Today I leave for the Middle East for two weeks in Lebanon working with teenage Syrian refugees and then two weeks in Israel/Palestine for vacation.
A particular challenge around this trip has been the management of travel and passport documents. If you have evidence of travel or entry to Israel on your airline tickets or passport, Lebanon won't let you in. If you show a similar connection to Lebanon, Israel will scrutinize you closely. Traveling in this region often means navigating political, social, and religious boundaries, a situation that foments distrust and hatred.
In my case, the State Department made a mistake on my paperwork and I have spent the better part of this week making multiple calls, filling out duplicate paperwork, befriending my local FedX courier, and making numerous trips to the federal building in San Francisco to rectify the situation. To say this has been aggravating would be an understatement.
When I feel my anger rising at the inconvenience and incompetence, I remind myself about the millions of Syrian refugees who have no documentation and very little possibility of tasting the freedom of movement that the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights advocates for all people.
The seven-year conflict in Syria has displaced over 50% of population, both within as well as beyond its borders. According to the UN, nearly 12 million Syrians are desperate and in need of humanitarian aid. Just to put that in perspective, that would be the equivalent of the population Ohio, my new home state!
The social toll on host countries like Jordan, Turkey, Iraq, Egypt and Lebanon is staggering. Currently, Lebanon hosts nearly 2 million refugees, a figure that means one in five people living in Lebanon are Syrian refugees. And given the enmity between these two countries, life is fraught for both the refugees and their hosts.
While I grumble and complain about sifting and sorting through the mess the Passport Agency mistakenly created, I am well aware that I have the ability to advocate for a resolution. I have the freedom to jump on a plane and travel to the farthest ends of the earth. I fully expect that I will return to my home country safe and sound.
Most refuges have no such hope. Unaccompanied children and teenagers don’t have the benefit of family, country, culture, or education. Adults have no access to essential paperwork or funds necessary for emigration. Without passports, work permits, or country status, they often become the exploited underclass, living just beyond subsistence levels. For many Syrians, their comfortable middle-class lives have been shattered by the war. For many children, stress, distress, and trauma is only what they know.
As I prepare to leave, I’m trying to wrap my head around this crisis, something that overwhelms me. I feel guilty for not having been more aware of what’s going on. I’m ashamed to say that I have guarded my heart with indifference. I have more in common with the self-important religious person featured in the parable of the Good Samaritan than I care to admit.
I am not hopeful that what I will do there will make much difference in a global perspective. But I do know that it will make a difference in my life.
I want that hard shell surrounding my soul to break apart with stories that stir up compassion and advocacy for the suffering innocents of Syria.
I want these stories to be about people, real people, that I will come to know and care about.
I want these stories to wake us up to their plight and motivate us to respond.
Then perhaps passports and papers as well as the people behind them will motivate us to open our hearts and borders.
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A particular challenge around this trip has been the management of travel and passport documents. If you have evidence of travel or entry to Israel on your airline tickets or passport, Lebanon won't let you in. If you show a similar connection to Lebanon, Israel will scrutinize you closely. Traveling in this region often means navigating political, social, and religious boundaries, a situation that foments distrust and hatred.
In my case, the State Department made a mistake on my paperwork and I have spent the better part of this week making multiple calls, filling out duplicate paperwork, befriending my local FedX courier, and making numerous trips to the federal building in San Francisco to rectify the situation. To say this has been aggravating would be an understatement.
When I feel my anger rising at the inconvenience and incompetence, I remind myself about the millions of Syrian refugees who have no documentation and very little possibility of tasting the freedom of movement that the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights advocates for all people.
The seven-year conflict in Syria has displaced over 50% of population, both within as well as beyond its borders. According to the UN, nearly 12 million Syrians are desperate and in need of humanitarian aid. Just to put that in perspective, that would be the equivalent of the population Ohio, my new home state!
The social toll on host countries like Jordan, Turkey, Iraq, Egypt and Lebanon is staggering. Currently, Lebanon hosts nearly 2 million refugees, a figure that means one in five people living in Lebanon are Syrian refugees. And given the enmity between these two countries, life is fraught for both the refugees and their hosts.
While I grumble and complain about sifting and sorting through the mess the Passport Agency mistakenly created, I am well aware that I have the ability to advocate for a resolution. I have the freedom to jump on a plane and travel to the farthest ends of the earth. I fully expect that I will return to my home country safe and sound.
Most refuges have no such hope. Unaccompanied children and teenagers don’t have the benefit of family, country, culture, or education. Adults have no access to essential paperwork or funds necessary for emigration. Without passports, work permits, or country status, they often become the exploited underclass, living just beyond subsistence levels. For many Syrians, their comfortable middle-class lives have been shattered by the war. For many children, stress, distress, and trauma is only what they know.
As I prepare to leave, I’m trying to wrap my head around this crisis, something that overwhelms me. I feel guilty for not having been more aware of what’s going on. I’m ashamed to say that I have guarded my heart with indifference. I have more in common with the self-important religious person featured in the parable of the Good Samaritan than I care to admit.
I am not hopeful that what I will do there will make much difference in a global perspective. But I do know that it will make a difference in my life.
I want that hard shell surrounding my soul to break apart with stories that stir up compassion and advocacy for the suffering innocents of Syria.
I want these stories to be about people, real people, that I will come to know and care about.
I want these stories to wake us up to their plight and motivate us to respond.
Then perhaps passports and papers as well as the people behind them will motivate us to open our hearts and borders.
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