Lost identities
By Christopher Tidey and Ashley Gilbertson
BERLIN, December 2015 — The numbers are staggering: more than a million refugees and migrants have arrived in Europe by sea in 2015. In December, at processing centers in transit countries as the masses move towards Germany, Sweden and Austria, it wasn’t uncommon to have between 7,000 and 8,000 people processed in a 24-hour period. Children account for one in four of the new arrivals. These incredible numbers, however, are often perceived as a singularity. Many of us see a mass of humanity, rather than a collection of individual men, women and children who make up the numbers–not seeing the trees for the forest perhaps. And it is the largely haphazard system in place for processing and moving the refugees and migrants through the so-called ‘Balkan route’ which seems designed to strip people of their humanity and sense of self. Long border queues; constant traveling on subpar trains and buses; limited official communication; and squalid conditions; all of these factors serve to beat down the dignity and identity of families, instead of welcoming them as new additions to an increasingly diverse Europe. After leaving behind their homes, culture and community, it is a challenge for arriving refugees and migrants to preserve their identities, especially under grueling conditions. It is a crisis within a crisis, and for parents, the struggle to protect the sense of identity and self-worth of their children is especially acute.
Older children, particularly those traveling as unaccompanied minors, have been forced to grapple with identity issues without the direct loving support of parents and family.
UNICEF first met Ali Abdul-Halim, 17, and his younger brother Ahmed, 16, in October as they climbed out of an overcrowded raft of refugees and migrants landing on Lesvos, Greece. The pair were making their way to Germany, their family in Lebanon having sent them ahead to protect the boys from threats at home.
After a very trying journey on which the brothers almost turned back at times, they were settled into a group home in the town of Peine, near Hanover, Germany where they have become wards of the German state until they turn 18. Recently, UNICEF revisited Ali and Ahmed at their new school where they are attending intensive German language courses. The classes are essential in helping these young people learn to express themselves in a foreign country, enabling their self-actualization. In class, Afghans, Syrians, Iraqis and children from other countries who, until this process spoke different languages, begin to interact with one another for the first time using a common language. As their control of German became stronger, the children gently tease one another when they mispronounce words. The boys’ teacher, Ms. Ute Zeh, speaks fondly of seeing her students begin to come into their own. “Sometimes they’re loud, sometimes they’re troubled, sometimes they’re crazy-like when they see a German girl, blond hair, blue eyes,” she says, smiling, “But they’re boys, you know. In school though, they’re so enthusiastic, that on Sundays, when I’m at home, I can’t wait for Monday to come and teach. I love it so much.” Back at their group home, Ali and Ahmed reflect on their experience as refugees and how it might be shaping them.
“My identity hasn’t changed — I’ve always been a refugee,” says Ali. “First as a Palestinian living in Lebanon, and now I’m probably going to become a refugee in Germany. As a refugee, there is always a sense of feeling inferior to others. You don’t always get opportunities in life according to ability. I mean, why should I go to school if I can’t become a doctor? My father is a professor, but he hasn’t taught in years because he’s a refugee. Here in Germany, that’s different. Here they treat you as a human.” At just 17, Ali is now playing the role of father figure to his younger brother Ahmed, pushing him to seize the opportunities available in Germany and break free from the limitations of being a ‘refugee’ which has held his family back. “Of course I would love to be a teenager and just enjoy life here in Germany, but by doing that I would be jeopardizing not only my brother’s future, but my own too. I know that every day I would be out partying or smoking, I would also be compromising that.” A burgeoning hair stylist in Lebanon, Ali will soon start an apprenticeship at a local salon near the group home, while Ahmed who is excelling in his German language courses will start regular classes at the local secondary school. “Things have been lining up in a weird way,” says Ali. “I feel really blessed that I’ve met good people along the way. Before this, I had only seen Germany on T.V., so being here, living here, learning the language, it seems… almost unreal.”
One Syrian family now living in Vienna, knows all too well how difficult it can be to insulate children from the terrifying and often dehumanizing struggle to reach Europe. Thirtytwo-year-old Ahmed and his 27-year-old wife Alaa, nine months pregnant, fled Syria with their four-year-old son Mohammed after several factions forcibly tried to recruit Ahmed as a fighter among their ranks. “I did not want my son to grow up with a father who was a killer,” says Ahmed in perfect English. “The different groups threatened to kill me if I did not join them, so we had no choice but to leave. We didn’t even have time to think about where we would go.” The family was smuggled across the border into Turkey and then made their way to the Turkish coast to take a boat bound for one of the Greek islands. It was at this point that their journey took a terrible turn. The smugglers forced far too many people onto their boat which quickly took on water as they crossed the Aegean. One man on board suffered a violent psychological episode and began pushing others into the sea. He had to be subdued by other passengers to avoid capsizing. There were many points at which they thought they would die. Four-year-old Mohammed witnessed this terrifying ordeal only to fall into a state of severe shock upon landing in Greece. He has not spoken since. “It is like he has lost himself,” Ahmed says despairingly of his son. “The doctors here in Austria have said he has suffered a shock and just needs time to recover. But I failed as a father to protect him — my child — and now he has a problem.”
