A Mind, A Heart, A Voice

I have dreaded making this post because I know it is the beginning to ‘the end.’ I have had it saved on my computer since July 19^th. Each day, I find writing to become more and more difficult. Every hour, I think, “Oh! Be sure to add that to a post!” or “That would be a great thing to talk about! You should dedicate a post to that!” During the internship, we were constantly barraged with experiences that I cannot possibly relay to all of you. On one hand, out of respect for the people involved, the stories that some have told me will remain private. On the other hand, there is far too much to tell and far too little time. The clock is ticking, and here I was sitting at my computer on the final week of Brindisi, wondering how quickly time has gone. I wish time would pause, roll back, and let this dream begin again. Alas with that all being said, this is not my last post. Feel rest assured that there will be more posts to come, both about Brindisi and my extra travel excursions.

While on the topic of traveling, I’d like to speak about something that happened during our much-needed ‘girls trip’ to Gallipoli the other weekend. We were lying on the beach, completing our main goal for the weekend (i.e., doing nothing for once), and a man selling sunglasses and various merchandise approached us. This is commonplace for most of the beaches in southern Italy. People, mostly migrants, are walking up and down the shoreline, hoping to make some money. Considering how common this is, people can easily turn a blind eye to them, forgetting the vender’s dignity and humanity. My heart sinks when I see people, both young and old, laughing or mocking the vender for thinking that they would be interested in a purchase. When did we become so cynical, hard, and unkind?  

In previous exchanges with venders on the beach, we have always politely said “no grazie.” If they pursue their persuasion tactics and the sale further, we always remember to treat them with respect. Although we do not recognize these individuals, we know and understand their background and journey. They are much more than just a beggar or salesman. They are people from CARAs and other centers, who have traveled through the desert, sailed across the ocean, and simply asked to be accepted into this new country for their own safety. They have borne so much adversity and loss; the very least people can do is treat them with respect.

The problem lies in miscommunication and misappropriation of information, both for the migrant and the civilian. Common day civilians expose themselves to the news at their own will. I will not get in the long-standing debate about what news sources are appropriate, informative, or factual; however, I will say that it is important to look beyond the surface and receive your news from multiple sources. Do not drink from a single spout. Otherwise, you set yourself up to feed on the self-prescribed stereotypes and assumed superiority, which has manifested itself in the news. Inform yourself and create your own opinion, based on logic and ethics. I suggest listening to “HiddenBrain: Is he Muslim?”

It’s very easy to forget that these people on the beach or in the city center are the same men and women at these centers. During this internship, we have made such strong relationships with the men at the CARA in Restinco; in fact, it’s easy to put them on a pedestal. We view them so highly, yet they could easily be treated the same way the men and women walking up and down the beaches are treated. The way to tackle this issue is to treat everyone with respect and compassion, remembering they’re merely human. They have love in their hearts, but evil can creep in too. Some of the best advice I ever received in college was “You don’t have to respect what people say or do, but you have to treat them with respect.”

One day at the CARA, I was speaking with one of my friends, who is from Sierra Leone. He told me “If I told someone I didn’t go to school, they wouldn’t believe me.” When he speaks, you can tell he’s putting forth a lot of effort, even writing down his sentences while he says them aloud. In Sierra Leone, the official language is English; however, 97% of the population speaks Krio, which is a Creole-like, broken English. He becomes very frustrated with himself at times, but he reminds himself of the lessons that his friend from back home taught him. One of his friends taught him proper English in his spare time. After talking about his best friend and explaining how the lessons were structured, he said “I am grateful for this because I can express myself in public.” His friend gave him a voice – a voice that he would never want to shut out in a new country where he is trying to find a new home.  

My friend’s passion for learning is very important when considering how education and communication are closely interconnected in this line of work. There have been moments when migrants have asked us to help them with their documents because we are American. The man previously mentioned on the beach did this exact thing. He dropped his sales pitch for sunglasses and began to sell himself, begging for us to bring him to America. There is a misconceived presumption that because we come from America, we can get them to their freedom quicker. Immediately, it becomes our job to explain to them how we do not have any authoritative power with their documentation or persuasive capability in relation to the Questura or Commissioner. I do not find it morally or ethically acceptable to withhold information or allow for someone to continue to believe information that affects his or her future outlook, especially with this line of work. We are dealing with much more than someone’s papers; it’s someone’s well-being and human dignity.

In the last weeks, I began to contemplate about how information and communication are intertwined with the timing of age. The CARA received 38 minors at the beginning of one week. Their ages ranged from twelve to seventeen years. I worry about the potential fantastical stories that the minors are told prior to arriving here, which potentially omit the proper information of how this long process takes or what their future looks like realistically. However, I did not let these pessimistic thoughts consume my mind. These young boys had an infectious, positive energy that couldn’t be tainted. We worked together on some art projects and created music together. One day, what was intended to be my music workshop transformed before my eyes into a dance competition. These young boys had arrived at the port two days ago, and they were ready to be on their feet. It completely befuddled me to look out into the crowd and see boys as young as 12, who have seen and experienced more hardship than I will ever know. Despite this, they still had huge smiles on their faces, laughed hysterically, and egged each other on to compete against each winner.

The following day, we watched one of my top five favorite movies, Guardians of the Galaxy, with the minors. While we watched the film, I couldn’t help but find the parallels between the plotline of the movie and these young boys’ lives. In order to not give away any of the plot, I will highlight one quote that really stuck out to me:

“When I look around, you know what I see? Losers. I mean like, folks who have lost stuff. And we have, man, we have, all of us. Homes, and our families, normal lives. And you think life takes more than it gives, but not today. Today, it’s giving us something. It is giving us a chance.”

Throughout the movie, I looked out to the crowd of young boys and could see them tapping their feet to the all-star soundtrack with smiles on all of their faces. Their laughter crackled, as they watched Rocket and Groot fight against all of the odds, like best friends or brothers. These boys had faced hardships and war, but they had their friends by their sides. It relieves some of the pressure from their young shoulders.

Later, I spoke with some of them about their plans for once they received their documents. To begin this conversation, I asked them if they could point to Brindisi on a map; none of them knew where they were. Furthermore, some didn’t know what lie ahead of them, while others knew the exact Italian cities they wanted to live in. I couldn’t believe that they were prepared to travel on, hopeful for the many years ahead. Then, I began to think. One day, these boys will be the young men who fill the streets of Italy and Europe, at large. How will they be viewed? How will they be treated? Will they be venders on the beach? Or, will they open their own shop? I have seen both stories unfold.

One by one, these young boys have been relocated to a new camp, dedicated to caring for minors. My hope is that they carry on with their spirit and continue to look hardships directly in the eyes with a smile on their face.  The road may seem never-ending and daunting for them, but I can only pray that this world does not turn them cold and hard. May their age be to their advantage, to stay young in the heart, quick witted, and resilient.

My parting words are as follows: treat others with respect, regardless of the circumstances. There is no need to experience my line of work to make the connection that migrants deserve their dignity and respect. I am not begging for you to put migrants on a pedestal or to view them any better than the common human. I am asking you to view and to treat them like a human.

A presto,

the chameleon