Hidden Lives: The Untold Story of Urban Refugees

I found this post about urban refugees in draft form.  I must have started it when I was still living in Bangkok.  Well, it's been some months since I left Thailand and ended my work with urban refugees, but only now is news trickling in about the various cases I worked on.  Some days, like today, I think about the Pakistani, Palestinian, and Syrian families I worked with:  Did the UN grant them refugee status?  Did they have any encounters with the Thai police?  Were they detained?  How are their children?    

And, does the same Rohingya man in the refugee camp still call the office, asking for help? 

This exhibit highlighted a few of our clients' stories.  

Take a look at Hidden Lives here.

Steady.

It's been a rough week, which I've largely spent buried in appeals and listening to stories of refugees' homes being raided in the early morning, of being coerced into paying bribes to officers to secure family members' release, of being subject to "soft deportation" to the countries from which they fled, etc.

I'm glad it's Friday evening. 

Ethan told me the other day that I mainly use this space to document shoes and dresses.  That is true.  I write less about my work in Thailand than I did in Cambodia.  Maybe it was the novelty of Cambodia.  Maybe I was still new to drawing boundaries of work and not-work, especially human rights work.  Maybe it's that the nature of my work in Thailand is such that I am bound my stricter confidentiality rules and 50+ hours a week dedicated to this work is more than sufficient use of my thoughts and energy.

Still, the reason I've kept this space for the past three years is to document - and to remember. Because memories invariably grow faint. Because things change so quickly in life.

Speaking of which, change is coming.  Another twist, despite my dogged resistance.  And, I'm doing all I can to not be overwhelmed, to work on my cases without being consumed by all that is ahead. 

Must. Breathe. 

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Actually, it's not.  But we did take an afternoon off to join a holiday celebration, where we made paper ornaments.  

Children are so beautiful.  It's obvious, no?  I was struck that afternoon by their openness and happiness.  Even as refugees recognized by the UN, the vast majority of these children are illegal and could be snatched up and locked away in detention just like that. (And they often are.)  Yet, aware of this risk, they don't carry that fear in their faces or their laughter.

That fear is what I encounter every day at work.  No matter what the country of origin, unaccompanied or with five family members, adult refugees speak of that fear and how it dictates their daily lives.

The first few times I heard their stories of flight and sat witness to the welled-up tears and then the sobs that grew violently heavy, gripping them, I was paralyzed in my seat.  What do you say to someone who has just escaped a mob of religious fundamentalists who tried to burn down their family's home?  "It will be okay," sounds incredibly patronizing in that context.

In that regard, this work has been challenging for me.  Although I remain logical in that interview room, I take their stories home, whether I want to or not.  Increasingly, I have dreams that resemble the stories I hear. 

Hmong crafts

Thailand is not a signatory to the 1951 Convention and there is no domestic legal protection afforded to asylum-seekers and recognized refugees undergoing the UNHCR refugee status determination process.  The practical reality for asylum-seekers and recognized refugees in Thailand is that, in the absence of valid visas (the vast majority do not have this), they are formally considered illegal aliens; they have no authorization to work; their children do not go to school.  And they are subject to deportation and detention.  The African asylum seekers/refugees especially stand out in Bangkok and are more prone to extortion by local police.

It makes for a  not so good environment, veritable limbo for years.  Families literally go underground.

Some of the Hmong asylum seekers are raising money with a craft sale.  I love Hmong embroidery, and I could not resist buying a few tree ornaments and cards for the holiday presents.

Old habits, new habits

 via Saks

Damn. That was an exhausting week.  I haven't done that in a while.  It feels so good when I know I've poured myself into something and there's a little movement.  (I'm talking vaguely about a case.)  But at the same time, I'm often left drained. Wiped out. A big ball of mush.

I'm also not so good with certain cases.  Gender-based persecution. Female genital mutilation. Rape. Forced marriage.  Honor killings.  When I sit in a room across from a young woman with this kind of story, a small part of me comes unhinged. 

I took refuge this week in the small meals and conversations with Ethan, dark chocolate bars, Vietnamese coffee, and my new habit of going to my rooftop gym in the early morning for a quick run on the treadmill.  I've noticed that seeing the Bangkok horizon, early in the morning and under the golden sun, is a good salve for the hub-bub on the ground. 

And one night, I was happily distracted by the Steven Alan sample sale.  I tried to pull the trigger on a few items, but they don't take Cambodian visa.  I took that pause to re-evaluate my need for yet another dress.  Pass.  

This item below, however, may be a good addition.  It looks very much like an ivory silk Mayle blouse I left Stateside.  

via Steven Alan

Glad that's over.

via NYT

I was jittery all morning (by the time the polls closed Stateside, it was Wednesday morning in Bangkok).  I was glued to my computer, watching the play-by-play.  Suspense drives me crazy.  It also sucks being the only American in the office on such an American day.   

Last election, I still lived in Northeast Portland.  I remember walking through the neighborhood - Obama signs on all the lawns, cold mist hanging, Halloween pumpkins lingering on the porches.

Now that it's over and I have screamed and laughed in celebration, I can perhaps get back to the growing caseload of refugee appeals on my desk.  Hello, Iran.

Urban refugees

images via lospremiagrumi

Later this year, I will be leaving Cambodia to work as a lawyer representing urban refugees.  Urban refugees choose to live in urban areas rather than refugee camps.  I confess I don't know too much about this area of law, but I am excited to learn.  For some strange reason, being a refugee lawyer has been on my bucket list, though there's a part of me that feels very selfish for this endeavor.  A teacher, long ago, gave me that sage piece of advice, handed down again and again in countless iterations: Follow your heart. Do what you love.

That's what I am doing.

A few months ago, a photo exhibit, "See What I See," examined the life of seven urban refugees over the period of two months, as they lived their lives in the capital of Bangkok.  They came from China, Cambodia, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Iran, etc.