Ahmed believes that the psychological toll of the journey, including the lack of privacy, has been too much for his son to bear at such a young age. “During this trip, you are with thousands of other people, but everyone is looking out for themselves in order to survive. In the shelters, there is no life. Everyone sees what you eat … hears what you say … watches while you sleep. We are trying now here to get that privacy back to rebuild our family.” Other parents go to great, even imaginative lengths to help their children cope with the trip and hold fast to their identities. Khaled Raslan, 33, and his wife Amira, 24, have prioritized the psychosocial wellbeing and self-esteem of their three young children — twins Jannat and Amr aged seven, and son Karam aged four — throughout the course of the journey from Syria to Berlin, Germany where they arrived in early December. We first met the Raslan family, originally from the battleground city of Homs, at an abandoned motel in northern Serbia being used as a waystation for refugees and migrants to shelter and rest before boarding trains bound for Croatia. While their parents charged their mobile phones at a free charging point, the three children played nearby in a child friendly space.
Daughter Jannat recalls fond memories of living in Homs. “I loved living in Homs,” she says. “I loved my grandmother who lived there. She gave me a lot of gifts, and I got to have sleepovers with her.” The grandmother died during the bombing campaign there, and the family is certain it was stress related. “I miss her very much,” says Jannat.
In 2012, the Raslans fled the violence in Homs, heading to Lebanon as refugees. It was there that Khaled and Amira felt a need to do more to ensure their children remained confident and proud of who they were, ideally untouched by their status as refugees. Syrian refugee children had limited access to the Lebanese school system, so Khaled and Amira established their own makeshift school for their children and other Syrian refugees. Khaled managed the school, while Amira taught math, religious studies and art. “What makes our family special is that we’re ambitious and always able to find the positives,” says Amira, with a smile. “My daughter, no matter the conditions, is always wanting to go to school, to do well, and one day become a doctor. We really believe there is hope, despite all of the problems, and we all feel that way — especially the kids though. They were born into and grew up in terrible conditions, in war, but still…they dream.”
After two years in operation, local authorities closed the school, prompting the Raslans to leave in search of a better life for their children near their extended family in Berlin. Supporting their children in this manner is taxing on the parents–during their years as refugees in Lebanon and on their path to Germany–Amira and her husband take turns in the lead role as care giver. “Respect is the foundation. We love each other, so we take turns supporting each other through various hardships,” Amira says. “We are very resourceful as a couple, like the school we built — we persisted.” The journey from Lebanon by land and sea along the Balkan route was very difficult — especially for the children. They knew that their treatment as refugees by local authorities could be a blow to the children’s self-esteem, to their very identity as unique and cherished people. To counteract this, the parents only referred to their journey as refugees as a family trip, stopping at each border to snap smiling family photos on their smartphones.
“We made everyplace special, by taking photographs,” says Amira. “Like if we passed over a border, we’d say ‘Oh great! We made it into Serbia! Picture! Picture!” she exclaims, gesturing for the family to group together. “Our two boys are afraid of policemen and soldiers, because of Syria, so when we would see them on the trip, we told the boys they were there to protect us, and we’d take photos of the kids in front of them.” When UNICEF met the Raslans again at an emergency shelter in Berlin a week later, it was clear that the three children had fared better than many others in their age group who have made the same journey. They smiled easily and interacted with European adults with a confidence that seemed beyond their years.
The Raslans know there is still much work ahead to help their children continue to assert their individuality after going through such an experience. “I want our kids to do something they’re passionate about, because they’ll be good at that,” says Khaled. “We’re exploring what those passions are now with them.” Between processing the families asylum status, being a full time mother, and studying German, Amira plans to become a women’s rights advocate. Her aspirations are as high for the rest of her family, “Twenty years from now, I hope that people around the world will talk about our family, the challenges that we faced and the successes we achieved.”
For every child, a fair chance. For every child, an #ActOfHumanity.
Learn more about the refugee and migrant crisis.
