2016 kenan deconstructing reconstructing magazine by Kenan Institute for Ethics

DECONSTRUCTING RECONSTRUCTING THE REFUGEE EXPERIENCE--

Uprooted/Rerouted is a partnership between the Kenan Institute for Ethics and the Office of Undergraduate Education at Duke University. The six students in the program immersed themselves in the study of refugees and forced migration all day every day for an entire semester.

The Kenan Institute for Ethics is an interdisciplinary â&#x20AC;&#x153;think and doâ&#x20AC;? tank committed to understanding and addressing real-world ethical challenges facing individuals, organizations and societies worldwide. Learn more at dukeethics.org. Box 90432 Durham, NC 27708 (919) 660-3033 kie@duke.edu

MYTHS AND REALITIES

CONTEXT Jordan

TURKEY 2,715,789

Page 3

Iraq

Page 4

Syria

LEBANON 1,067,785

IRAQ xx JORDAN 639,704

Work Bans: Trapped Between the Illegal and the Impossible Page 14

Page 5

EGYPT xx

Page 30

REFLECTIONS

http://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-2 http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-24636 http://www.unhcr.org/en-us/figures-at-a-glance

The Myth of Durable Solutions

ESSAYS

Page 34

Just Out of “Reach” Piecing Together Personhood Page 18

Illuminating Mental Well-being and Religion

Page 36

The Shadow of Violence Page 38

Not Just Another Person Page 40

Prove Your Persecution

Page 6

Page 42

Borders and the Geography of Disorder Page 22

Radical Hope for a Life Beyond Jordan

Naming the Elephant Page 44

FINAL THOUGHTS Page 46

DEDICATION

Page 10

Page 48

The Powers of Story Challenging The Powers that Be Page 26

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JORDAN The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) estimates that there are 4.7 million refugees in Jordan. This conservative approximation includes large numbers of Palestinian, Syrian, and Iraqi refugees and smaller populations of Somalis and Sudanese. Although Jordan is not a signatory to the UN’s 1951 Refugee Convention, it has a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) with the UNHCR that recognizes the 1951 Convention definition of a refugee and the principle of non-refoulement, which state that refugees may not be forcibly returned to danger in their nation of origin. UNHCR provides protection for all refugees except Palestinians who have been protected by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) since the two organizations were created in 1949. Additionally, most, though, for historical reasons, not all, Palestinians enjoy full citizenship in Jordan. The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan is a stable monarchy in an otherwise volatile region. Pictures of King Abdullah and the royal family cover the country, and people consistently praise the King. However, this sense of security comes at a cost. In December 2015, Sudanese refugees protested outside the UNHCR office in Amman against discrimination in provision of humanitarian assistance and

resettlement services. The Jordanian government responded by detaining and deporting protestors back to Sudan, a violation of the principle of non-refoulement specified in its MoU with the UNHCR. These actions sent a clear message that there would be no protesting or any activity that could lead to violence and division inside of the country On the whole, Jordan has been accepting to many refugees. However, resources are beginning to run out and the challenges facing the country are growing. Jordan is one of the most water scarce countries in the world, and with the rapid influx of refugees,

Population: 9.5 million Square area: 34,495 square miles Jordan is a slightly smaller than the U.S. state of Indiana. Number of Syrian refugees in Jordan

629,128 1 13

in people in Jordan is a Syrian refugee

            Panorama view of Amman destruction / reconstruction

this vital resource is becoming more scarce every day. At the same time, the unemployment rate continues to remain high throughout the country. It is with the principle of protecting Jordanian jobs for Jordanians in mind that the government has banned refugees from working. In order to participate in wageearning employment, refugees must buy an expensive work permit. As a result, many work illegally or depend on the assistance of wealthy individuals and aid organizations. Despite all the issues, many refugees express their gratitude to the Jordanian government and stress their understanding of the parameters within which Jordan is operating to work to assist refugees.

IRAQ

and their communities ravaged. This violence has continued to escalate ever since. In the past 8 years, one out of every five Iraqis has been displaced in some way, either within the country’s borders or in countries of asylum. In 2006, the bombing of a mosque in Samarra led to a spike in generalized sectarian violence across Iraq, prompting the U.S. surge the next year. Millions of Iraqis were forced to flee their homeland, living as refugees, resettled immigrants, and stateless nomads. Six years later, a second wave of refugees began. Overwhelmed by violence from ISIS, Iraqis found their homes destroyed, their towns occupied,

The Jordanian government’s response to the Iraqi refugee crisis has been mixed. In the immediate aftermath of the U.S. invasion in 2003, Jordan announced an open-border policy towards Iraq, receiving hundreds of refugees every month. In 2005, however, an Amman hotel bombing by Iraqi nationals led the government to tighten security along the border, issuing a moratorium on all Iraqi refugees aged 17-35. Since that time, the government has retracted its moratorium, but many security restrictions still remain in place.

Population: 35.7 million Square area: 168,754 square miles Iraq is a slightly smaller than the U.S. state of Texas.

in people in Iraqi has been displaced in the past 8 years

     

Destroyed military vehicle in Mosul after ISIS took over the city (taken by an Iraqi refugee currently living in Amman)

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SYRIA The Syrian civil war is one of the largest humanitarian crises the world has faced in recent years. The conflict traces its roots to pro-democracy protests that erupted in March 2011 in the southern city of Dera’a following similar uprisings in other parts of the Muslim world. After security forces opened fire on demonstrators, killing several, more took to the streets. The unrest triggered nationwide protests demanding President Assad’s resignation. Opposition supporters eventually began to take up arms, first to defend themselves and later to expel security forces from their local areas. Violence escalated and the country descended into civil war as rebel brigades were formed to battle government forces for control of cities, towns and the countryside. The conflict is now more than just a battle between those for or against President Assad. It has acquired sectarian overtones, pitching the country’s Sunni majority against the president’s Shia Alawite sect, and drawn in neighbouring countries and world powers. The rise of jihadist groups, including ISIS, has added a further dimension.

Neighboring countries have borne the brunt of the refugee crisis, with Lebanon, Jordan and Turkey struggling to accommodate the flood of new arrivals. A further 7.6 million Syrians have been internally displaced within the country, bringing the total number forced to flee their homes to more than 11 million half the country’s pre-crisis population. Overall, an estimated 13.5 million are in need of humanitarian assistance inside Syria, including more than 5.6 million children.

Population: 17.9 million Square area: 71,998 square miles Iraq is about the size U.S. state of Nebraska.

4 million 2011

Jordan has become one of the main destinations for Syrians fleeing the conflict. It is home to around 630,000 registered Syrian refugees. Only about 20% of the Syrian refugees live in camps while the rest of the Syrians live in urban areas. Facing socioeconomic

challenges and security concerns, Jordan has taken many steps to curb the influx of Syrians into the country. It has completely closed off the western part of its border with Syria, and has instituted very strict security procedures on the eastern part. Many Syrians, around 60,000, have gotten stranded on the border between the two countries as a result of these actions. Jordan also does not allow most Syrians to work. Having no source of livelihood other than the meager income from UN organizations, many Syrians have resorted to working illegally. However, this is a risk for them because the Jordanian government deports any Syrians that they capture working illegally. The lack of livelihood

people

have fled Syria since

More than 4 million people have fled Syria since the start of the conflict, most of them women and children.

View of the Syria-Jordan border area from Umm Qais in northern Jordan

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ILLUMINATING MENTAL WELL-BEING AND RELIGION by

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CALLIE FRY--------

Haunted by memories of persecution, trapped in a life of adversity, and yearning for a future that remains uncertain, refugees operate under a tremendous amount of mental pressure. New symptoms emerge and pre-existing mental ailments are exacerbated once the refugee is displaced. But for many refugees, religion provides a structure of daily purpose, creates hope for the future, and helps make sense of the turmoil in their lives. In this essay, I explore the dynamic and sometimes fraught relationship between religion and mental wellbeing at the heart of the refugee experience.

“We are Christian, and it was not easy for us in Baghdad after 2003. Many troops attacked our neighborhood, because it is Christian. But, believing in God gives me hope for the future. Even though everybody has ridded their hands of us and are not helping us, God and Jesus are going to help us.” — Ibrahim, age 28, Iraq

T H E R O L E O F W EL L- B EI N G

ost Syrian and Iraqi refugees in Jordan cannot work legally. This places a huge emotional burden on adults to provide for their family without the means of doing so. Not having agency to better their situation negatively affects people’s mental well-being. Hussein, an Iraqi refugee, tells us, “I feel down because when any person is working, goes on with their work and gets an income, it makes you feel good, puts you in a good mood and gives you energy. That is why I feel down, because I cannot work.” Many refugees pass their days sitting in their homes and thinking about their past lives, present reality, and hopes for the future. Those who have gone through torture or abuse as a result of the wars are haunted by those memories. Many services, such as the Collateral Repair Project and Center for Victims of Torture, have sprung up to address the

INTRODUCTION

brahim is a sharp, thoughtful, and inspiring refugee from Baghdad. While in Iraq, Ibrahim worked for CARITAS, an organization that helps refugees. Now, he is a refugee himself. He faced persecution due to his Christian faith and his work to provide aid for refugees with the help of Americans and foreigners. Ibrahim’s situation gives him many reasons to sink into depression and relinquish hope, but for Ibrahim, religion serves as a tool to emotionally cope with all that he has gone through and maintain positive well-being. Ibrahim speaks passionately about helping others and expresses how his faith in God has helped him maintain hope. For Ibrahim and many other refugees, religion has served as the source of persecution but also as the source of hope for the future and resilience to withstand traumatic periods. The mainstream narrative most Americans hear paints religion as the source of all conflict in the Middle East, but it fails to show how religion is used as a proactive tool for improving mental well-being and finding hope in even the most dire circumstances. Candles in the Saint George’s Church in Madaba.

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psychosocial well-being of the refugees. Unfortunately, refugees express that they are not always aware of these services and many are left without mental health support. T H E R O L E O F R EL I G I O N

“Fhave. Everything goes away one day –

aith is the quality I want my children to

education, higher degrees, but their religion Al-Mowasah Hospital in Amman. will stay,” says Umm Muhammad, a mother of five. Religion is the biggest part of life for many, and religion also serves as their primary source of community. The wars in Syria and Iraq mean that families and communities have been uprooted and dispersed in different countries. Without the money to join sports clubs and social groups, many spend their days sitting at home, isolated from a sense of community. Attending a church or mosque gives them an opportunity to engage with others and form a sense of community. Adnan, a Syrian man, says, “I don’t do anything. I walk from the house to the Mosque and back to the house.” Along with childcare and household maintenance, religion structures the day for many.

