Xenophobia & World Refugee Day

On the second day of work, I went to a church with Dieuonne (the former lawyer from Congo) to conduct intake for the 150 refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo who sought shelter there for the past three weeks. I found it difficult and rather painful listening to a member of the refugee community stand up and share his thoughts on the crisis affecting his people: children were not attending school, homes were ransacked, and, most tragically, refugees were being threatened and violently attacked. In the past week, one of the Congolese refugees riding a cab had been denied his change and then stabbed numerous times after the driver discovered he was not South African; I cringed as the man walked right in front of us and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal wounds bandaged all over his back. It was such surreal experience. News stories of the horrific xenophobic attacks, at that particular moment, became a reality … no longer stories we read about in newspapers or see in the screens of our televisions. Everyday, tragic stories coupled with graphic images of bombings in the Middle East, of natural disasters ravishing South East Asia, and now the senseless killing and violence against innocent foreigners in South Africa, flood the media. What seemed like fantasy (to me, at least) became a bleak reality that very day.

The room filled with dejected faces of men, women, and children, as they listened to the Director of Disaster Management speak: "Our hearts bleed with you; but we cannot change the situation." My heart bled to hear him say that, though I knew it was true. Each day at the office, I meet dozens of refugees telling me—often in very timid and soft-spoken voices, but clear and quiet desperation—that they want to return to their home countries. Even to Congo where it is still not safe. And even to Zimbabwe where the economy is facing serious turmoil as a result of its corrupt government. "You are writing down my information but what are you doing to help us?" asked the Congolese refugee who, earlier that night, disclosed that he had witnessed the murder of his father by soldiers in Congo. I did not have an answer for him. How much could I really do as an intern but to register his information and encourage him to stay strong? I could not even reassure him that things will get better. I felt powerless.

Last Friday was "World Refugee Day." Our office together with a number of other agencies, known as the Durban Refugee Service Providers Network, organized an anti-xenophobia forum at City Hall in Durban to educate people around xenophobia and discrimination, and to make it known that South Africa fully supports its refugees. I sat in on a meeting to plan the event a few days prior, and it was exciting to see the program unfold. The forum included a keynote address from he Deputy Mayor of Durban, some really cool — and powerful — poetry/spoken word pieces from two teenagers, a DVD educating about xenophobia, and personal stories of inspiration from refugees. We all wore t-shirts with the engraving "xenophobia" with the "xe" crossed out to read "xe Nophobia" along with orange ribbons to emphasize unity and respect for all foreigners in South Africa.

Although the speeches from the Deputy Mayor and UNHCR representative echoed with messages of hope and better days to come for refugees and for South Africa, a part of me was dissatisfied: to me, the words were political rhetoric, trite platitudes that did not encompass a clear vision and plan of action for the refugees. After encountering numerous clients at Lawyers for Human Rights and hearing their frustrations and personal cries for help, I expected something more concrete. Like the refugees, I needed some sort of reassurance. Tuna sandwich and a cup of orange juice in hand, I walked out of City Hall at the close of the event with so many thoughts lingering in my mind.


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Durban City Hall (an amazing sight up close!)

Outside the steps of City Hall looking out into the city.