One of the many things I'm grateful for in our work with refugees is that I've not become hardened to their plight. I think that sometimes when you're faced with so much sadness and despair, it becomes easier to close yourself off to really understanding and empathizing with people who are struggling. These past few weeks, we've seen a lot of despair.
Kyaw Tow (pronounced
Jaw Tow), a fifty two year old Karen refugee (in the orange jacket, above), came to the clinic and told us, in broken English, that he "cannot do U.S. anymore." He saved up his meager earnings and used them to buy two one-way tickets back to Thailand, where he and his wife will attempt to sneak and bribe their way back into the refugee camp and live out the rest of their lives there. This picture was taken the day before he left for Thailand.
It hurts my heart when I consider how we as a nation and as a community have failed people like Kyaw Tow. I cringe to think that Kyaw Tow, and others like him, have experienced so many struggles here in America that they would choose to return to camp, where food is rationed, armed guards prohibit free movement, and health care is in short supply. Here, in America, we make promises to these refugees that we don't keep.
We, here in the "land of opportunity," place broken and desperate individuals in shoddy apartments, in neighborhoods riddled with crime. These refugees, fleeing unspeakable violence and torture in their home countries, desperate for a safe haven, enter the US filled with hope stemming the promise of a country that will protect them. And yet, here in America, in the slums of our cities, these same refugees are battered and beaten by bullies, armed with fists and sometimes with guns, who prey on these most vulnerable in our midst.
We tell them, "Get a job; learn to speak English; try harder;" yet, we provide them with less than six months of meager financial assistance to become self-sufficient.
Half of the refugees we know are line workers at a nationally-based food processing facility. They work 10 hour shifts cutting up chickens and make $7.25 an hour. Another good portion of the refugees we know work at a cell phone manufacturing company, where they also make $7.25 an hour and work 12 hour shifts. The chicken plant is considered by most refugees to be a "dream job" when compared to the cell phone factory. Why, you might ask? Turns out that talking is forbidden on the cell phone assembly line, and if you happen to forget and are caught talking with another employee by a supervisor, you are immediately fired.
It's a hard life. In a recent study we conducted with refugees living in Fort Worth, we found that mental health symptoms such as depression, anxiety, and PTSD, all of which are experienced as a direct result of being a witness to unimaginable and horrific acts of violence--murders, rapes, and torture--actually got worse over time. This breaks my heart.
We need to do more. We need to do better.
For Kyaw Tow and his wife, who've given up on America.
For Poh Naw, a 35 year old father of three young boys, whose wife died of congestive heart failure on their living room floor in August and who doesn't have money to pay for the funeral or this month's rent.
For Pah Day Day, who just finished his GED and wants to attend trade school, but needs help applying for financial aid.
For Sher Loo, who is struggling to learn English so that she can support her daughter's school work.
For Golden Hei, and his family of five who arrived in the US just last
week and are overwhelmed with the enormity of it all.
For all of them,
and for so many more to whom we've made promises but haven't kept.
Let's do better. Let's work harder. Together we can make America the
land where opportunities and dreams are realized.
