From The Inside

Right now it doesn’t matter who or what you believe, it doesn’t matter where you live or who you are, all that matters is that people who were just trying to live their lives as best they could, men, women and children, have been caught in a war that has decimated their homes, ruined their lives and killed their neighbours and soon them, while we have all just watched on. We can make up all the excuses we want, “not our war”, “they are all terrorists”, “why should we always have to reach out to others”, but none of those excuses erase the fact that we are just sitting here in the comfort of our homes watching the people die. We watched it happen in Srebrenica, in Rwanda, in Sudan, and in the DRC, always sending too little too late. All eyes were on Egypt and Libya in 2011, but who remembers what happened in Bahrain? Who is watching what is going on in Yemen as I type this? As fellow humans we need to stop thinking in terms of “us” and “them”, stop making excuses about why it isn’t our problem, and do what little we can to help stop unnecessary suffering that happens all over the world. And at the same time, we should also be counting our blessings, thankful that we are warm, safe and fed, because these type of things can change overnight, with the blink of an eye. I’ve been sitting on this blog post for a while now, but I need to post it, as the woman that I interviewed a few months ago continues to provide me with hope that there are more of us out there who want to make a change than we think. If you want to help, I have provided links to trustworthy charities below. If you are only interested in telling me that I am wrong, or trying to convince me that I am wasting my time, don’t waste yours. You can pick and choose what media sources you want to believe but no one is denying that people are dying. This blog post and interview are about the current crisis in Syria and how to help, but you can easily apply anything we say in it to any other cause that may apply to you.

I can’t say that this year has been any worse than other years, news-wise, but between this farce of an election over here in the US, the continuous stream of stories coming in from all over the place of people fleeing for their lives, only to end up being pawns in a political mess, stranded in camps with no place to go, and the inevitable deaths of so many animal species in our near future, I feel helpless. Where does one start? We don’t eat meat or fish anyway, but I am halving our consumption of dairy. I can’t vote in the country I reside in but I will write about immigration as it really is, not how it is portrayed by electoral candidates or right wingers who have no idea what they are talking about. We don’t have much money, but $25 here and there towards a good cause won’t stop us from eating, and can surely help someone receive medical care and food that they really need.

I still have a love/dislike relationship with social media, love because it’s the easiest way for me to keep in touch with my friends and family all over the world, and because I’ve met some wonderful, like-minded people via platforms such as Instagram. Dislike because I sometimes feel tied to it, and resentful that it’s becoming kind of a status symbol to have X amount of followers, and that some writing gigs actually demand that you have a certain online “presence” before they hire you. But that is all irrelevant really for today’s blog post. I bring up social media because it allowed me to “meet” a most wonderful lady who constantly does her best to make a change in this world (with a witty repartee that always brightens my day). This fabulous human being made it her mission this summer to collect medical supplies and donations in order to fill a container to ship to Syrian refugees. She threw it out there on Instagram and got a great response. I personally loved the idea that I knew exactly where the money I donated was going, and that it was all going towards providing a little relief to those who desperately need it. Sometimes it’s difficult to trust certain charities (Haiti post-earthquake comes to mind), because you have no idea if your money is actually helping those who need it rather than lining someone’s already velveted pockets (HERE is a great place to go to if you have doubts). Anyway! Enough rambling, because this lovely lady (who prefers to remain anonymous apart from her IG handle, @whattheschujj), answered some of my questions, and I hope that you find her as inspiring as I do.

How did the idea of getting a crate full of medical necessities come about? How were you able to actually get approvals for this to happen?

The idea came from the charity itself. Most collect clothing, dried food and medics aid as a lot of the work done at refugee camps (Turkey, Greece etc) is done voluntarily. Registered charities raise money for containers and once they are full, the aid is shipped. Syria is literally running out of everything but the demand for food and medical aid is so high, therefore the charities I work with asked to put a hold on clothing donations.

I found it amazing how you actually gathered together both the donations and the supplies and made it all work. It must have been a logistical puzzle, especially as you have a family and a job! How on earth did you do it?!

Oh my goodness I've no idea! I work part time- I scour the Internet on the best bulk buys in the evening after putting the children to bed. I prefer to do things physically if I can. When I can it is all done either on my days off (with baby number 3 in tow) or after they have gone to bed!

There are many causes that are very dear to me, some more than others. What made you decide to do all of this work towards this cause over others?

I have worked regularly supporting a charity whose aid goes to refugee camps in Turkey; refugees from all over the world live in these camps. Although it has been covered in the news, one particular news article just stopped me in my tracks; the attack on one of the only 'working' hospitals. Once I'd done crying I decided I need to try. To try and do something and the digging around then started.

I find that I want to help in so many ways that I get pulled in too many directions and end up trying to do too much at once. It results in me often feeling at a loss on how to REALLY help. How do you get around this feeling of helplessness in order to actually accomplish something?

