Intersections: Move to reject refugees betrays U.S. history
I am a child of refugees. Hidden among the happy childhood memories I have are the stories spent hiding out in a basement as bomb sirens went off in Iran, stories my parents casually tell over bowls of tangerines and pomegranates during family dinners.
It is safe to discuss these details out loud now, almost 30 years later and more than 7,000 miles away. It is safe to remember the sounds and smells of war, of casualties and tragedies so far away.
The thing is, when you are a child of displacement, you can never forget that feeling. You can grow up in a stable and loving household, in a safe neighborhood in a country that gives you all the opportunity in the world, and the feeling will stay with you, at your core, probably until the very end.
It is the feeling of uneasiness, or unevenness, of imbalance, of never quite knowing where you belong, where parts of you feel scattered across countries and borders, half here, half there and many other places in between.
It’s a hollowness, the special designation of a child that lives perpetually in the in-between, one whose future might have been very different if it hadn’t been for the United States and its influence on me both personally and professionally.
Last week, as I watched the events of our increasingly confusing world unfold, as I watched officials in the United States, seek to block the admission of 10,000 Syrian refugees in 2016, that hollow core felt even more empty.
The complex, multilayered discussion and strategy to combat terrorism had somehow taken a wrong turn and ended with a simplification of sentiments and events: If we stop Syrian refugees from entering the United States, we can stop terrorist attacks.
It ignored that none of the Paris attackers have been identified as Syrian refugees, but as French and Belgian nationals, that the U.S. vetting system of refugees is extremely complicated and lengthy and that those who have become refugees are actually escaping the very people who are now attacking the rest of the world.
It is a very strange feeling to be the child of refugees in the United States and watch as that same country attempts to deny refugees the same changes it gave you.
I once mentioned this and someone asked why other countries, particularly the Gulf states like Kuwait and the United Arab Emirates, weren’t taking in refugees and how they should be accepting refugees before the United States does. The legitimate need for other countries to do more does not negate the special responsibility the United States has to do its part, too.
The very reason why we can sit around a dinner table this week and give thanks is because of the refugees who were actually given refuge in this country more than 300 years ago. This is one of the powerfully symbolic foundations of our country that we should remember when it comes to treating refugees today with the dignity and respect they deserve, despite the underlying fact this holiday is fraught with issues surrounding the genocide and decimation of Native Americans.
I am a child of refugees, not once or twice, but countless times throughout the existence of my people. One hundred years ago, countries such as Syria, France and yes, the United States, welcomed Armenian refugees fleeing genocide.
Since then, we have been uprooted, leaving countries and circumstance, trying to rebuild our lives only to be uprooted again. When you are the child of refugees, living in a country that has historically accepted refugees to its shores, the story is ingrained in your veins, and the human obligation to pay attention to what is unfolding in a world where forced displacement has topped 50 million is impossible to ignore.
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LIANA AGHAJANIAN is a Los Angeles-based journalist whose work has appeared in L.A. Weekly, Paste magazine, New America Media, Eurasianet and The Atlantic. She may be reached at liana.agh@gmail.com.