Prisons of Our Own Making: Fear in the Age of the Refugee

Photo credit: Ana Ferreira

During the season of Lent this year, as we lament the ways that both we  and the world in in which we live are broken, my church community is particularly focusing on the theme of imprisonment, the liberating power of Christ, and the places where we long to see that freedom break through.

Celine Chuang, another writer in our community, put together a beautiful booklet of readings for each day of the season, inviting us to use poetry, prose, and visual art to engage with the question, “What prisons – whether literal, spiritual, physical, or structural – are present in our world today: in our city, country, society, and in ourselves?” In this booklet, familiar voices from our own neighborhood find their way onto the page alongside those of theologians, activists, and artists from around the world, exploring what it means to “acknowledge and lament imprisonment” and to “posture ourselves towards and participate in liberation from these forms of captivity.”

The first step to getting somewhere is knowing where you want to go. And so as we seek to live into the vision of God’s Kingdom on earth, we are trying to imagine together:  “What does freedom from prisons look like?”

The poem below was my attempt to name some of the prisons I see around me and to envision a life beyond them.

Prisons of Our Own Making: Fear in the Age of the Refugee

We

imprisoned by narratives of fear

and scarcity

label the other as

Terrorist;

Illegal:

taker of lives,

taker of jobs,

taking away our homogeneity

and sense of security.

 

We call our prison a fortress,

believing it is we

who have prevailed over

the chaos outside,

and not our own fear

that has won by

relegating our existence

to captivity and isolation.

 

And they

those from whom

we have separated from ourselves

by language

by place of origin

by passport stamp–

or lack thereof–

they

are imprisoned, too.

 

But their cells are not

the walls of their own imagining.

They are the real cement and iron

of immigration detention centres

turning profit

by the bed

by the day,

punishing the audacity

of those who have the nerve to

cross politically imagined lines in the sand

and seek opportunity

seek safety

seek survival.

 

What would it be

if we could look them in the eye

and see

not outsider

or villain

or poster child

or political symbol

or threat to our way of life,

but a reflection

of ourselves?

A spark of the Divine;

a life that’s on the line.

A human being

who belongs,

and who longs

to be free?

Beyond the Myth of Scarcity

Thanksgiving is coming up this week, and yesterday SheLoves magazine published a piece I wrote about my childhood memories of Thanksgiving dinner and the cultural myth of scarcity that I grew up with. In light of world events over the past few weeks–violent attacks and decisions about whether to welcome refugees in the wake of that tragedy or not–the choice between living with a mindset of scarcity or a mindset of abundance has never been more crucial. Here’s an excerpt from the article:

“Growing up in upper-middle class American suburbia, Thanksgiving was usually the day that we ate so much our stomachs hurt—seconds and thirds and dessert, as much as we wanted, because it was a feast day. And although Thanksgiving was a special meal because it brought my extended family together for a big party, it wasn’t like we were leaving the dinner table less-than-full on other days.  I cannot remember there ever being a time when we did not have enough.

I learned early on—in school and everywhere else—that being successful required that I “get ahead.” I learned that the economy and other national interests needed to be protected at all costs, whether that meant bombing our enemies or building walls to keep them out. If they came in, they might suck away our prosperity, leech off our system or, even worse, threaten the affluence and convenience that we had come to jealously guard as our way of life.

Still, we always had more than we needed–everything in abundance–but we did not believe in abundance. Scarcity, or the threat of scarcity, always cast its shadow over our lives…”

Head on over to SheLoves Magazine to read the rest!

 

Choosing Love Over Fear When It Comes to the Refugee Crisis

Palestinian refugees in Damascus at Yarmouk camp, 2014

Yesterday I wrote a blog for the Huffington Post about what it means to respond as Christians to the plight of Syrian refugees.

