It took a lot of what I imagine as pot-holing; the erosion of the surrounding matter (media's placement of refugees, personal moral expectations, pre-existing social understandings) to come to a far deeper understanding of what a refugee is. And I conclude that what? is not the question, but rather who?
When such institutional and systemic titles are embedded into our mind, it is so incredibly easy to unintentionally generalise and be satisfied with the perception of someone as only the violence and hardship that they have endured, and that yield our pity. I was so readily feeling sympathy, but sympathy is not enough. I viewed the idea or situation as merely conceptual - headlines on a newspaper, governmental issues, the images that made me shudder or shut my eyes closed so tight, an example we should not follow, an emblem of why-I-should-be-thankful. It was always at most 5 minutes of my day that came and passed.. it was only a sad story.
A concept is not enough.
I came here, engaged, and realised that 'refugee' was a minuscule part of their identity. It is so tiny! And not to mention so inadequate I am guilty that I had subconsciously fit them into so small and limiting a category and genuinely believed that was as big of a part of who they are. God knows what I expected it to be like- for us to shake hands, exchange greetings, for them to sit me down and explain their unfortunate history and for me to feel all the more assured of the need to feel/think everything as detailed above. I had dehumanised them, believing it was humanity.
""The moral law," answered Magis, "forces men who are beasts to live otherwise than beasts, a thine that doubtless puts a constraint upon them, but that also flatters and reassures them; and as they are proud, cowardly, and covetous of pleasure, they willingly submit to restraints that tickle their vanity and on which they found both their present security and the hope of their future happiness."
France's words from "Penguin Island" reverberates in my mind. And I am glad that I have exposed a beastliness of my possession, one that I'll continue to betray and condemn because of the single example of the past few days in Halle.
In African dress and iconic afro, Abodi (pronounced 'Aboodi'). German teacher for the past 4 years, says he has not washed his hair for the past 9 years and 3 days now.
In the far right, Makki (pronounced 'Marky'). Doctor, father of a beautiful daughter named 'Laureen' from the laurel tree, "particularly" hates flies.
Both Abodi and Makki have been friends for 10 years, since before they came to Germany 8 years ago. You can tell they are good friends. Both believe themselves to be the craziest people from Yemen.
Hadid. Moved to Germany 4 years ago if I remember correctly. Doing his masters in Nutrition, does not believe in the BioMarkt, loves Prague, gave away the blanket his mother gave him to some people in a refugee camp in Austria.
love,
elle
