Boise, what did I do wrong? Why do you hate me?

Tecle Gebremicheal tells his story of running for Boise City Council as a refugee

(Sign up here for future posts from IdahoProgress.org)

Written by Tecle Gebremicheal. Edited by Cameron Crow.

It took me months to recover from the torture that was last November’s campaign. I’ve been reflecting a long time, and I’m left with this burning question — Boise, what did I do wrong? Why do you hate me?

I’ll start from the beginning.

After a long flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, and a short transit in Germany, our huge plane landed in Miami. It was August, 2012. According to my papers, I was going to Fort Worth, Texas.

After we cleared customs, a lady showed up and called out a name.

“I’m looking for Mr. Gebre, Michele.”

The name was familiar. It sounded like my grandfather’s name. He died from disease before I was born. Must be someone else.

I waited, but no one came forward. There were about thirty of us, more than half from Somalia. I raised my hand.

“What’s the first name?”

“Techleeeeee. Or, Techliiiiii.”

Definitely not my first name, but now I was curious. I stepped closer and looked at the document she was holding. I saw my name. She told me my destination had changed. I was now going to “BOI, ID.”

“Where is BOI, ID?”

“I don’t really know, but I can guarantee you that it is inside the United States,” she said with a smile.

The next day, my plane descended into Boise, Idaho.

I knew nothing about this place. But, as I looked out my window, I saw foothills. And a river. Beautiful mountains. They reminded me of my birthplace in Ethiopia. This must be the right place. It was my new home.

I worked hard to assimilate. The people didn’t look like me, and the food was hard to stomach at first, but I worked at it. I respected these people, and I was already starting to love the place.

The Boise River reminded me of the Nile. That great river that winds through Africa and is the lifeblood of Egypt. The Greenbelt was my best friend in those first, lonely days in America. I biked, ran, and walked on it constantly. The Foothills were a source of stress relief. Running its trails became my meditation.

My life had been completely transformed.

My last eight years were in a refugee camp. I had no electricity, no clean water, no opportunities to work, and no access to education. It was nothing like this beautiful city. I felt like I had left Earth and was in Heaven. I was starting a new life, in a new place, with a new language, and a new system.

In my first month, I made three long-term goals for myself.

Number 1: Education.

I was enrolled at the English Learning Center as the first step to improving my communication abilities. One day, the other refugees and I were taken on a field trip to Boise State University. Right then, I told myself that I’d graduate from here.

But I kept it to myself. I knew it sounded like a wildly unrealistic dream for a refugee, that doesn’t speak English well, and had only eight years of school in Africa.

Number 2: Own a home.

In five years, I would become a US citizen. And as a citizen of this great country, I’d need to have my own place. I was tired of living in an apartment, without any ownership of my surroundings.

Number 3: Serve my community.

This goal followed my visit to the Idaho State Capitol Building. After living 21 years between mud walls and a grass roof, I was in a beautiful, glittering, white marble building. The restroom was so clean, I thought it probably smelled better than I did. I would live in that restroom if I could.

As I left the Capitol, I told myself, “Tecle, someday you will serve this community that welcomed you and changed your life.”

I worked hard to make my dreams come true.

For the first three and a half years, I went to school full-time and had two jobs, one full-time and one part-time. I improved my English, got my GED, and enrolled at the College of Western Idaho. I saved some money, built up my credit, and bought my house in five years and three months, right before the Boise housing market took off.

In 2016, I decided to step up my community service, and I joined the Army Reserves. Also, I’d played soccer my entire life, and I decided to start coaching youth soccer. My military service and coaching changed my entire perspective, decision-making process, and worldview.

For instance, in soccer, the key to winning is teamwork. If someone doesn’t do their job, the worst thing that can happen is losing the game. And even though no one wants to lose, it’s still a learning experience. Working through what went wrong, what could be better, and practicing, can make the team stronger.

It’s a little different in the Army. If someone doesn’t do their job, they lose their life, and the life of their battle-buddy. That’s not a learning opportunity. No amount of practice will bring those lives back.

I felt driven to use my new knowledge and abilities to serve more people in the Boise community.

I decided to run for Boise City Council.

After comfortably integrating into my wonderful Boise neighborhood, church, and other communities, it felt like a natural decision. When I told a classmate at Boise State about my plans (Thomas Campbell), he gave me an interesting perspective.

