Manu Khajuria
Fear pursues me relentlessly. I leave behind my house, the land of my ancestors and everything I know. How do I walk away, maybe, to never return. Uncle assures me of a better world beyond those Blue Mountains but the voice inside me shouts angrily that it is a lie, for there can be no place on earth more beautiful than my village. I want to pick fruit and climb trees in the orchards one last time. I want to clasp the gnarled hands of the kind old man who sits under the tree; to play the last game of football with my friends in the field beyond the river. I have prayed and promised God that I will be good if he only let me stay. But it is men who are mad at me, for today, I will have to leave. I must, to save my life. My roots severed, I do not know how I will fly, for my wings will remain clipped forever.
Different versions of the story above are what I have been hearing for the last three years at my work with the International Family Tracing, at the British Red Cross in London. We endeavor to reunite families separated due to war and conflict. A twelve year old somewhere in West Darfur, Africa, returning home to see his village razed to the ground by Al Shabab, will walk days on end to reach Libya and if he is lucky after slaving for a couple of years there, will find a spot for himself in an overcrowded Boat headed to Europe and only hope that the unstable dingy does not capsize and he does not meet death by way of drowning.
A pair of siblings will escape a rouge Government and its religious persecution in the middle of the night after their father has been killed and mother arrested, only to be separated in Somalia. The girl will be trafficked to France and if she is fortunate, she will one day escape sexual slavery and bearing all the scars she will travel, concealed in a refrigerated lorry from Calais to Dover, arriving in England frozen and close to death. Some will be lucky enough to travel with loved ones only to be separated from them somewhere in the dangerous journey.
There is that Mother who was told that her sixteen year old daughter will follow in the next boat. The second boat comes but the daughter never arrives. That decision which was not hers to make anyways will haunt her for the rest of her life. She will live in hope to see her daughter and yet she will die a little each day.
This is the surreal world of Refugees who are forced to flee war torn Countries and conflict situations. It is not about better prospects, or greener pastures for them. It is about desperation of the worst kind. It is an escape from armed militia, political and religious persecution, torture, rape and death. Desperation will ascertain that unknown, and unfamiliar is embraced gratefully. The flimsy dinghy across the Ocean is a gift. A twelve day trek across Cold Mountain passes in Iran, without shoes and warm clothes and very little food is an opportunity to be fought for. The Boat which may capsize near Lampedusa off the Italian Coast will still be taken. The overcrowded boats termed ‘floating coffins’ drifting around in the Ocean which will not be allowed to anchor on any shore will be the only way out. It is the basic human instinct to survive and die doing so. It is a human tragedy.
As the World marked the World Refugee Day on June 20th, we only have to look so far. There are many different but resonating stories in our own backyard. Jammu has been home to the various groups who have found refuge here since 1947. There are those from PoK who fled mainly from Muzaffarabad, Poonch, Kotli, Bhimber and Mirpur areas in 1947, and then again in 1965 and 1971 when Pakistani forces attacked Jammu & Kashmir. Their journeys are as arduous as anyone else’s; attacked, tortured and killed, their women raped, kidnapped and sold. They continue to fight their rights. The West Pak Refugees are the Hindus and Sikhs who came from Sialkot, Gujranwala and Rawalpindi districts of the erstwhile Punjab. They moved to J&K and many chose to remain here due to geographical and cultural proximity. Their choice of residence can be termed bad or misinformed since it has them lost and floundering in the labyrinth of what is peculiar to our State, the State subject and Permanent Resident politics. This has left them with very few rights and little means to improve their standing in life. Both these groups of people are loosely referred to as refugees by the local population though that status has not been ratified by any National or International Agency yet.
The Kashmiri Pandits is the other ethnic community who have been displaced from their homes in the Valley.They are the more articulate, vocal and better recognized group. They left the Valley along with thousands of Sikhs and even Muslims who feared persecution due to their poltical and religious beliefs. Admittedly the problems are specific to each group requiring customized solutions. The recent years have also seen the emergence of the quieter groups who live in the fringes and choose not call attention to themselves for obvious reasons, the Bangladeshis and the Rohingyas.
Jammu has been a silent witness to this influx; shouldering the responsibility; sometimes grudgingly and mostly with stoic resignation and acceptance. Jammu is the Refugee capital of the Nation though it remains unacknowledged as such.It is a fact that Jammu has been under a lot of durress. With an infrastructure which is found lacking in all quarters, the locals also do not feel specially empowered in this melting pot of crises. Jammu has its own share of woes surrounding its heritage. In such circumstances we have harboured the ‘refugees’ who bring with them their own culture and language. We have given them room for their way of life and their politics. We have not blamed them for the growing concerns over our own threatened identity. Yet it is only ironical that it is Kashmir which raises that alarm. Er. Abdul Rashid and Kashmiri literati and scholars on 22nd June in Srinagar, in a Seminar organized by the Jammu and Kashmir Academy of Art, Culture and Language, said that the cultural identity of Kashmir and its territory was under continous “threat” from external cultural aggression and settlement of non local traders and laborers. This self-centred view is brazen and completely removed from the fact that there is a demand upon Nations and People in this age of exiles and refugees to be more humane and accepting. Jammu on the other hand sets a different precedent and leads with example.
We will strive to preserve and protect our own identity but will remain secure in the knowledge that it is not weak enough to be threatened by someone else’s. Let it be a privilege and a matter of pride in being the people with the bigger heart. It takes compassion and a special kind of courage to offer the other something when it is not in abundance and scarce for the self. It is a matter of honour in being a people who refuse to ignore others in crisis. American Educational Reformer and Politician Horace Mann said -“Doing nothing for others is the undoing of ourselves”. We understand that and recognize ourselves in those unlike us. Kindness in a cruel world is not a sign of weakness but that of tremendous strength. Let us tell the World proudly that, that is who we are.
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