Abu Darwish Mosque in Amman.

another Syrian woman, recalls, “I enjoyed being out of the pressure of the house. I didn’t know anyone before the Quran classes and now I have friends.” These religious classes form community. They also give the women a sense of daily purpose that combats the depression and anxiety that comes from being unable to work and improve their situation, or thinking about the past.

T H E I N T ER S EC T I O N O F R EL I G I O N A N D M EN TA L W EL L- B EI N G

Some refugees more directly use religion as a tool to improve well-being. Many young children and teenagers from Iraq and Syria have been exposed to violence and death, which can create negative emotional well-being. To treat this, many parents are reluctant to rely on medication and secular therapy, but are more willing to trust religion as a means to improve mental well-being. Lugain, an Iraqi woman with a PhD, tells us, “My son is always alone because he is shocked. People told me that I must get him psychological treatment. But I am afraid because he’s still a child. I don’t want him getting medicine. I’m going to help him with Quran, and I talk with him, try

any refugees mention that their religion helps them improve their well-being. A number of Syrian women attend Quran classes a few times a week. These classes are the primary source of education for many women and an invaluable opportunity to make friends. For some women, like Umm Muhammad, walking to Quran class also serves as her weekly exercise to improve her mental well-being by improving her physical health. Zuhoor, a Syrian woman, says, “I chose the Quran class because I want to take out some of the energy I have, just to keep my mind on other things, not always on Syria.” Fida,

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to solve this problem. I believe that with Quran I can help his health easily.” Religion is also a coping mechanism for times when they cannot imagine things ever getting better. Belief in a higher power takes away emphasis from the pain and suffering now, and lifts the hearts and minds of the refugees to the hopes of the future. As Lugain says, “I hope and I believe that God may one day help me, and I will get my settlement.”

relationship between mental well-being and religion, which complicates the narrative of religion as an isolated source of sadness and violence in the Middle East. Despite the well-being challenges and the inability to change most aspects of their situation, refugees exert agency surrounding their well-being by attending classes, helping sick loved ones, and using religion as a tool to mitigate emotional well-being problems.

The interaction between well-being and religion is not a one-way street: health status also influences the religiosity of refugees. For some refugees who have gone through challenging experiences, dealing with the memories of those hardships can turn them away from religion. People can see God as the reason for their suffering, or they may lose the energy and focus they once had regarding religion. Fida, a Syrian refugee woman, has a son with mental illness who talks to himself and does not leave the house. Even though his well-being has deteriorated in recent months, the psychological services to treat him are prohibitively expensive for Fida. Fida’s son used to be religious and attend prayer gatherings at the Mosque. Now, he does not practice his religion. Confined to his own bed, the boy lives with constant depression and refuses to leave the house.

To deal with those challenges, refugees are using religion as a tool to stay mentally healthy despite their lack of avenues to improve life. Inversely, mental well-being issues affect their religiosity and ability to proactively practice religion as they once did.

While well-being challenges pull some people away from religion, dealing with health related issues also draws some people, like Sahar, closer to God. Sahar is an Iraqi refugee who works to improve the wellbeing of people with special needs. She teaches people with special needs how to talk, and she gives them massages. Sahar tells us, “ It is lovely work, because you help the others who cannot help themselves. This job is a connector between me and my God.” For Sahar, working to improve the well-being of others is a way for her to draw closer to God.

Callie Fry is a sophomore from North Carolina studying Public Policy. Her interests are backpacking through the Pisgah National Forest, running marathons, cooking gluten-free food, and traveling with her parents.

CO N C LU S I O N

any refugees expressed that both mental well-being and religion played a large role in their lives. Many grapple with mental wellbeing issues that stem from their persecution journey or their inability to work and change their situation. To deal with those challenges, refugees are using religion as a tool to stay mentally healthy despite their lack of avenues to improve life. Inversely, mental well-being issues affect their religiosity and ability to proactively practice religion as they once did. The refugees expressed an interconnected

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RADICAL HOPE FOR A LIFE BEYOND JORDAN by

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JULIE WILLIAMS

iriam is not alone. Refugee lives are chaotic and uncertain. Forcibly displaced from their countries, they leave everything behind and find themselves in new societies where the things that once had value in life – education, work, past relationships – no longer exist. Work, education, residency, and even survival are not guaranteed.

“The most important thing is that our future is unknown. We don’t know where we are going.”

Many refugees are caught in a state of waiting. Some wish to return to a home that is either destroyed or still ravaged by violence. Others hope to be resettled in a third country and are stuck in a cycle of paperwork, interviews, and unanswered phone calls. For Syrian and Iraqi refugees, there is no clear end in sight for the violence that viciously tore apart their homes and families. When and if the conflict ends, it is uncertain whether their homelands will look and function as before. The possibility that refugees will return to the lives they left behind is growing bleaker.

— Miriam, Age 26, Syrian

With a destroyed past and an unstable present, refugees find it difficult to plan or even imagine a future. Yet, despite having been stripped of all that once had meaning, refugees still hope for better lives. This hope, in the face of all odds, is truly radical. In Radical Hope: In the Face of Cultural Devastation, Jonathan Lear defines radical hope as an individual’s ability to hope and imagine a future despite having little to no past or present from which to pull. Refugees exhibit this radical hope when they continue to dream for a future that should be unforeseeable given their displaced lives and destroyed past. This essay explores two narratives of radical hope from refugees who articulate a sense of future beyond their lives in Jordan. The Younis family from Iraq hopes for a better life through resettlement in the United States, and Nahala dreams of a return to her home in Syria. T H E YO U N I S FA M I LY

are a big family… it [was] not easy for us to leave the country,” “Wesays Maryam Younis, a 39-year old Iraqi mother of two. “[ISIS]

called me on the phone and demanded that I pay $150,000,” her husband Hasan recalls, “They said, ‘I know where you are. I know where your kids go to school. I know everything about you.’” Soon after these threats, ISIS blew up his travel agency office. Fearing for their lives, the Younis family – Maryam, Hasan, their two children, Hasan’s father Younis

Three Syrian girls pose in front of newly decorated wall in classroom in an informal school in Azraq

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a third country, like the United States. It is one of the three “durable solutions” for refugees, alongside voluntary repatriation and local integration. For most, however, it is just a dream. Worldwide, less than one percent of refugees are resettled. So it is hardly a realistic solution. The Younis family acknowledges that their dreams depend on resettlement. “I am now thinking to [resettle] to the US for my children so they get the American passport and nationality and become American so it is easy for them to work anywhere,” says Hasan. “The education in the US is better. I am looking for a good future for them.” With priority for resettlement shifting from Iraqi to Syrian populations, the prospects for the Younis family to realize this dream are slimmer than ever. Even so, they, like many Iraqis, continue to hope. They long for home, yet accept that for a safe, comfortable life, they cannot return to Iraq. “Every ten years, one big war. Every four years, a small war,” says Abdal. There is a cycle of violence in Iraq from which many families

Three Syrian boys walk home from school in Zaatari refugee camp

Ali, and Younis Ali’s wife – fled to Jordan. In Iraq, they lived a comfortable life. Each family member owned his or her own house all on one street. Younis Ali had a beautiful garden where he grew fresh dates and owned successful weaving, textile, and leather tannery factories. The children excelled at a private school. “When we lived in Mosul, we had a very good standard of living. We sat together in our big garden. Living in this way, we had everything,” Younis Ali remembers.

“When I came to Jordan, every step, I always told myself that I would come back [to Syria] someday.” — Nahala, a 26-year old Syrian mother of three

The Younis family no longer lives this way. “We have always lived in our own house and we have been able to do whatever we want. So it is not easy to live with all of us in this flat,” Younis Ali says. Hasan is unable to get a job in Jordan. The family is living illegally in Amman because they cannot obtain residency permits. The family acknowledges that, eventually, the money will run out.

believe they will never escape. NAHALA Unlike the Younis family, Nahala, a 26-year old Syrian mother of three, articulates her future through a narrative of an eventual return to Syria. “I left my family in Syria because they wanted me to be safe,” she says. “I love them for that. But I always want to be there with them. They mean everything.” Nahala left Syria after the violence of the civil war killed her sister and her mother. She fled with her husband and children, but has no one outside of her immediate family with her in Jordan.

Despite these challenges and the difficulty of planning for a future beyond life in Jordan, members of the Younis family maintain hope. “I want to be a pilot… Because I can fly. Fly anywhere in the sky,” says Abdal, the 16-year old son of Maryam and Hasan. He discusses his love for math, physics and English competitions. “I am planning to complete my master’s degree,” Maryam says. “We are looking for a better life for ourselves – a better education, a better situation. Not only for the kids, but for us all.”

Nahala’s present situation is very unstable. “My husband, he lost his hand here in Jordan. He was working in a shoe factory. The machine took his hand,” Nahala recalls. “He’s really not healthy right now. He still gets nightmares of the war.” Her husband is unable to work,

Their hope is radical because their dreams are contingent upon one highly unlikely event: resettlement. Resettlement is the movement of refugees from a country of asylum - the country to which they fled- to

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that can be rebuilt too,” says Nahala. “But, if we lose family, that can never be rebuilt. That’s why I want to return to Syria.” FINAL THOUGHTS

efugees are stuck in states of uncertainty and waiting, either for resettlement or for a return to their home countries. Their ability to continue to hope for and imagine a better future, despite being stripped of all that once had meaning in their past lives, is a clear example of Jonathan Lear’s “radical hope.” It is important to note that Nahala, the Younis family, and many refugees primarily express hope through narratives of leaving Jordan. The lack of desire for local integration, one of UNHCR’s “durable solutions,” by both refugees and local Jordanians signals the impracticality of that solution. Refugees hardly consider the continuation of their unstable lives in countries like Jordan. Local integration is so undesirable and unrealistic that it calls into question its existence as a durable solution in the first place.

Young girl poses for picture in Zaatari Village

physically handicapped and mentally ill. Her children attend the local government school, but Nahala believes they are not getting adequate education. “None of the teachers care about the Syrian kids,” she says.