Charity is pivotal to my faith. I believe strongly in 'lending a hand' wherever I can. I can also feel helpless at times however I do not let it consume me because the feeling of 'must do this' is much stronger. I simply research the issue. I find out as much as I can about the 'need'. I am fortunate enough to come from a community whereby 'someone knows someone' ; a well connected one so this helps when I'm doing the digging.

Would you say that social media helped bring people together to raise funds and awareness for this cause in particular? Do you find Instagram to be a good platform to bring people's attention to specific crises in the world?

I have never used Instagram before- ever! This was the first time and I was completely overwhelmed with the response. I have used Facebook before but generally I send out messages to people who I think could help/ be interested. I feel Instagram is a beautifully wonderful supportive community and I hadn't thought about my actions as bringing attention to a specific crisis to be fair. I do think Instagram is used as a 'happy place' however, I'm not trying to infringe on anyone's happiness as such. I think it is full of likeminded folk who don't consciously avoid global issues; they sometimes just don't know where to start or what to say.

I've been talking about the war in Syria since it started and how horrific the whole situation is and I am often met with a wall of silence or the usual "oh well you know they are always killing each other over there, let's change the subject to something a little more appetizing". How would you advise others to help raise awareness in places where people don't really care, or can't be bothered to care?

I think it's difficult to tackle people who don't really care/ can't be bothered to care. I have never insisted life should stop for the ones on the 'other side' however I will say this; embrace your blessings. In my mind it is simple; we have a moral obligation to help our fellow man. As I mentioned earlier, some are a little afraid to speak out on the issue but some genuinely do not know what to say. I believe in doing. If you don't know, go find out. It is easy to be detached from the whole thing as we stare through the television screen but it affects us all. I cannot force the hand of anyone however we should all ask ourselves one question "when the present becomes our history how will it dictate our futures and what could we have done about it?"

What do refugee camps and the people of Syria really need right now? How can we continue to provide help to these people in dire need of it? How can we make sure what we send is actually going to the right people?

This can change according to where the camp is/ how well equipped camps are/ how supportive governments are. The best thing to do is to research a reputable charity who supports refugees; support can be in various capacities. Ask as many questions as you can. I always try to donate to charities with a 100 per cent donation policy as I hate charities who build an empire of fat cats!! Ask around; has anyone you know volunteered? Research blogs of people who have/ are volunteering (many specifically in Lesvos) and ask them for guidance. Many people have Facebook pages to document the donations journey and can regularly update to confirm the goods get where they at supposed to.

What are your next steps in this entire endeavour? I feel that while this part might have been accomplished there is a lot more that you want to do!

It's difficult to constantly ask people for money; this is can sometimes breed a culture of apathy and detachment so I'll try to volunteer my time locally for now. I would love to give up my life to volunteer globally on a regular basis but that's not going to happen any time soon!

We have all been watching the news this week, watching the final days of Aleppo, the terrible plight of the people still stuck in a city of ruins, expecting each hour to be their last. I made the mistake of reading several comment sections on different news sites and the ability for people to gaslight themselves is ridiculous. The amount of excuses I have been hearing on why we shouldn’t help people is crazy… Even without knowing or understanding the ins and outs of a situation we should at least put humanity at the forefront of our minds and try to help those who have no say in what is going on around them. It doesn’t matter what part of the political spectrum you place yourself on, if you are safe, warm and fed, you are 100, no a million, times better off than a person who is about to be hit by a barrel bomb or a sniper bullet (whether it comes from a government army or a rebel army).

Here are some links to different charities that you can donate to and/or volunteer with:

Syrian Crisis Charity Navigator

Other charities

You can also reach out to your local refugee center and see how and where you can help. Even a few hours a week or month getting to know a family and helping them to navigate their new home can be super helpful.

Medical supplies and bare necessities for people who have lost everthing.

Can you imagine having to leave your country because you don't have the right skin colour, religion or just because you don't belong to the right family? While the previous stories that I have published depict images of voluntary migration, the next few are heartbreaking stories of forced moves. I vividly remember the Berlin Wall coming down, and the slow crumble of the Soviet Union in the following years, cheering when states gained their independence one by one. But I never really delved much further into those countries that are often forgotten about on the eastern side, countries where civil wars and ethnic cleansing initiatives forced people to flee for their lives with their families. Please read on for a true story of heartbreak and strength, and remember that refugees are not refugees by choice, but because they want to live.

It was late at night when the call came, long after everyone in Rustam’s house had gone to bed. The words that came over the phone, though, jolted his mother awake. “Leave now – they are coming for you.”

It was 1992, and Tajikistan, newly independent from the Soviet Union, was swiftly sliding into what would turn into a brutal, grinding war. Simmering rivalries between different regions and ethnic groups bubbled over into horrific violence, stoked by regional powers and the steady flow of guns, gunmen, and heroin that flowed in from chronically unstable Afghanistan to the south. As prominent members of the Pamiri, or Mountain Tajik ethnic minority, Rustam’s family were on what would ultimately become the losing side of this conflict, which officially lasted for half a decade, though sporadic clashes continued for many months after peace was officially declared.