This week, I’ve continued to read news stories about the refugee crisis–a crisis which had been unfolding for quite sometime before the Syrian civil war produced enough refugees and enough shocking images at one time to awaken our collective conscience. I attended a town hall meeting here in Vancouver last Tuesday where I learned that despite that bloody civil war and the expanding empire of ISIL, the vast majority of the world’s refugees still come from Africa rather than the  Middle East. At Kinbrace, I’ve also spent time talking with refugees and refugee claimants from Ethiopia, Nepal, Iran, Afghanistan, and other countries, and their stories remind me that even in places that don’t make the headlines, millions of people fear for their lives every day because of oppressive government regimes and armed conflict.

These stories fill me with sadness, but also with frustration and anger over the way that many of us in the West have allowed fear to prevent us from extending compassion to those who are in urgent need of our help. Hungary has now closed its borders to Syrians fleeing the conflict, and the government is arresting those who deem an illegal crossing their best bet for survival. Refugees continue to drown in the Mediterranean as “Fortress Europe” deliberately refuses to help as a matter of official policy, in order to deter further immigration. But those who are desperate enough to risk the lives of themselves and their children on the rag-tag dinghies of human smugglers will not be deterred from making these deadly voyages, because they clearly have no choice. These journeys are their last hope: either they risk losing their lives, or lose them for sure by staying where they are.

Many in Europe are afraid that the influx of Muslims will threaten the “Christian identity” of Europe, but as Giles Fraser so starkly pointed out in an article for the Guardian newspaper on September 4, the Christian identity of Europe is threatened not by Muslims, but by Christian politicians who refuse to live out the Biblical mandate to welcome the stranger and care for the oppressed.

And what about North America? Canada welcomed 19,233 government assisted refugees in 1980, but that number has plummeted to just 6,900 in 2015. Furthermore, despite the government’s promise to accept 10,000 Syrian refugees over 3 years, Canada has settled just over 1,000 Syrians so far. Meanwhile, the United States has taken in fewer than 1,000. So far, we North Americans haven’t shown ourselves to be any more hospitable than Europe.

Another security concern that has been raised is the possibility of terrorists slipping in amongst the flood of legitimate refugees seeking asylum. Security experts have already addressed the unlikelihood of this happening. Yet few people have talked about the way that welcoming refugees from Muslim countries actually offers our nations an opportunity to address the root causes of terrorism: poverty, lack of opportunity, traumatization and loss of loved ones in conflict zones, and hatred of the West due to foreign policy and military interventions which negatively impact Muslim civilians in the Middle East. This is a chance to show genuine love and concern to our Muslim neighbors, and to provide a secure future for exactly the kind of children who might otherwise be at risk for radicalization by opportunistic terrorist organizations who prey upon those who are impoverished and discontented.

As citizens of a world increasingly interconnected by economic ties, military involvement, and technology, the refugee crisis is not some distant issue from which we can pretend to be entirely separate. The current situation forces us to confront our political and military contribution to the crisis, and challenges those of us who follow Jesus to live out some of the core tenets of our faith.

Religious Druggery 

The following poem is from our friend Kristin Jack.  He and his family lived in Cambodia for 17 years.
We have turned the teachings of Jesus
into a religion,
living words into opium.
We have turned a blasphemous prophet
into a harmless sacrament
that comforts and confirms:
we are druggists,
who have made Jesus safe.

We have taken a table,
a love feast spread
so that zealot and harlot,
leper and lunatic,
could be welcomed and fed,
and turned it into
unearthly symbol
of wafer and thimble
for the righteous instead.

We have taken a cross,
clotted rack of brutality
(electric chair built
to burn heretic and radical)
and crafted it into
pop fashion accessory.
We are publicists and anesthetists
who have turned this Jesus
into someone respectable:
a pillar of the community,
a seal of approval.

We are druggists and alchemists
who have turned his blood into water
(thin and insipid and easy to swallow)


we have taken the food of the prophets,
the poets, the revolutionaries,
we have taken living bread,
words that burned with holy rage,


and turned them into
pap for the pious,
pills for the nervous,
and homilies for the dead.

revolutionary Jesus