The strength of refugees to have radical hope is not something commonly expressed in mainstream media. Highlighting the ability of refugees to dream despite everything that has happened to them is critical; refugees are not just their “persecution story.” Their suffering is not their life.

Despite the hardships of her current life, when she was offered resettlement in Australia, Nahala refused it. Although she would receive better healthcare for her husband, have access to better schools for her children, and have the ability to live permanently and establish a home, Nahala refused resettlement because she cannot imagine a future without her family. “Syria is home. My family is there,” she says. “From here [Jordan], it’s easier to go back than in Australia. At least I feel closer.”

The Syrian and Iraqi refugee crises are far from over. The obstacles that refugees face everyday do not disappear when the media coverage on refugees fades. Refugees will continue to live uncertain and chaotic lives, whether they are granted resettlement, continue to live in Jordan, or return to their home countries. They will continue to hope, radically, for a better future and a meaningful life with their loved ones. Julie Williams is a freshman from Tampa, Florida planning to major in Global Health and Public Policy with a certificate in Child Policy Research. She enjoys singing, going to the beach with her family and friends, eating cookie dough and learning random facts about sharks.

Like Nahala, many Syrians interviewed expressed a hope for return that prevails against the slim possibility that the Syrian conflict will be resolved soon and that the Syria that emerges from the conflict will be the same Syria that they left behind. Homes and infrastructures have been destroyed, territories have been taken over, and power vacuums have been filled by a plethora of actors. Despite the unlikeliness of their dream and the uncertainty of what life in Syria will look like post-conflict, many Syrians go against the logic of applying for and accepting resettlement. They hold onto this radical hope that they will return to the homeland and be united with their families. “We lost our house, but houses can be rebuilt. We lost our shop, but

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WORK BANS: TRAPPED BETWEEN THE ILLEGAL AND THE IMPOSSIBLE by

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LOGAN KIRKPATRICK

“It is not easy to work. But you must eat, drink, and pay to this country more and more. What is the reason? Where is your future? Where is your life?” — Sahar, 48, Iraqi

I N T R O D U C T I O N: T H E I M P O R TA N C E O F W O R K

ork represents more than a source of income. To many refugees, work symbolizes a deeply-held identity, a defining sense of purpose, and an essential outlet for the stresses of daily life. Work provides a way for refugees to connect to their pasts, triggering memories of childhood, family, and the formative process of learning a trade. Work also provides a reason for refugees to hope in the future, making it possible to maintain a standard of living for themselves and their dependents.

Man repairing a car in Marka, Amman

When the United Nations drafted the 1951 Refugee Convention, it included a clause ensuring a “right to work” for all able-bodied refugees. The U.S. representative to the talks explained why: “Without a right to work, all other rights are meaningless.” Though countless refugees echo this sentiment, Jordanian government policies do not. As a non-signatory to the 1951 Convention, Jordan has made it illegal for refugees to work without a permit. Such permits are scarce, expensive, and difficult to obtain. Before applying, refugees must pay a hefty fee. Even then, the overwhelming majority of permit applications are denied in order to preserve jobs for local Jordanians. In the populated northern governorates, where refugees are concentrated, permits are routinely denied for all but the most niche occupations. Work bans force refugees into impossible situations. Trapped between unrelenting poverty and unsympathetic government policies, refugees struggle to maintain dignity, survive economically, and live legally all at once. The consequences can be overwhelming. In this essay, six of the most significant impacts of the refugee work ban are analyzed. The first

Chef preparing shawarma rolls

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three impacts are economic in nature: poverty, compromised living standards, and stagnation. The last three are interpersonal: social embarrassment, familial tensions, and strained relations with host countries. Taken together, these consequences profoundly impact the daily realities refugees face in Jordan. Through the individual testimonies of nine Syrian and Iraqi refugees, the essay seeks to illustrate how.

of living. This experience of reduction holds true regardless of the income brackets to which refugees once belonged. So do the feelings that accompany such an experience: deprivation, scarcity, fear, and loss. In addition to the feelings listed above, refugees in Jordan also experience an acute sense of stagnation. Stagnation refers to the sentiment that, no matter how hard they may try, they will never be able to overcome the difficulties that define them.

P OV ER T Y, L I V I N G S TA N DA R DS, A N D S TAG N AT I O N

erhaps the most direct result of the work ban is economic. Prolonged unemployment, especially in an expensive urban setting like Amman, can force refugees into life-threatening levels of poverty. Wada Dier knows this all too well. Wada was a hotel manager in Syria before he and his wife fled to Amman. Upon entering Jordan, he lost his business, his only source of income. Now, Wada struggles to provide for his wife and two children. “It was easier before the kids,” he says, “and now it is very, very hard. I have to go and ask the pharmacy man, ‘Can I have milk for a few days?’…We only eat once a day.” What makes Wada’s case so powerful is the severity of his economic need. Deprived of resources and the means to acquire them, Wada struggles for survival. Wada’s struggle is all too common among refugees in Jordan, but it is not universal. Some refugees, relying on savings and assets, manage to live in relative stability. These families don’t fit neatly into the stereotype of “poverty.” They might rent a nice apartment, eat out periodically, and even put their children in private school. Nonetheless, it would be a mistake to count them as unaffected by the ban. Younis M. Ali, an Iraqi grandfather and former businessman, explains why.

This notion takes different forms depending on individual personalities and personal histories. To Faten Dubar, a middle-aged mother of three from Syria, “stagnation” means the inability to save enough money to join her husband in Germany. To Turath, a proud graduate of the University of Baghdad, “stagnation” means the fear that his children will not complete Men working on scaffolding on their education. To Adu, former landscape King Abdullah Mosque in Amman photographer who used to hunt in his free time, “stagnation” means being stuck in a small apartment instead of the Syrian deserts he loves. Irrespective of the form it takes, stagnation is a painful notion to grapple with. The feeling of stagnation is disheartening, both in its own right and because it adds a layer of permanence to all other issues refugees face. Stagnation does more than reduce refugee’s happiness in the present. Stagnation robs them of the audacity to hope for a better future.

“When we lived in Mosul, we had a very good standard of living. We had a big house there for all our family. We sat together in our garden… we had everything. Now we share one small apartment with our family of eight.” Reflecting on the idyllic lifestyle he once enjoyed, Younis expresses a deep sense of loss. In Iraq, his family took education, comfort, and safety for granted. In Jordan, this emotional security has been replaced by uncertainty. Though they may not fight to put food on the table, the Younis family nevertheless struggles to come to terms with what they have experienced: a radical reduction in their standard

S O C I A L EM B A R R A S S M EN T, FA M I LY T EN S I O N S, A N D S T R A I N ED R EL AT I O N S W I T H H OS T CO U N T R I E S

ot all impacts of the work ban are economic. To the contrary, many consequences go beyond the financial, affecting critical relationships with one’s friends, family, and government. Because many non-working refugee families are not economically stable, they must resort to borrowing, begging, and relying on friends for economic support. This dependence can fundamentally restructure

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a refugee’s social landscape and alter their conception of self. Just look at Lugain. When her husband was killed in Iraq, Lugain found herself alone in Jordan without any family to offer her support. Desperate to provide for her two children, Lugain relies entirely upon the charity of the Iraqi families neighboring her. Since these families also compose her main social network, Lugain’s economic situation is a source of constant embarrassment for her. “That is difficult for me,” she admits, “When these Iraqi families help us…I feel very shy about it.”

Hussein each viewed their nationality as a detriment, an impermeable barrier to a sustainable future.

Just as it can introduce shame into friendships, the economic distress caused by work bans can also introduce distance and division into families. This is certainly the case with Sadeeq, a 19-year-old Iraqi student living in Jordan without his family. Concerned for his family’s safety in Iraq, Sadeeq wishes that they could join him in Jordan. His economic situation, however, makes that impossible. Although he tries to explain that to his family, they continue to wonder why he does not do more to help them migrate to Jordan, fostering discord and resentment.

When her husband stopped working, he spiraled into a deep depression. “He said that he is useless,” she explains. “He said that he would allow me to divorce him because he does not feel like a man.”

Families living together in Jordan can be similarly affected. In an average Jordanian household, the responsibility to provide falls traditionally on the male. When men are prohibited from working, fundamental notions of family structure begin to unravel. Nahala, a young Syrian woman living in Amman, explains how this process impacted her. When her husband stopped working, he spiraled into a deep depression. “He said that he is useless,” she explains. “He said that he would allow me to divorce him because he does not feel like a man.” When work is fundamentally linked to the archetype of a successful “head of household,” work bans can have devastating affects on men seeking to fill that archetype. Barred from doing so, these men can develop destructive perceptions of personal inadequacy that trigger anger, resentment, and depression.

— Nahala, a 26-year old Syrian mother of three

Logan Kirkpatrick is a sophomore public policy major from Waterford, Virginia. In his free time, Logan enjoys missing basketball shots, quoting obscure lines from s, and dancing shamelessly in public.

Work bans also introduce tension into refugees’ relations with their host country. Because the ban categorically applies to a specified group, (Iraqi and Syrian refugees) people belonging to this group often feel directly targeted as second-class citizens. Ali Helmi, a former electrical engineer from Iraq, holds this view. When asked why he could not get a job in Jordan, he responded, “There are three levels of people in Jordan: Jordanians, then Palestinians, and then Iraqis at the bottom.” Ali went on to describe how, as a refugee from Iraq, he feels personally discriminated against because of the work ban. Ali is not alone. To varying degrees, Hasan Younis, Akram Al-Shakhly, and

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PIECING TOGETHER PERSONHOOD

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REED MCLAURIN

“I feel happy. I feel alive. I am a human. I feel my potential when I help these people.” — Sahar, 48, Iraqi

ach person is a complex combination of beliefs, values, experiences, and relationships. Though we often think of identity as centered within the self, enacting personhood—living as our fullest, truest selves—requires constant engagement with the outside world. Indeed, life is a project to reconcile our inner selves with our external realities. To this end, we build friendships, find pastimes, work meaningful jobs, and develop routines that provide us with structure and purpose. Such simple, everyday actions are the tools we use to formulate ourselves.

to work because of pre-existing savings and are largely unaffected by the working ban. Her wealth, coupled with a bachelor’s degree in political science, are the two pillars upon which this Iraqi mother of four constructs herself as an educated, sophisticated, and driven woman. Sahar had to delay obtaining a Master’s degree when Iraq became unstable, but in Jordan she can achieve this long-held goal. She emphasizes the connection between her education and her wellbeing. “When…I left my home and family, and everything was destroyed, I needed something to make me happy,” she says. “Therefore, I went to be a student again.” Though Sahar has no plans to use her degree while displaced, developing her mind is a means to feel in control of her life again.

