A Day Helping Refugees

Today I'm happy to have guest blogger Jessica Stephenson, a DTS grad who works with refugees in the Midwest. Opening my Mouth (and Growing Hoarse) “Open your mouth for the mute,for the rights of all the unfortunate.Open your mouth, judge righteously,And defend the rights of the afflicted and needy.” (Proverbs 31:8–9)Aamina (all names have been changed) squinted at a piece of paper in front of her. On the paper my supervisor had scribbled Aamina’s name and address. Aamina, my supervisor (we'll call her May), and I were all sitting in the room around the telephone. Aamina, an illiterate refugee who arrived to the United States this spring, had applied for medical insurance, but her application had been delayed. Aamina needs medical insurance. She has a few health problems such as high blood pressure for which she needs medication and health care. We assisted Aamina in calling to inquire about the status of her application.The voice of a woman was on speakerphone. An interpreter was also on the line, and the conversation ebbed between English and Somali. The lady on the phone would not allow me or May to help speak on Aamina’s behalf.“I need you to spell your name for me.”Aamina stared at the paper that May had pushed in front of her, but she could not do it.“I need you to tell me your address.”Aamina stared at the paper again and explained that she could not read her address.“You should be able to tell me your name and address. If you cannot tell me your name and address, then I cannot help you,” said the voice on the other line.And that was that. I grunted, buried my hands in my face, and stomped the ground a bit with my feet. Once again, one of the voices of a refugee living in the United States had been muted.Oh, lady on the phone, I wish that you would bear with me patiently for a moment as I explain. Not everyone has had an opportunity to be educated as you have. Not everyone has had an opportunity to live in safety and to have the luxury to learn to read and write. Some people have been on the run for their lives, such as my 50-year-old friend Aamina.Oh, lady on the phone, I would like you to imagine the following for a moment: What if you had to move to Algeria tomorrow, to a brand new city that you had never heard of before. And what if I were only to give you your new address in the Arabic language and script, a language that you have never studied. Oh, lady on the phone, can you please read me your address? And if you cannot, I am so sorry, but I cannot help you. Click.Aamina is brand new to the United States, and the fact that she does not yet know English is not by fault of her own. In fact, this 50-year-old is braver than most. She has come to the Midwest to begin again, and although she is no longer a youth, she has started regularly attending ESL classes. This lady who used to write her “X” as a signature has now learned to write “A-A-M-I-N-A.” She is brave and courageous. She is finding her voice oh so slowly. Can you please have the compassion and empathy to bear with her and help her as she learns?This story of Aamina is only the beginning. Will you please bear with me as I continue? Will you take the time to understand as I give you a glimpse into the daily struggles that I am encountering on the job, as I learn the tiniest portion of what it means to open my mouth for the mute in the Midwestern US?The town where I work is troubled by a scarcity of housing. When I prepared to move here, I myself went through a list of a dozen complexes that all told me they would have to put me on the waiting list. But there is one landlord in the city who has an extensive list of vacancies. And that one landlord has refused to work with my organization in renting to our new arrival refugees, even though we have explained that we will pay the security deposit and the first month’s rent and will help the refugees to get jobs within a few weeks of arriving to the United States.So, what do I do when, for example, I have a family of six Burmese refugees slated to arrive to the United States in September after living 27 years in a refugee camp in Thailand? I needed housing for this family, and I needed it immediately! Praise God, May and I were able to find a man named Juan, a landlord with just a few different rental properties, who was willing to work with us in providing a place for this family.And I rejoiced in this little victory!The Ama family of six arrived on a weekend, and on the following Monday I took them to the administrative center in my town in order to help them put the water, electricity, sewage, and trash utilities in their name. And then, I heard the apology that I am getting rather used to hearing, “I’m so sorry, m’am, but we require two forms of identification in order to be able to open an account with us.”So, I give my spiel. “I understand, but these are legally admitted refugees. They have just arrived to the United States, and they only have one form of identification. They will get their other form of identification within 90 days, but they cannot wait that long to have running water and electricity. They need it today.”“Well, I’m really sorry. I am truly sympathetic, but…”“May I please speak with your supervisor?”And then the supervisor decided to allow the Ama family to open up a utility account.And I rejoiced in this little victory!But then, I needed to help the Ama family set up a gas account because the gas company is a separate entity. I knew trouble was coming, but I plunged in anyway.“I’m so sorry, m’am, but we require two forms of identification in order to be able to open an account with us.”So, I give my spiel all over again: “I understand, but these are legally admitted refugees. They have just arrived to the United States, and they only have one form of identification. They will get their other form of identification within 90 days, but they cannot wait that long to have a gas account. They need it today.”“Well, I’m really sorry. I am truly sympathetic, but…”“May I please speak with your supervisor?”This time the supervisor wasn’t ready to give me a final answer, but suggested that I fax them a letter explaining the situation. So, I faxed the letter to the gas company, and then I chatted with the Ama family for a bit.“Well, the good news is that you now have water, electricity, trash, and sewage services. The bad news is that I haven’t been able to get the gas turned on for you yet. This means that you may not be able to use your stove since it is a gas stove.”The woman in the Ama family looks at me and asks, “So how will we be able to cook?”That night I didn’t sleep well. I tossed and turned in my bed, and I thought about the Ama family and how something as simple as finding livable housing was turning out to be so difficult. It is hard and sometimes unpleasant opening my mouth for those who cannot speak for themselves. I felt the pressure weighing down upon me.In the morning I got a call from the gas company. It was the supervisor. She said that she had decided to allow us to open up a gas account for the Ama family. They would come sometime the following morning to the house to turn the gas on.And I rejoiced in this little victory!Each month, our little office of three staff will receive about thirty refugees arriving from refugee camps to the Midwest. So, imagine this little saga that I have detailed for you above multiplied about five times over this month.I am opening my mouth for these people, but I am just one voice among the 30,000 residents of the town where I work. We need more mouths—more mouths speaking for the disempowered and the mute, more mouths speaking for the afflicted and the needy coming to this country with little more than a small bag apiece.There is a disconnect. There is a disconnect somewhere between the federal government who has admitted these refugees to the United States and the local organizations (employers, landlords, utility companies, banks, etc.) who have made it nearly impossible for these newly arrived refugees to get up on their feet. These organizations apologize profusely that they cannot offer services because these newly arrived refugees do not fit nicely into their existing frameworks, policies, and guidelines.But these are legally admitted refugees.If these legally admitted refugees do not fit into the existing local frameworks, then it is these local frameworks that need to adapt and change.This is my voice. But sometimes it gets lost in the noise, and I find myself growing hoarse, worried sick about these people whose burdens I cannot carry on my own.But the Lord reminded me this week as I read and meditated upon Scripture, “But as for you, brethren, do not grow weary of doing good,” (1 Thess. 3:13). And “May the Lord direct your hearts into the love of God and into the steadfastness of Christ,” (1 Thess. 3:5). And “'Now behold, I have made you today as a fortified city and as a pillar of iron and as walls of bronze against the whole land… They will fight against you, but they will not overcome you, for I am with you to deliver you,’ declares the LORD,” (Jer 1:18–19).And I am reminded through the Holy Spirit of that truth which I cannot afford to forget—that I am not alone and that there is a God who cares about justice even more than I do.