Finding Asylum

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Another day starts as usual - mass at 7am with Fr. Melodramatic, making want to amputate both of my ears. This is followed by yet another ride through the mountains, this time to Montpelier. No, not the home of our first President, but rather the home of more than 100 Haitian refugees seeking political asylum. And 100 is probably a modest estimate - last year there were more than 800 refugees, entire families crammed into barracks filled with bunk beds and blue tarps to separate each family. It was absolute squalor today, so I cannot even imagine what it must have been like a year ago with 700 more people living there. Overgrown gardens and soccer fields stand as a testament to the fact that the people living there were entirely unwilling to perform any sort of upkeep for the facility. The children are spectacular - bright-eyed and talkative, playful and extremely eager to learn. They emanate an innocence (or perhaps naivety?) that is endearing. The adults, however, seem to know better. Every motion seems filled with hopelessness for their situation, not that I can blame them. One of the boys we talked to had been their with his family for a year already. The Jamaican government had denied the family political asylum because none of the adults were skilled enough to contribute to the Jamaican economy, which seems to be the only reason that a person would be granted asylum. It’s a tricky situation, because there really isn’t any space in Jamaica for more people: unemployment, homelessness and poverty are already at ridiculously high levels, so the government is understandably hesitant to admit people who can’t even speak the language. But on the same token, these families were driven from Haiti because they didn’t feel safe in their homes any longer. Where else are they to go? Women and children come to Jamaica in search of a safe place to live and for kids to go to school. Men come in search of a woman to marry (or four), so that they can get a green card and live legally in the country. If (or rather when) the government denies them asylum, they should ideally be sent back to Haiti to try to rebuild in their own country, but as there are so many people seeking refuge, the government is unable to keep up with the massive numbers of immigrants and so families are just left stranded at the compound - no longer residents of Haiti and refused residency in Jamaica, and so neither country wants to be financially responsible. It’s such a mess.
So we spent an hour touring the compound and gathering kids (or rather, I was playing hide-n-seek with an adorable little guy nicknamed Melon Head), then spent a second hour teaching them to read and speak English. It’s absolutely wonderful that the kids are so eager to learn English, but at the same time, it’s the parents that need to learn so that they can acquire the skills that will help them to find employment. Then again, there is already a shortage of jobs for the Jamaicans living here, so heavy immigration only serves to increase the unemployment rate. And so the vicious cycle continues…

Love, Meg

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