Iraqi and Syrian refugees in Jordan have had their lives and the stability they provided dismantled. After being forced to leave behind their homes, their belongings, and almost every other touchstone of their identities, refugees must begin again under imperfect circumstances. Physical and emotional trauma, a legal ban on employment, and insufficient assistance from governmental and humanitarian agencies underlie the daunting process of reestablishing a sense of self. These constraints, along with a person’s skills, resources, and interests, shape what is possible in their new reality. Some old patterns of behavior are congruous with their present situations while others are incompatible with such an unfamiliar, resource limited environment. The narratives of Sahar, Ali, and Zuhoor demonstrate the ways that refugees of diverse backgrounds express their essential personhood in both personal actions and through relationships with others. B EI N G BY CO N T R I B U T I N G

ealth is the primary determinant of refugees’ lifestyles in Jordan. What they can afford greatly impacts how refugees fill their days. Many toil in unsafe, illegal jobs just to eat. Others, like Sahar, don’t need

Two men walk down a street in Baqa’a camp

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Like Sahar, Ali came from a wealthy Iraqi family and attained a degree in Electrical and Electronic Engineering from The City University of London before working as a computer programmer for the UN in Iraq. He felt secure in himself and lived like a “king” before the fall of Saddam Hussein’s regime. But unlike Sahar, he couldn’t bring his savings to Jordan and now depends on his brother, a surgeon in Turkey, to pay his rent and for his children’s private education. Ali’s challenges go far beyond simply making meaning of a new social system. In Jordan, he is separated from the work and wealth on which he based his identity as an intelligent, important person. To combat this new reality, Ali holds on to all evidence of his former life, especially his computer programming skills. “You see, because I know how to deal with Excel and other programs, I am not an ordinary person,” he says. To make this point clear, he displays his many programming textbooks and a photocopy collection of all his documents and recommendations from university and the UN. Ali adds that these days he seldom leaves the apartment and feels happiest when he designs websites online. In this way, he can reenact personhood on a daily basis by leading a digital life that bypasses the commonness of his physical environment. Zuhoor, a highly active and social Syrian woman, finds a variety of ways to fill her life despite a lack of financial means. Unlike Sahar and Ali, she left school after 8th grade and became a tailor to overcome the tedium of home life. When she couldn’t find this kind of work in Jordan, Zuhoor transitioned to selling food to provide her family income. But such labor is intermittent and doesn’t sufficiently occupy her time. So she takes workshops offered by local organizations and devotedly practices Islam. “Any classes, anything, I will go to them,” she says about such activities. “It’s nice to learn more.” Like Sahar, Zuhoor finds meaning and structure from education in a life otherwise filled with uncertainty. Praying five times a day and attending Quran classes twice a week bolster these efforts. Beyond providing routine, she describes such pastimes as a means to “take out some of the energy I have [and]…keep my mind on other things, not always on Syria.” For Zuhoor, perpetual activity allows her to begin reenacting self.

Two men resting on a caravan in Za’atari camp

reconfigured reality. While finances certainly facilitate more seamless integration into Jordanian society, there is something inherently lost when people are uprooted and must transplant their lives in strange, new soil. These individuals, though able to persevere, must cope with living as shells of their former selves. To supplement a lack of fulfillment in their personal lives, many refugees redefine themselves and their self worth in relation to others. Sahar, in her adamancy that she serve others, exemplifies this tendency. Continuing a practice from Iraq, she has been a matchmaker for 21 Iraqi

“My dream is just to ensure a nice, peaceful future for [my children]. Period. That’s it.” — Sahar couples in Jordan. She also attained a certificate in massage therapy from the University of Jordan and works with the elderly and people with disabilities. “I feel happy. I feel alive. I am a human,” she says. “I feel my potential when I help these people.” This service is part and parcel of the way she defines herself. While this philanthropic work benefits others, such actions build Sahar’s reputation as a giving person of status.

FI N D I N G S EL F I N OT H ER S

Without such resources or a large external community, Ali looks to his children for purpose. “My dream is just to ensure a nice, peaceful future for [my children],” he says. “Period. That’s it.” Teaching his children English

ach of these refugees is using the imperfect tools at hand to align their inner selves and everyday lives within a dramatically

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her children, Zuhoor lists the enrollment of her son in university and the marriage of her children as the two future events she most eagerly awaits. CO N C LU S I O N

nacting personhood is an inherently individual process about bridging the gap between a person’s background and their current circumstances. Sahar, Ali, and Zuhoor are three voices in a chorus of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi and Syrian refugees trying to do just that. Each has taken a unique path to Jordan just as each is constructing a life of their own. Chief among the pressures that impact these efforts are personal finances. The ban on working means people must rely on savings or find other creative ways to provide for their families. But such efforts are about survival and do not easily translate to a meaningful life. They are rarely fulfilling. Refugees may have lost many of their physical possessions, but they fight to protect and reaffirm their deepest understandings of themselves. Be it religion, education, or intelligence, refugees use their most important values as a foundation upon which to base their identities. The various routines they develop to this end demonstrate resilience and a deft navigation of their state of limbo. Unfortunately, the many constraints of their surroundings mean people struggle to lead lives of purpose despite such efforts. Refugees often direct much of their lives to the growth of others to fill this void of self created by displacement. For them, preparing others to experience the fulfillment they once knew is a way to come to terms with the deficits of their current realities and reenact their own personhood.

A Palestinian man and his grandchild in Amman

and computer skills is a gift to them, but it is also a way to make his education matter again. Ali understands that he won’t continue his UN career, so he has reframed himself as a builder of the “powerful, perfect” base upon which his children can construct their lives. To this end, he hopes his family will be resettled in America. While his familial ties to Saddam Hussein mean this long-term goal will likely not be achieved, such a focus on the future development of others allows Ali to reassert his intellect on a micro-level.

Reed McLaurin is a sophomore Public Policy major with a minor in Cultural Anthropology and certificate in Ethics. He now lives in Baltimore, Maryland and enjoys playing both tennis and squash.

As a mother of six, Zuhoor finds similar solace in shaping her children. Through teaching religion and interpersonal skills, Zuhoor feels she can make her children become good people. At the same time, they provide purpose for her knowledge of Islam. She describes education, both at home and in school, as a necessary stepping-stone to a bright future. “The weapon for children is to study,” she says. “There is no other way.” Such concern for her children is a way to occupy her mind in the present and imagine a meaningful future. Fusing her identity with

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BORDERS AND THE GEOGRAPHY OF DISORDER by

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SANJEEV DASGUPTA

“I spent one month at the border, trying to get into Jordan,” says Adu, a 54-year-old Syrian man. “First I tried to stamp my passport to get in. I spent 20 days trying like this. The guards at the border stamped my passport and were about to let me in. For no reason, they cancelled the permission and did not let me in. They took my eye-scan, but they refused to let me in. He [the border guard] stamped my passport again. Now, it is stamped with both a ‘yes’ and a ‘no’ on top of that.” — Adu

esperate to find another way to cross the border, Adu decided to drive to another part of the border. “We drove 10 kilometers to another part of the border, and there we came in.”

View of the Syria-Jordan border area from Umm Qais in northern Jordan

Like Adu, most Syrians have to physically cross the Syria-Jordan border to escape the ongoing civil war in Syria. However, as Adu’s experience demonstrates, crossing the border presents a new set of challenges. Borders are a foundational element of the international system. States are defined based on the territory they control – territories that borders help to divide. For refugees, borders physically separate areas of persecution from areas of safety. When trying to understand the refugee experience, it is very easy to focus on their lives in the conflict zones or after they flee. What many people overlook is that there is a step in the middle, the high stakes and highly uncertain act of crossing international borders. Understanding how borders affect individuals fleeing persecution who try to navigate them is a crucial part of understanding the refugee experience. This is particularly important considering that it is the act of crossing a border that makes a person a refugee under international law. Without that, a displaced individual is simply a person of concern or an internally displaced person (IDP).

A stop sign in Amman

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the conflict cannot predict what the border circumstance will be. The uncertainty of crossing means that they have to take their chances. And with no viable alternatives, this is what they do. When faced with the choice between an uncertain encounter with the border and almost certain suffering in Syria, most people choose the border crossing. All the challenges at the border stem from the power dynamic between the state and the refugee. State sovereignty is the basis of international law and states have the final say in whether or not persons fleeing persecution can enter. This is evident with how the Declaration of Human Rights affords every individual the right to leave a particular country, but not to enter another. Syrians desperately seeking asylum face this reality at the SyriaJordan border every day. There is a stretch of land, about 3 kilometers wide, between two sand berms on the eastern part of the JordanSyria border. The Jordanian military is manning the Jordanian berm, preventing any Syrians from coming through without stringent security checks. As of April 5, there are about 60,000 Syrians fleeing the conflict who are stranded in the ‘no man’s land’ between the two berms. Humanitarian organizations are not allowed to go beyond the Jordanian berm to provide aid, since they only have permission to function on the Jordanian side of the border. Instead, the Syrians have to come up to the Jordanian berm, get basic supplies and then go back down to their makeshift camps. These ‘camps’ are in deplorable condition, without proper health, food or sanitation facilities. And the Syrians are just indefinitely stuck there, stranded between a country they can’t return to and a country that won’t allow them to enter.

View of the desert area around a school for refugees in Azraq village

The presence of the international border defines the refugee, and gives the individual a number of rights to protect him from further persecution. Borders can thus protect refugees. However, this is only one side of the coin, and only comes into play if individuals feeling persecution are able to cross the borders. Before and during the actual crossing, borders are one of the major reasons for causing and prolonging the suffering that these individuals are trying to escape.