“Tecle, I know you have the knowledge and experience for the city council position, but let me tell you this, my friend. Running for office in the United States is for two types of individuals…”

At that point I was sure I wasn’t one of them. He continued.

“In order to run for office, you need to be someone who has money at your disposal or you need to be someone who has time at your disposal, and I know you have neither.”

That happened to be some of the wisest advice I’ve received in my whole life. But I didn’t take it. The only thing I’ve inherited from my family is my beautiful, long name: “Gebremichael.” I work two jobs and go to school full-time. No extra money, and no extra time. But I carried on.

As the campaign progressed, I was invited to meet with several rich and powerful people to discuss my candidacy. These discussions broke my heart for two reasons. First, I learned that politics isn’t about ideas, education, and experience, but rather about money and status. My classmate was right.

Second, I learned firsthand that there’s a system in place to ensure that only certain types of people are elected to office, from the right races and neighborhoods. I was told that if I wanted help getting elected, I’d need to stop talking about refugees and the Islamic community. I would respectfully reply that that’s where I belong, and I can’t change who I am for a temporary position.

I was surprised by reactions to my campaign.

Over the course of the campaign, I received numerous threatening messages, hate speech, and racial discrimination from the gamut of individuals, groups, and organizations. When I announced my campaign in May, the news story had 443 comments on Facebook. Many of them showed ignorance, racism, and pure hatred. Here are a couple examples:

“If by working harder you mean given free housing, food, power, phones, education and the whole time trying to change our country into the very failed system he had to flee from to escape, then sure, I guess that tracks…”

“They should post all the government benefits and tax free status that got him where he is, take away the illusion of self-rising refugees… oh…wait,…then Idahoans would find out what’s really going on in Boise, and Twin falls”

These perspectives ignore the reality that all refugees come here for safety, work, and education. Not for handouts. Like many, I’ve worked hard, often not sleeping more than 3 or 4 hours each night. Once I could support myself financially, I voluntarily stopped my government assistance.

Prejudice didn’t only come from outside Boise.

In the weeks before the election, I saw this Idaho Press headline — “North End Neighborhood Association voters’ guide leaves out one city council candidate.” I had been left out, supposedly by mistake. The association president told the reporter —

“I have to believe it was a typo or something… We’re really upset about it. Of all the candidates, Tecle is not the guy that should have happened to. It could have happened to any of them.”

I found it odd that I would be the only candidate to be accidentally excluded. I wondered if it was a coincidence that three of the six city-wide city council seats belong to North End residents, the wealthiest neighborhood in the city. When the association said it was “a typo or something,” I was left with the painful question of what that something was.

By the end, I felt terrible.

I felt that my wonderful introduction to Boise life left me blissfully unaware of the ugly sides of Boise and Idaho. I couldn’t help but feel that I made the wrong decision to run for city council. Boise wasn’t ready to truly welcome me and my community.

I felt that all it took to earn Boise’s hate was to be myself.

Looking Back

I was born in a small village, to kind, loving farmers in the most rural area of Ethiopia. Clean water, electricity, and education were out of my reach. And what brought me to America was a bloody war.

My birthplace used to be one country, with one language, worshiping the same god, and sharing food from the same plate. But war broke out among brothers. Tens of thousands were killed. Those that were lucky enough to survive were displaced and forced to travel anywhere they could for safety, food, and water. My story, like many, had a new name — “refugee.”

But I strongly believe there was a reason I got the ultimate opportunity — to come to this great, blessed nation. Even though it was different than the America I knew from Hollywood movies, it was absolutely true that it would offer me the life-support I didn’t have before — education, work, and family.

Places don’t make people, people make places.

Thus, everywhere has issues that need to be overcome. Some places are shaped by wars. Some by disease. Some by poverty. And even in the most loved and respected country on earth, there are issues that urgently need our attention.

Our choices determine our future, and that of our children and grandchildren. But I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to have grandchildren. I want to work today to make the biggest positive impact possible.

I want to work hard to connect a new generation with a new system.

One that connects us to the foundational ideas and principles of our founding fathers, that “all men are created equal.” All.

All men, women, old, young, white, black, or brown. They should all live in safety and security. I want to help build a community where a person isn’t categorized by their external factors, but by their contributions to this country.

What happened to me was wrong, outdated, and unhealthy for the future that we must build. It needs to stop. Here and now.

Boise is too great for hate.