The Pamiri minority, made up of around a dozen different related Eastern Iranian tribes, each with their own unique and distinct language, historically had lived isolated in the high mountains of the Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Region in eastern Tajikistan, and spilled over the borders into neighboring China and Afghanistan. As Ismaili Muslims who also incorporated elements of Zoroastrianism and shamanism into their worship, they were religiously distinct from their countrymen, and were also often easily identified by the light hair and eyes and relatively fair complexions that made them physically distinct as well. During the Soviet era, many Pamiris had moved to the cities of western Tajikistan, where they earned a reputation for ambition, high education, and loyalty to the Soviet regime. For their part, the Soviets felt that the Pamiris were a more trustworthy group than their western countrymen, in part because (as Ismailis) they were considered impervious to the jihadist radicalism that the Soviets sought to keep out of their mostly Muslim southern republics. As a result, many in western Tajikistan resented what they saw as preferential treatment of Pamiris by the Soviet authorities.

An alliance of Pamiris, Tajiks from Gharm in the southern part of the country, and others, fought with Tajiks and ethnic Uzbek militias from the western Khujand and Külob regions. As 1992 ground on, the tide of the war was clearly turning against the Pamiris and their allies, and an exodus began towards their ancestral villages in the mountain fortress of Gorno-Badakhshan. Pamiris who were unfortunate enough to be caught as they fled eastward were typically killed outright, either by soldiers, militiamen, lynch mobs, or some combination of the three. So Rustam and his family hastily gathered a few possessions, left others with trusted non-Pamiri neighbors who vowed to safeguard them, and drove as fast as possible east to Gorno-Badakhshan. When they arrived, they found the provincial capital, Khorog, crowded with thousands of other Pamiri refugees from the west, with more refugees dispersing into their ancestral villages, tucked away in the lofty Pamir Mountains.

With the cleansing of Pamiris from the western part of the country practically complete, the victors then blockaded Gorno-Badakhshan and destroyed fields, orchards, and flocks, with the aim of starving out as many Pamiris as possible. It wasn’t long before famine set in, and it became clear that staying in Gorno-Badakhshan would mean dying a slow, painful death. Rustam’s family made the difficult decision to flee the country, at least until it was safe to return. Like many other Pamiris who were unable to get air transport out (usually to Russia), Rustam’s family was forced to take the only possible land route, which lay south, through war-torn Afghanistan. Months went by in tent camps where cholera and starvation were rife, and international aid was virtually non-existent. Overwhelmed with the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Afghanistan, many international agencies and governments were unwilling or unable to assist the refugees from Tajikistan. Ultimately, the Iranian Red Cross and the local Ismaili community in Afghanistan provided the bulk of the meager assistance that was received.

Once the weather conditions were right, Rustam’s family knew that they had to leave Afghanistan. While Pamiris in particular were not being sought out for death there, the situation was still extremely dangerous, in addition to the lack of adequate food rations, medicine, and housing for refugees. The next step was to cross into Pakistan, to the east, which was far less chaotic than Afghanistan, and where they would be able to begin the process of emigration to the West. Many Pamiris ended up emigrating to Russia, but Rustam’s family dreamed of the United States. His mother told him why: “In Russia, we can live there, work there, serve the country our whole lives, and we will still be foreigners. Europe is the same. But in America, we can become Americans, and we can be truly accepted.”

Rustam was frightened of the United States, which seemed worlds away from everything he knew. At the same time, the situation in Pakistan, while moderately better than Afghanistan, was still untenable. The Pamiris, coming from the cold, high mountains of Gorno-Badakhshan, found the tropical heat of the Pakistani plains unbearable. Untold thousands succumbed to heat exhaustion, starvation, malaria, cholera, and other afflictions. Rustam had lost count of the number of bodies of relatives and friends that he had helped wash and bury since the war and the subsequent flight began. He was starting to forget what normal life was like; what it felt like to be able to sleep without nightmares; what it felt like not to be hungry and weak; what it felt like to have a home; what it felt like to belong somewhere; what it felt like to be wanted. He often wondered why his people had even been created, if they were only suitable for slaughter.

Months in Pakistan dragged on into a year, and one year dragged on into two, as the long process of vetting Rustam’s family’s application for asylum slowly progressed forward. Conditions improved somewhat, as the Pakistani Ismaili community – many of them wealthy merchants in the country’s commercial center, Karachi – pulled together to assist their coreligionists from Tajikistan. Rustam’s family moved into a small apartment, and then a larger one. As Rustam’s English and Urdu improved, he felt a little less helpless and was even able to help support his family by doing odd jobs now and then.

In early 1997, Rustam’s family’s application finally was approved, and they made their way to the United States, where several other relatives had already recently arrived and settled down. After more than two days of travel, Rustam’s family marveled at the vast skyline of New York City as they circled over the airport. Rustam’s heart was torn – he hoped very much that he would find the safety and sense of belonging that he craved, and felt profoundly grateful to the United States for permitting his family to come. Still, he knew deep in his heart that he would likely never again see his beloved homeland, half a world away. It was time to start over and build a new life in a new country.