This situation is largely due to the political climate in the region. Syrians have been crossing the Syria-Jordan border since the beginning of the conflict. Initially Jordan was very welcoming of the Syrian refugees. Yet, as time has progressed, the situation has changed. The rise of ISIS, or Da’esh, has meant that security concerns have become paramount. Moreover, with the exodus of refugees continuing, host countries have had to take in huge numbers of refugees and are now dealing with capacity issues. According to United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA), as of November 30, 2015, Lebanon was hosting 1.075 million Syrian refugees, approximately 25% of Lebanon’s population. Jordan was hosting around 630,000 Syrians,

Abu Feras, a 37-year-old Syrian, crossed the same border that Adu did to come to Jordan. “We stayed in the desert for four days in tents until people were taken to the border,” he explains. “We waited at the border for two hours, then it took two days to get to Azraq camp.” The experiences of Adu and Abu Feras demonstrate just how different border crossing experiences can be. Crossing is idiosyncratic and is often shaped by coincidence or luck, as people fleeing from

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about 10% of Jordan’s population. These figures do not even include other refugee populations such as Palestinians, Iraqis, Somalis and Sudanese. The Jordanian government has responded to these two problems by gradually making the arrivals into Jordan harder and harder for Syrians through increased security checks. It has also closed off the western part of the Jordan-Syria border, meaning that all flows are directed to the eastern border area.

“We stayed in the desert for four days in tents until people were taken to the border,” he explains. “We waited at the border for two hours, then it took two days to get to Azraq camp.”

— Adu The result of increased flows and simultaneously decreased border porosity has meant more uncertainty for persecuted Syrians trying to cross the border. There is the uncertainty about whether or not they will get in to the country. But there is also uncertainty about getting supplies, about continuing to survive. Living in terrible conditions at the border is prolonging their suffering. Yet, most would rather suffer now in the hope of a better future once they get in to Jordan than return to hardship, war and persecution in Syria. Other than prolonging suffering, borders can also become a direct cause of it. In the Middle East in particular, the artificiality of the current borders has had broader geopolitical implications. The borders have arguably been one of the main causes of instability in the region over the last few decades. Like many post-colonial regions, the Middle East state system is relatively new. The arbitrary borders have played a big part in numerous conflicts in the region. The Israel-Palestine conflict owes its origins to the manner in which the British decided to carve out a Jewish state in what was originally Palestine. The arbitrary nature of the borders also means that none of the states created by the Allies had homogenous populations, or more importantly, population distributions that locals were necessarily happy with. The heterogeneity of populations, particularly majority-minority dynamics, is one of the conditions that has led to a number of conflicts in the region. This includes Kurdish conflicts in Turkey and Iraq, and Sunni-Shia conflicts in Syria, Iraq and Yemen. The rise of

Da’esh is also largely the result of the instability and power vacuum created in Iraq and Syria by civil war and weak governance. Borders, thus, have close ties to many of the conflicts in the region, conflicts that are the main source of suffering that refugees are fleeing from. Local populations have continuously contested the borders since they were forcefully put into place by the colonial powers. A preliminary understanding of borders revolves around ideas of order and clarity. By dividing the world into distinguishable territories, borders help in creating an organized system through which the world can run properly – borders create order and clarity. And yet, we have seen how borders can also do the exact opposite – create disorder and uncertainty. There is disorder in the Middle East right now, in no small part because of the borders. And there is so much uncertainty at the border itself for individuals fleeing persecution who are trying to cross it. Borders are fundamental building blocks to how the international system functions. And yet, our understanding of borders is so one-dimensional that we often miss the most important ways in which borders influence people, particularly when their structural uncertainties trickle down into the personal life of individuals such as Adu and Abu Feras. Despite all the rhetoric on the decreasing importance of borders due to globalization, these structures are here to stay as long as the nation-state system is the fundamental organizational principle of the world. And as long as they remain in their current geopolitical configuration, borders will continue to simultaneously create order and disorder, clarity and uncertainty, and they will continue to figure

Sanjeev Dasgupta is a sophomore from New Delhi, India studying Political Science and International Comparative Studies. His love for chocolate is only paralleled by his nerdy fascination with all things historical and his passion for soccer.

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THE POWERS OF STORY CHALLENGING THE POWERS THAT BE by

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SANJIDAH AHMED

“I feel very well now because you are hearing my story.” — Lugain

INTRODUCTION

here’s something special about stories born through conversation. They’re organic, alive, unpredictable and comforting all at once. Stories are part of our day-to-day meaning making, they help form our most basic understandings of the world and our place it it. To tell a story is to share our truths, our lives. We approached our interviews with Syrian and Iraqi refugees in Jordan with this fundamental belief in the power of storytelling. Our interview protocol was designed with open-ended questions to be flexible enough for the interviewee to explore multiple aspects of their lives. The stories that emerged from these interviews taught us a lot about storytelling itself. They taught us how stories can help resist dominant narratives. How stories can carry pieces of ourselves within them. And how storytelling can be an active process of sense-making and discovery.

A girl paints a caravan in an informal school in Azraq.

These stories were rarely “happy.” And like the interviews themselves, they certainly did not always go well. We heard stories of persecution, of lives lost, and of a confused and struggling present. The process of storytelling could bring with it some sense of solace, but it could also stir painful memories and troubling reflections. In this article, I seek to examine the power of storytelling through the cases of three Iraqi refugees: Lugain, Ali, and Maryam. Lugain’s story gives a sense of the resistive powers of storytelling. Ali’s story provides a glimpse into which stories can can operate as a space to articulate identity. And Maryam’s story shows us how storytelling can be a reflective space to negotiate one’s past and future. LU G A I N

Man and young girl sit in front of caravan in Za’atari camp

“I feel very well now because you are hearing my story… You are

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interested in what happened to me and do not look at me like just another person in Iraq. I am not only the widow. I am not only this lady whose husband was killed. That happens to most Iraqi ladies. I don’t like this kind of language. I appreciate that you are hearing my story and what happened to me.” These are the words of Lugain, a forty-year old Iraqi woman. Lugain tells us this near the end of our interview. Lugain is a widow, as she mentioned. Losing her husband to a car bomb from ISIS is a terrible tragedy that has in many ways shaped her life. However, Lugain also tells us so much more about herself and her life. She tells us about getting her PhD in religion. She talks to us about her three children. She describes how her husband waited seven years for her hand in marriage. She shares with us her hopes for resettlement, despite knowing the chances are slim. She defies being classified as simply another tragedy. Lugain also discusses her faith. “I know Islam. I have studied it. Islam is not about killing, shooting people, blowing people up… That’s not Islam. Islam says: ‘Be A brother with Christians...with Jews… Their religion is a freedom.’ This is the right Islam, not what’s happening now.” As she described her values, Lugain continues to resist the narratives that engulf her. She rejects the notion that ISIS represents her faith or is in anyway a true version of Islam. She refuses to let others erase and redefine her. Aware of the fact that if in the wrong hands her views could put her in danger, I ask Lugain if she would like to use a pseudonym. She replies “you can write my name in bold.” Lugain’s story is one of resistance. She rejects that ISIS is Islam. She refuses to be seen as one among the faceless masses of refugees. She is a brilliant PhD, a devout Muslim, a dedicated mother—she is real with all the rich details that ground any person’s life. She challenges us to see her. ALI

li is a fifty-four-year-old programmer from Iraq. Ali was particularly excited to share his story with us. “When you contacted me, I felt on top of the world. You are not Arab. You are not Muslim. But you care about my story.” Ali launched into his story before I could even begin our protocol or consent. “I am happy that you do not look at me from

“What has happened to us did not happen because of our own choice. We were forced to do this. But know [that] I believe that this is the right way.” — Maryam

the negative side. That’s important. That’s the point.” The first thing Ali talks about in his interview is his former job at the UN where he worked for thirteen years doing programing after receiving his education from the City University of London in England. He even made a folder for us containing copies of all his records and certificates. “During this period I was the King.” He tells us, “I was happy…I got married, I was [with] the UN... They appreciate you.” This stands in stark contrast with Ali’s perception of the current sentiment towards him in Jordan. “They [Jordanians] don’t care. When I do something wrong, they go, ‘okay, get lost’...I am one Iraqi. Tomorrow 10 Iraqis, they will come from Iraq… So they don’t care.” Ali tells us how sometimes he hates being Iraqi because of the way he is disregarded.

Like Lugain, Ali is adamant that we understand and accurately portray himself and his faith. Ali emphasizes how he strays as far as possible from sectarian divisions and that he does not identify with the terms of division to which he attributes his country’s destruction. He contrasts his own behavior and sentiments with those who may want to have these discussions and debates. “I don’t give a damn shit about Sunni/Shia. I am a Muslim.” He explicitly tells us that we must convey his truth. “So you’ll say it: I am Muslim.” Ali too fails to fit into the category of the tragic refugee. For him, the interview was a space to present his empowered self. He discusses his accomplishments with pride and describes a time in his life when he was respected and appreciated. He shows that the current negative attitude towards him and other Iraqis is not all there is to his story. He is also able to share his truths, his understanding of what it means to be a good Muslim and a good person. M A R YA M

aryam is a thirty nine-year old woman from Iraq. Maryam was interviewed along with her family and took particular interest in the last question of our interview protocol, “If your life were a book or a movie, what would its title be?” Maryam used this reflective space to negotiate her past as well as reimagine her future. “I don’t know how we stayed for all this time in Iraq…Why didn’t I think from the beginning to leave the country because of my children? Or because of myself? My husband? My family?”

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Clothesline outside a house in Amman.

Maryam describes her immense regret for not leaving Iraq sooner. However, this regret is complicated by Maryam’s love for Mosul. Earlier, she and her family tell us how their large extended family could always stay connected and come together in Mosul. “What has happened to us did not happen because of our own choice. We were forced to do this. But know [that] I believe that this is the right way.” Maryam articulates the choiceless position she was put in. While she did make the decision to flee, it was not a decision she wanted to make, but one that she had to make for the sake of her life and the lives her family. Maryam concludes with the conviction that she ultimately made the right choice. Maryam then says that she is beginning to let go of the hope of returning to Mosul. “Now, maybe I will stop thinking about returning to Mosul because the situation is not safe.” Instead, she turns to resettlement. “I need a good life for my family. That’s why we are looking for resettlement in the United States.” This reimagination of her future goes beyond to reimagine the nature of her place in the world. “From all these experiences, the lesson I have learned is that I can live anywhere -- in any area. As long as the area is safe, we can lie low and stay legal and safe. I can live anywhere in this universe. This universe is for everybody.”

