My Letter to Karen Refugees '09

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You are Karen people. You are the people of the mountains and the trees. What a beautiful scene. The destructive meaning of the word refugee for you need not be used again here. You are Karen people. You are a community. Sheer ignorance must be the cause of the aid workers looking down on you, because I admire you. They say that you are lazy and that you don't work, but I've seen the wrinkles on your hands. I know that you work. These people come in on their big clean white horses waving a flag of aid and survival. When they see that their way is not the only way the white tail waves violently as they gallop away. They don't understand your triumph.

You were once a peaceful and communal people. Your kids went to school and you worshiped your Gods when you pleased. Whispers and hushed rumors spread throughout the town and permeated every home and every life. Like a foul smell that angers your stomach and makes you want to vomit you ran for your lives. Confusion and fear tore you apart like our flowers of identity. Families were broken. Then you took on your name as you ran through the mountains and the trees. Something so beautiful can suddenly be so tragic. Then you reached the prison walls but they were covered in costume to look like solace. Life inside was dreary like a permanent gray and heavy sky. People looked at you with disgust as their heads tilted downward.The food they gave you looked like their leftovers and was dirty. But you eat it anyway. You embrace your communal values and you hold your fellow Karen people as family.

I want to know what is next for you. How can a people so ravaged by war and broken by violence and fear pick up the pieces and start again? Do you keep your anger buried deep inside too ashamed to let anyone know how deep it really goes? I think I may know how deep it goes. It is in every vein, every muscle and every glance from your eyes. It is in your walk because your shoulders lay heavy with the weight of uncertainty. It is in your laugh when you feel a tinge of guilt for feeling happiness amidst all the pain. It is in your gaze when you look at the ground as others speak around you and you hope that nobody notices.

The shame you feel is legitimate but it doesn't have to hold you captive. You have done nothing wrong. You are left to clean up the pieces of the broken window in your bedroom that the government shattered and forgot about. Your stories teach survival and preach resiliency. I did not know resiliency before I saw it through your eyes and realized how far and scary the path may be. We tell stories to carry tradition, connect to strangers and loved ones and to give ourselves strength. Tell your story amidst the shame and the embarrassment because you deserve so much more than this.

Your compassion for others astounds me. You deserve to feel open and able to breath again. Tell your story. Tell your story to everyone and anyone who will listen. Tell your story to those that don't understand and tell your story to those that should. Explain how your livelihood was stolen from you and the thieves sit surrounded in a cloud of smoke from their expensive cigars as they count their bills. Ask where your justice is and how long until these dreaded acts can be wiped from the world. I will tell your story too and I will ask where the justice is. I'll dream of a home for you with winding roads and open fields. I'll dream of a home for you with schools and churches and mountains to climb. I'll dream of a home for you and your family.

Your story continues to inspire me and although acceptance and forgiveness may seem unattainable, you are Karen people and you will be resilient. Caged birds, sing.

Love,
Isabel

December 4, 2008

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