against the Chinese occupation.
In the United States I hear about some great fear that the refugees we are letting into our country (very few compared to many other countries) may be secretly terrorists. I understand that my experiences with the Tibetan community are different from experiences with other refugee communities, but I still cannot help but find this notion ludicrous. If these critics care to examine the vetting process, they would see it is quite arduous—one could even go so far as to argue that it is too onerous based on their dire humanitarian need. Again, these people don’t want to leave their country, but feel there are forced to because of their circumstances—like terror and war in their country. Lastly, if we allow ourselves to become frightened of refugees, then we have let the real terrorists win. They win when we let ourselves ostracize a group of people that we should have great sympathy for. They win when our fear consumes us. They win when this fear causes us to ignore the plight of refugees, letting them suffer and even die—inflicting more damage than the terrorist could ever do themselves.
Life as a refugee is clearly tough, but the people I have met have also been the brightest, kindest, and most hopeful people. They maintain their faith, their belief in non-violence, and their commitment to compassion. Though they are guests in a foreign country, they have nonetheless opened up their homes to me. I am truly touched by and grateful for the kindness and warm welcome that my host families have shown me. They continually inspire me to maintain hope, fight for what is right, and have compassion for others—things I have found very comforting in the last few crazy days.