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Sanjidah Ahmed is a first-year student interested in cultural anthropology, psychology, women’s studies, and ethics. Her hobbies include purchasing a ridiculous amount of hijabs, losing her passport in foreign countries, and falling down the steps of Petra.

3. Refugee camps are temporary.

Myths and Realities 1. Refugees are just migrants. The 1951 Refugee Convention defines a â&#x20AC;&#x153;refugeeâ&#x20AC;? as any person who has left his/her country of origin due to a well-founded fear of persecution for reasons of race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership of a particular social group. Unlike migrants, refugees have specific, internationally-binding rights to education, access to public assistance, and non-refoulement (forcible deportation).

2. The refugee crisis is a European problem.

The average time a refugee stays in a camp is seventeen years. Many camps have water systems, schools, community centers, and other facilities that account for the protracted nature of conflicts.

4. Most refugees live in camps The majority of refugees live in urban areas. In Jordan, only 20% of Syrian refugees and 18% of Palestinian refugees live in camps, according to the UN. Other refugee populations, including Iraqis, Somalis and Sudanese live in cities.

The entire EU received 1.32 million asylum claims from Syrian refugees in 2015 according to Eurostat data. In comparison, 5 countries-Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey, Egypt, and Iraqhosted 4.5 million Syrian refugees. Globally, three-fifths of all refugee populations live in the Global South.

Number of refugees in Middle East countries

TURKEY 1,838,848

LEBANON 1,172,388

EGYPT 226,344

Palestinian Iraqi family near the Jordanian border.

JORDAN 664,102

IRAQ 288,035

Students visiting JHAS Health Clinic in Al Zarqa

Source: UNHCR, 2015

Walking the streets of Central Amman

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5. Refugees could 6. Most refugees are work if they wanted resettled. Globally, less than 1% of refugees to. are resettled. Most attempt to Most refugees in Jordan and the surrounding region cannot work legally. The few who can have strict limitations on what jobs are accessible. However in Turkey, where work is legal, studies have shown that refugeesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; labor has contributed significantly to local economies.

integrate into their host societies and some stay in camps, waiting for conflicts to resolve before they can return to their country of origin.

Confirmed pledges to settle Syrian refugees

7. Refugees are a security threat to the US. Resettlement to the US is a long and intensive process involving the United Nations, the U.S. State Department, and the Department of Homeland Security. It can take up to two years for refugees to

Germany 35,000 France 1,000 Ireland 610 UK 216 Italy 350 Spain 130 Hungary 30 U.S. 16,286 Canada 11,300 Brazil 7,380 New Zealand 100

Germany....... 35,000

France...............1,000 Ireland..................610 Italy....................... 350 UK...........................216 Spain.....................130 Hungary.................30

undergo 3 interviews, 5 security and background checks, 3 fingerprint screenings, and a medical examination before being admitted. The US accepts the most vulnerable cases, such as women, children, the elderly, and disabled individuals.

LEBANON 1,067,785

IRAQ 33 JORDAN 639,704

U.S................... 16,286 EGYPT 44

Canada...........11,300

A Jordanian man works on a car in Amman. Brazil................. 7,380 New Zealand..... 100 Source: UNHCR, as of August 2015

http://www.bbc.com/news Two Palestinian boys pose for a photo in Baqaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;a camp.

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Mural in Zaatari village

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THE MYTH OF DURABLE SOLUTIONS by

to putting their safety in jeopardy once they realize the solutions are not really options. Two cases of Syrian and Iraqi refugees we interviewed exemplify how the three durable solutions fail to be realistic options for the future.

CALLIE FRY

A B U FER A S’ C A S E

eet Abu Feras, a 37 year-old Syrian refugee from Palmyra. Like most Syrian refugees we interviewed, he would ideally like to return to Syria one day if there were no war. However, he doesn’t see an end to violence and war in the foreseeable future. Furthermore, local integration in Jordan is not an option for Abu Feras because he is legally prevented from being able to work. The unemployment rate is very high for Jordanians themselves, and so even if it were legal, many refugees would have problems finding jobs in Jordan. Abu Feras does not want to resettle because he wants to stay in a region where he can understand the people and language.

INTRODUCTION

any humanitarian organizations such as the UNHCR operate on the basis that there are three durable solutions for refugees: local integration, involving peaceful assimilation into the host community; resettlement, involving migration to a third country; and voluntary repatriation, involving peaceful,safe, and sustainable integration to the refugee’s original country when violence has subsided. UNHCR cites that only about one percent of refugees ever actually get resettled, but that statistic only takes into account 15 of the 52 million displaced persons. So, in reality, less than one-third of one percent of refugees get resettled annually. Voluntary repatriation is out of the question for many refugees who have been specifically threatened or feel that their safety would never be guaranteed. Finally, host countries cannot locally integrate many refugees since the governments don’t have a strong enough infrastructure to support their own citizens, let alone the refugees. This fiction of “durable solutions” that are essentially non-options is maintained by other international organizations, states, NGOs, and the media. We also have complacency in this system by assuming that the UNHCR is creating solutions that are accessible. This shared collective fiction has real consequences besides just being poor policy: refugees are resorting

AKR AM’S CASE

Akram and his wife, Shatha, pose for a picture in a Turkish restaurant in Amman.

The classroom inside of the IOM in Amman where the cultural orientation takes place for refugees who will be

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ow let’s meet Akram, a 44 year-old Iraqi refugee from Baghdad. In 2004, he took pictures with an Israeli team and the Israeli flag at a World Jet Masters competition. These pictures were spread around the internet, and an Iraqi militia threatened to kill him over the picture, so he fled to Amman. Akram said, “This picture, to be honest, can kill us now, it could have killed us with Hussein, it could always kill us in Iraq.” Returning to Iraq will never be an option for Akram because there will always be people there who want to kill him over the picture, even if there is a new government and the war subsided. Local integration is not an option for Akram, both because he cannot work and anti-semitism is still targeted at him here in Jordan. Akram said, “Resettlement is my family’s only hope,” but UNHCR has been pushing back his case for resettlement since 2013, and they do not return

These goals will appear to be the only choices for the refugees, but since they are not attainable, they trap the refugees in a limbo without safe exit avenues.

his calls and lose his files. R EFL EC T I O N

or Abu Feras, for Akram, which durable solution could really ever be a realistic solution? Most refugees we interviewed, even if they ideally wished to return to their own country, see resettlement as their only option. But we know less than 1% of refugees get resettled. If the goals of the humanitarian organizations are not even applicable, isn’t it time we reassess what the goals should and can be? By having durable “solutions” that are not even realistic, we are responsible for keeping these refugees in a limbo of waiting for resettlement or conflict to subside with no other options for years. The uncertainty of the future and lack of foreseeable options also has drastic mental health effects on the refugees as they wait to hear for years about their resettlement case without much agency to change whether they are accepted or not.

these goals be responsible for forcing the thousands of refugees to take dangerous routes to Europe in hope of attaining their own durable solution? The humanitarian organizations may support the refugees to survive in the short term, but to survive for what in the long term? We need to hold these humanitarian organizations, states, NGOs, and the world leaders

Face Painting in Amman

The humanitarian organizations pose these solutions as positive goals that will help the refugees, but they may in fact be causing more harm to the refugees. These goals will appear to be the only choices for the refugees, but since they are not attainable, they trap the refugees in a limbo without safe exit avenues. Could Candles in the Saint George’s Church in Madaba.

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JUST OUT OF “REACH” by

JULIE WILLIAMS

“

have no one.” Adu, a 54-year old Syrian refugee, answered when asked if there were any organizations that help him.

This response is commonplace when talking with both Iraqi and Syrian refugees in Jordan. Many bemoan the fact that few, if any, organizations (international, state or local) provide assistance--medical, food, mental health services, etc. But how could this be? Jordan is a hive of organizations that offer aid for refugees. The support network is extraordinary and organizations boast impressive outreach with refugee communities. UNICEF, for example, offers cash assistance through the Unconditional Child Cash Grant that helps refugee families pay school registration fees. They have over 200 “Makani centers” that are centered on education, protection, and psychosocial wellbeing for young refugees. They provide cash or seasonal clothes and materials to families over the winter. They claim to have reached over 1 million people across Jordan, Lebanon, and Iraq with hygiene items. UNHCR insists that they gave over $41 million in cash assistance to Syrian refugees in 2015. Center for Victims of Torture offers counseling and other mental health services to refugees. With all of these services available, why were interviewed refugees claiming to have “no one?” Do the

refugees not know about these programs? Are they for some reason ineligible for these programs? It could not be about access. Many organizations offer assistance with transportation and UNHCR offers mobile units for gender-based violence support. Is there insufficient outreach?

Three Syrian children pose next to a UNHCR tent in an informal refugee camp

One seemingly obvious explanation for this sentiment is the humanitarian focus on the “most vulnerable.” Organizations prioritize services for vulnerable families and individuals such as young girls, single-mothers, the disabled, and the elderly. On the surface, this strategy makes complete sense. With a limited amount of resources, organizations should target the people who need their assistance the most, who are unable to get these resources for themselves. But this strategy leaves many communities under or un-served and likely creates new vulnerabilities. Those left un-served include Iraqis, who cannot access funds ear-marked for Syrian populations, Sudanese and Somali populations, whose plight is not making international headlines, but who are facing immense discrimination in Jordan, and people with marginally “higher socioeconomic status” that are still running out of resources. Yet, these are all refugee communities that fled persecution and are languishing in Jordan in need of various forms of assistance. Problems arise when funds are raised only for certain

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Jordanian man rests in the desert.

populations and projects are implemented only for the people that the international community has on their radar at that moment. An example of this earmarked population is Syrians. The Unconditional Cash Grant mentioned earlier is available exclusively for Syrians. Iraqis, Somalis, Sudanese, and other populations cannot access the $41 million in cash assistance from the UNHCR, another population-specific project. Arguably, NGOs accept these limited donations to appease donor’s wishes; it is better to take some money than no money. However, only helping one community perpetuates other communities’ states of instability and uncertainty in displacement, like Iraqis who are finding themselves in protracted refugee situations. “Why doesn’t the lady think that our lives are important at this moment in time?” Akram, a 44-year old Iraqi refugee, asked during an interview. “[She told us,] ‘Your case isn’t urgent. Your whole family looks like luxury, so I think you look too nice and too educated. You are not urgent.’” There is a perverse narrative that arises with the disparity between the services offered and those actually received: a narrative that help has been given to those who really need it and that the organizations have done all that needs doing. Organizations that claim seemingly high statistics of the number of people “reached” or the number

Jordanian woman holds baby in Marka, Amman

of services offered perpetuate a selective narrative. They obscure the many challenges those impacted by conflict face daily both before and during displacement. These statistics can be especially misleading when you consider the hundreds of thousands of unregistered refugees not even on the radar of international and local NGOs or state agencies. UNHCR, UNICEF, and other humanitarian organizations are doing incredible work for refugees, providing necessary emergency aid and other services when few others are able or willing to assist. This uncompromising commitment to protecting and assisting refugees is in fact heroic. But there continue to be significant unmet needs that statistics on programs and refugees “reached” distort. We need to understand the impact that differential access to services has on populations. In the case of Jordan, significant sectors of the refugee community remain “unreached” with no one to assist.

