survival

Try and picture this. A young boy, just 10 years old, is forced by the military to carry heavy bags of rice and ammunition. He is forced to carry the wounded soldiers and to dig holes for others to sleep in. He is still a small boy. When he gets tired from carrying the heavy bags and/or is exhausted from not being fed properly or given enough water to drink, he is kicked with heavy army boots, slapped on the face and beaten with the butt of a gun. He is screamed at; hateful words that his ethnicity is evil and nonhuman. He has to keep moving or his life is in danger. He has seen too many of his friends shot to death because they couldn’t keep up with the soldiers.

This is his daily life…for twenty five years. He is given brief weeks were he may return to his village, to his family, and to try and live freely. The freedom does not last long and he is once again “captured” and forced to porter.

This particular young boy grows up, gets married, and has three young children. One day while he was quietly working on his farm outside of the village, a member of the rebel group, who is fighting for the freedom from the military, came to him wounded; the soldier was aided to a hospital. As a result of his kindness to a wounded soldier, he is now a target. He is falsely accused of being a member of the rebel group and sought after to arrest and be tortured. The young man gathers his family and runs to hide in the jungle.

Now the young couple, along with their three young children, lived in the jungle hiding for two years. Two years the father goes out each day looking for food and water for his family to survive; two years he lives in fear of being captured, tortured, and killed; two years he protects his family.

I sit across the table from this family. They are almost safe. Safe as in they are now in Thailand where the rebels can only send bombs across the border; no invasions or capturing. Almost safe in their application for resettlement is on its way to acceptance. This family did not look as if they lived in the jungle for two years. But when you look them in the face, their eyes tell you something. And there’s this wild picture that flashes in my mind of what it must have been like.

The thing that gets to me the most is the fear. How do you live for so long in such fear? We all have things we are afraid of. We all have fears that we’ve held onto for far too long. Some of us have fears that we’ve let consume us. But a fear of physically being tortured and killed and watching your family suffering; a fear of not being able to provide for your family or what would happen if you were captured; a fear of being captured. We can’t understand what that feels like to live it out. No one should have to understand what that feels like.

It still shocks me that in this day of age where we have such power and knowledge and resources to share, that people are still living in such fear of survival. I know the politics of it all is not that simple and the solution is far to be found; but I look at these children sitting across my table and they deserve a chance to live without the fear. And even if I don’t always agree with the best interest of this resettlement program, I do believe these people deserve a chance. Everyone deserves a chance to live in freedom of fear for their very existence. I’m overwhelmed with the thought of being able to help in some small way of making that happen. And I truly hope that those who come in contact with these people in America are able to understand the need for that freedom. We may not be able to picture the stories they tell, or the lives that they have lived as a refugee; but they are people just like us. They have families, children, and a hope that tomorrow will be better than today.