The classroom inside of the IOM in Amman where the cultural orientation takes place for refugees who will be

When we see the narrative of how much work has been done, we should always remember to ask, “What more can we do?”

“[She told us,] ‘Your case isn’t urgent. Your whole family looks like luxury, so I think you look too nice and too educated. You are not urgent.’ ” — Akram

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THE SHADOW OF VIOLENCE by

LOGAN KIRKPATRICK

n a sparsely furnished living room, a man dances with a child in his arms.

A traditional hymn rises from two small speakers, resounding through the room and filling the cracks in the faded concrete walls. The child beams with delight. He lets out a cackling laugh, revealing a row of barely grown teeth. They do not notice the muted television in the corner. Onscreen, a pillar of smoke rises menacingly behind a city of sandstone. People run frantically through narrow, unpaved streets. Piles of rubble accumulate beside collapsing buildings. Reporters speak to the camera with fear in their eyes. But the man does not notice. Lost in the music, he sways gracefully as the shrill beat of the hand drum keeps time. He places the child on his shoulders. The baby waves his hands in the air. On the television, scenes of the explosion continue to flash. But the music plays on. The only sounds allowed in the room are the soulful flow of the music and the sharp ring of the baby’s laugh. In Jordan, violence is never too far away. It can be sensed through everyday reminders of the traumatic situation in the North – the situation that many refugees call a daily reality. It can be heard in the voice of a Bedouin man asking for spare tent supplies in Zaatari.

It can be seen in the tank parked within sight of an elementary school in Azraq. It can be felt through the stories and descriptions of the refugee families we interview. Violence takes many forms. Originally, refugees fled physical violence in the communities where they lived. Now in Jordan, they continue to experience violence. They feel violence from native Jordanians, who blame refugees for many of Jordan’s domestic problems. They feel violence from the Jordanian government, which discriminates against refugees through stateimposed hiring quotas. They feel violence even from systems of humanitarian governance, which provide the means to live but not to build a life.

Streets of East Amman

Eventually, every refugee must come to the hard realization that they cannot escape from the violence that surrounds them. To them, every day brings crushing reminders of what they have lost – of the families they once had, the homes they once shared, and the communities to which they once belonged. In different ways, refugees try to shut these reminders out. Some do so by throwing all their energy into providing school for their children, knowing that their own chances for education have passed. Others do so by uniting closely with their families, clinging tightly to each other for support. Still others do so by turning the volume down on the news, holding their

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Man pulling transport cart in Zaatari refugee camp

This presents an ethical dilemma: how can we understand and be sensitive to the violence endured by refugees when we are shielded from experiencing it ourselves?

infants in their arms, and simply dancing to the music. But these refugees cannot retreat. They are as powerless to ignore the reminders of violence around them as they are to erase the memories of trauma inside them. Everything they see threatens to open old wounds: from the olive trees that trigger memories of home to the news articles that remind them they can never return. This presents an ethical dilemma: how can we understand and be sensitive to the violence endured by refugees when we are shielded from experiencing it ourselves? What moral obligation do we have to those who, unlike us, are haunted by memories of trauma on a daily basis? I believe the answer is twofold: 1) we have a responsibility to listen to the stories, descriptions, and opinions of those who have suffered with an open mind emptied of preconceptions; and 2) we must remember that the violence refugees face does not end when they flee their home country. In a very real sense, refugee

Man walks outside JHAS health clinic in Zaatari refugee camp

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communities continue to live under threat of violence for decades. As long as their providers are forced to endure dangerous work conditions without permits, there is violence. As long as their children cannot meet school entrance requirements, there is violence. As long as their houses crumble and their neighborhoods decay, there is violence. Until they can finally feel at home, there is violence. After my trip to Amman, I left the city, boarded a plane, and returned to my comfortable life in the U.S. But these refugees have no plane; these men and women are forced to contend with memories of trauma for the rest of their lives. They may have survived life-threatening danger, but they can never be made whole. They may have endured unspeakable challenges, but they can never rest. They may have fled, but they cannot escape.

NOT JUST ANOTHER PERSON by

REED MCLAURIN

“

hen I wake up, everyday I remember what happened to me in the past in Iraq…My life stopped when my husband was killed.”

So began my interview of Lugain, an Iraqi refugee living in Amman dressed in a black abaya and a matching hijab. Though she remained composed, the pursing of her lips and intensity of her dark brown eyes demonstrated the freshness of her pain. Looking lovingly to her young, happy son, she added: “Now my life is for my children only, and I try to find a future for them.” At this moment, it would be easy to view her story as a classic “refugee narrative” and pigeonhole her as loving widow and mother, as one whose life was forever altered by violent forces beyond her control. We, as consumers of American media, have been trained to understand refugees as helpless victims with daunting tales of loss and love. Most of us would group her right along with the countless starving African children and Arabs emerging from bombed-out Middle Eastern cities we know so well. Such a focus on the suffering of refugees, though seemingly innocuous, reinforces cavalier tendencies towards Western ethnocentrism and armchair empathy. When certain cultures, religions, and races are only discussed in terms of crisis, it is difficult to not think of them as violent, uncivilized, or inherently lesser.

Furthermore, focusing on this “helpless victim” narrative allows America to codify itself as an impartial distributor of humanitarian aid and to ignore any potential involvement in the creation of these crises as well as its own domestic challenges. Refugees are far more than what they have fled. They are complex combinations of joy and triumph, sorrow and failure. To define their lives by their persecution ignores the agency they possess despite the immense challenges they have faced.

Syrian children in Azraq

Discussing our interview protocol, Lugain commented: “You….do not look at me like just another person in Iraq. I am not only the widow. I am not only this lady whose husband was killed. That happens to most Iraqi ladies. I don’t like this kind of language. I appreciate that you are hearing my story and what happened to me.” PhD recipient, this highly educated woman had no interest in forcing her life into the box of a preexisting, reductive narrative in order to make it legible to a Western researcher. In saying she was more than just a “widow” or a woman defined by her husband’s death, Lugain took agency back in explaining her life. Her narrative is one that rejects “language” that categorizes her, like “most Iraqi

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Man pouring water on bike in Za’atari camp

ladies,” as a person defined by loss. Indeed, her repeated use of personal pronouns shows the importance she places on the individuality of her experience. Lugain did eventually come to explain to me how her husband, a university professor, lost his life in a car bomb explosion at the hands of ISIS. But she also told me how loving and kind he was, how he had waited seven years for her family’s approval of their marriage, how he was willing to die rather than be silenced by terrorists. It’s tempting to stop at the surface level and see her story as just another example of how ISIS’s violence is ravaging lives. It’s much more challenging to confront her full humanity and see how fundamentally this death has undermined her sense of purpose in the world. Why go to this extra effort? What does this larger picture do that a simplified persecution narrative cannot? Hearing this more complete story won’t stop the forces driving Syrians and Iraqis into Jordan. It can’t change Jordanian policy to give these people rights so basic as the ability to work. And it won’t dismantle the thinly veiled Islamophobia dominating our national conversation on refugee resettlement. But just because macro-level institutional change

isn’t a likely outcome of our research, doesn’t mean it is pointless. As part of the interview, we ask participants to describe their most important life events. After discussing her marriage, education, and persecution, Lugain put our presence with her on that list. For the first time since becoming a refugee, someone wanted to know something more about her life than just its darkest moment. Someone was there to experience her wit and kindness, to validate her selfhood and agency. That has value that simply can’t be quantified. We have grown accustomed to a “refugee narrative” that, while sad, ultimately keeps those depicted at arm’s length. We want to get just close enough to refugees to say: “Isn’t that terrible. Thank goodness I was born in the US.” without risking a deep, human connection that unsettles us from our comfortable ignorance. It’s about time we started complicating this “refugee narrative” and respecting the human dignity of refugees.

Rugs hung outside of a home in Baqa’a camp

It’s much more challenging to confront her full humanity and see how fundamentally this death has undermined her sense of purpose in the world.

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PROVE YOUR PERSECUTION by

services to refugees in Jordan came up during the Iraqi refugee exodus in the mid to late 2000s. And now, many of them deal primarily with Syrians because a lot of the funding coming in from foreign donors is ‘targeted’ towards them. Why? Because right now, Syrians are the ‘most vulnerable’ population.

SANJEEV DASGUPTA

Secondly, numbers matter. The larger the population, the more likely that it will attract funding. Ask the Somalis and the Sudanese in Jordan. Most organizations don’t work with them. As many people we spoke to told us, there are just far more Syrian refugees. Hence, they get most of the services. Why do numbers matter? Because the larger the population, the easier it is to prove that you have more people who are vulnerable.

“ …

aybe when we are telling you [our story], it seems easy. But it is not.”

One of the refugees we interviewed told us multiple times during the interview that his story was not “easy.” Why did he do that? It is the sad reality of the humanitarian system working with refugees that there is inherent competition involved in it, competition in terms of vulnerability. You are more likely to get services from organizations if you can prove that you are more vulnerable than others. And it is the same for resettlement. Even as the numbers of refugees coming into host countries increase, resources are still limited. Hence, competition.

A boy walks down the street in Baqa’a camp

What are some of the consequences of said competition? Firstly, the more protracted the nature of one’s refugee status, the lesser the chances that that particular individual will get services. Funding moves from one crisis to another and when there is a new crisis, the old one gets largely forgotten. Ask the Palestinians in Jordan. All the organizations have moved on to deal with the Syrians. Now they only have UNRWA. And even UNRWA is struggling to get funding. Ask the Iraqis in Jordan. Most of the non-governmental sector providing

And lastly, the competition creates a system where individuals have to tell their stories in a way in which they can portray their ‘vulnerability’ to its maximum extent. This is the phenomenon that the individual we interviewed is a part of. Every story has to be perfect. And because many of these individuals tell their story so many times, it becomes a need even when the situation does not involve refugee status determination or an application for resettlement. We weren’t interviewing the man for any of those two. We just wanted to hear his story, any story he wanted to tell us. And he did tell us his story. But he wanted to make sure that one of our main takeaways from his story was that he was extremely vulnerable, that even though his story might “sound” easier than other refugee stories, it didn’t necessarily prove that he was less vulnerable than others. So what can we do about this competition? What can I, someone who is listening to people telling their stories, do about the impacts competition has on their lives?

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Whether we like it or not, there is not a lot we can do about the inherently competitive nature of the humanitarian sector. Limited resources can only be put to limited uses. There have to be trade-offs. It is [unfortunately] basic economics. We can only try our best to make sure that the trade-offs are fair, that more vulnerable individuals get access to resources first. Are the protracted nature of the conflict and greater numbers the best ways to measure vulnerability? I don’t think so. And yet they become some of the metrics organizations focus on to judge vulnerability because they are some of the easiest metrics to use. Easiest. Not necessarily the fairest. On an individual level, as a listener, I do have a big responsibility, however. I have the responsibility to communicate with the individual I am interviewing, that for once, his story does not have to be ‘perfect.’ That for once, his story will not be compared to another. That for once, his story will be appreciated for what it means to him, not for how it might fit into the broader scheme of things. That for once, he does not have to say again and again that his story is not ‘easy.’ While I cannot even imagine what he has gone through, I can appreciate the fact that he is taking the pain to share his story. I can understand that his story is hard. And I can accept that he is vulnerable, without having the need to think about him being more or less vulnerable than someone else. Even though the interview is only for ninety minutes, I can attempt to help him momentarily escape the competitive environment surrounding his vulnerability for that brief period of time.

A UNHCR tent inside of Za’atari Camp

While I cannot even imagine what he has gone through, I can appreciate the fact that he is taking the pain to share his story. I can understand that his story is hard.

Trellis in Amman, Jordan

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NAMING THE ELEPHANT by

addressing Palestine. Palestinians are the only group of refugees that are excluded from the UNHCR’s (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) mandate. An odd article in the 1951 Refugee Convention states that any group falling under the mandate of another organization i.e. UNRWA (The United Nations Relief Agency for Palestinian Refugees in the Near East) no longer falls under the UNHCR’s mandate. Everywhere that UNWRA is operative – the West Bank, Gaza, Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan – Palestinians are not under the UNHCR’s responsibility.

SANJIDAH AHMED

hile in Jordan, we visited the Baqa’a Palestinian camp. It was established in 1948 when Palestinians were forced to flee their homes. Over the years, Baqa’a has undergone a slow transformation. The tents have been replaced by buildings. The borders between the camp and the rest of the city have been blurred. You could walk around and think you were in a poorer area of Jordan – not necessarily a refugee camp. Baqa’a even has its own municipal government and a mayor. By now, the camp seems a camp only in name. The camp reflects something far closer to permanence.

This article has multiple repercussions. Palestinians are excluded from any advocacy that UNHCR does on behalf of refugees. They are barred from taking the basic first step that all other refugees can take to become recognized by the refugee system – registering with the UNHCR. Registering allows refugees to gain access to services both through UNHCR and other organizations. While the options for all refugees are limited, Palestinians are further limited because of their exclusive dependence on UNWRA. UNWRA is simply unable to do as much as UNHCR not only because it is being steadily defunded but also because unlike the UNHCR, UNWRA does not include protection within its mandate.

The first wave of Palestinian refugees was forcibly displaced in 1948 – the same year the UN acknowledged the state of Israel. They fled to many countries in the region, including Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan. The Palestinians who came to Jordan were granted Jordanian citizenship. A second wave of Palestinians fled in 1967. Jordan did not extend its offer of citizenship to this group.

This organizational othering of Palestinians allows for a deeper othering to take place. Palestinians, despite meeting the 1951 Convention definition of refugees, are no longer thought of as refugees. They are even excluded from statistics, their two million plus sum not counted towards Jordan’s overall refugee estimate. While UNWRA does important work, this separation between Palestinians and other refugees allows for the persecution and accompanying obligations owed to Palestinians to go unacknowledged.

Palestinians have been in diaspora for nearly seven decades. Palestine is the elephant in the room when it comes to discussing refugees in the Middle East. The centrality of the “Palestinian problem” is impossible to get around. However, certain perversities within the international system allow for us to bypass explicitly

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There is a certain danger in acknowledging Palestine. Palestine is proof of the protracted nature of conflicts. While it would be easy to write off Palestine as one

She tells me how her struggles as a woman, as a Palestinian, and as a refugee, only make her stronger.

peculiar case, the reality is that conflicts and persecution are often protracted. A refugee spends an average of seventeen years in a camp. This fact rejects the notion that displacement is temporary. Yet, our international refugee regime is in many ways dependent on the myth of temporality. UNWRA and the UNHCR were created in 1949 and 1951 respectively, with the expectation that they would only be needed for three to five years. Clearly, that time frame has passed. However, our current refugee regime is still myopically focused on relief. We respond to all issues of displacement on the emergency-level, focusing on food, water, immediate safety, etc. But when displacement is long-term, when it drags on for ten, twenty, or even seventy years, what does our exclusive focus on relief mean for refugees? They are expected to live their lives, possibly for generations, in a state of emergency. They are expected to exist with only their basic needs met, without work, without access to a good education, without the ability to enter professional fields – they are kept in a state of endless dependence, denied access to the structures and freedoms that allow one to build a life.

A small boy walking inside the Palestinian camp Baqa’a.

It is easy to criticize host-countries like Jordan for refusing to make their countries viable for refugees. Jordan has engaged in many unfair actions and policies towards refugees – work bans, denial of free health care, etc. However, the refugee regime was thought up with the intention that most actions would be temporary – including hosting refugees. Jordan has accepted millions

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of refugees, making up a tenth of its population. This is a lot to ask of a country, even temporarily. However, as Palestine goes to show, what we are really asking of countries is to take in millions of people all at once, indefinitely and perhaps permanently. This is exactly what Jordan has been implicitly agreeing to every time it has let someone cross into its territory. If the illusion of temporality is what allows countries to continue to host refugees, how can we shatter it? How do we acknowledge the perversities of permanence without losing the protections and commitments already provided? I keep thinking back to a woman we met in Baqa’a. She worked in a women’s empowerment organization called “Amal” (“Hope”). She has been in Baqa’a since 1948 and worked with her community to build it from scratch. She tells me how her struggles as a woman, as a Palestinian, and as a refugee, only make her stronger. She has worked and struggled and sacrificed for decades. Her community and her people have struggled for their freedom, for their dignity, for their rights, and for their self-sufficiency. Shall we continue to pretend that they don’t exist? Can we not challenge ourselves to find more robust solutions and make more significant commitments? Is that not our duty?

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hese pieces we have written have tried to provide a more intimate glimpse into the lives of refugees. We have attempted to deconstruct our misconceptions and shallow understandings and find ways to rethink the issues we had only thought about from a distance. One thing that has become clear to us is that refugees are much more than their persecution. They hope, they love, they have joy, they have faith, they have families. But even the negative aspects of their lives do not center around their persecution. Most refugees cannot work legally in Jordan. Many have health problems, and health care is not free. Many cannot afford their send their kids to public school because of the cost of books and uniforms. The concerns that people articulated to us focused on worries about present conditions or uncertainty about the future. Our research is not about lives of persecution, but of lives after fight – lives in displacement. What we learned from the people we interviewed is that the relationship between refugees and their environments, and how they navigate their lives, is complicated. It’s not simply that a tragedy was forced on them and they now must stand still and wait. In a larger sense, this is what is happening, but it is in the standing still and waiting that people are living their lives. They are negotiating the decision to work – having to make the impossible choices between safety and survival. They are negotiating their well-being and their faith, with these often impacting each other. They are negotiating hope and looking to the future even when everything that they once knew has fallen apart. They are negotiating their sense of self and trying to find new ways to give substance and shape to their lives. They are negotiating how to tell their stories and how to rise above the generalizing narratives that engulf them. From our interviews and observations, we have come to understand deeper perversities in the systems that refugees are subjected to as well as the complex struggles embedded in their lives. There are several ways in which refugee regime and international organizations fall short. The “durable solutions” provided are overwhelmingly insufficient. Displacement and conflict are often intractable and longterm phenomena, yet we approach them from a relief angle. Refugees are placed in a system where they must constantly prove their vulnerability and tell and retell their stories to compete for recognition. Violence is inescapable as they continue to be marginalized and cope with the destruction of their homelands. Meanwhile, refugees are reduced to a tragic mass, the responsibility to empathize replaced with a desire to sensationalize. Facing so many structural forces, we have witnessed refugees tirelessly navigate their situations and fiercely protect their families. We have seen them make hard

Iraqi, Syrian and Palestinian children in Jordan.

choices, risky choices, selfless choices. We have witnessed them continue to forge new relationships, find new communities, find new ways of thinking about themselves. Whatever pain they have endured and whatever horrors they have witnessed, their humanity and their dignity continue to define them. They continue to seek out a good life, just as we all do. Despite the ground being ripped from under them, they continue to find new ground still. As we are exposed to media on refugees, mass migrations, and broader geopolitical phenomena, we must keep in mind the realities on the ground and the personal stories of the people affected by these forces. Let us not abstract from the level of the person when attempting to grapple with these issues, but rather keep them at the forefront of our minds.

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DEDICATION

This work is dedicated to all the refugees we met throughout our research. They welcomed us into their homes. They shared with us their stories. They told us of their sorrows, their loves, their struggles, and their hopes. We are deeply grateful.

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