Dig·ni·ty: the state or quality of being worthy of honor or respect.
This week I realized that I had taken my freedom and safety for granted.
I remember my dignity taking a hit while on a tour of the Statue of Liberty in NYC about a month ago. My mom and I stood disappointed on the dock as the boat we were supposed to get on pulled away. We immediately started asking everyone around us if there was another boat, but the only response we got was "No English." The communication barrier was frustrating to say the least, and not being understood in an urgent time of need made me feel small and out of place.
On Wednesday, my group and I had the opportunity to sit in on an "English as a Second Language" class at The Salvation Army in Portland. Reminding me of past Spanish classes I have taken, the students looked at a picture and wrote sentences about what they saw. Many of the sentences needed correction, and it was a neat opportunity for the middle schoolers from the youth mission trip team to interact with them and to help correct their mistakes.
The mood was light and easy until a man from Burundi wrote this: "I see a man who is happy, I think that is because he sees his wife." The room was suddenly filled with sympathy at the reality of this sobering statement. We paused the lesson and listened to this man explain to us how he had only been in the U.S. for six months, having left his comfort and support system in his home country. He had a wife and three daughters and was not only lonely, but also lived with a certain weight of constant anxiety. He was unsure of their safety and if he would ever get to see them again.
Before long, many of the other ESL students began to chime in with their own adventures and experiences. It was interesting to hear how almost every single one of them was a practicing professional in his/her own country. The careers ranged from helicopter pilots to electrical engineers. How utterly degrading it must be to be educated and capable, but unable to find opportunities here in the U.S. to practice their respective passions and skills. Working with refugees from war torn countries her in Portland has truly made an impact on me; it is not as if they are immigrants who chose to come to America. Rather, they are individuals who were at high risk in the place they call home.
I cannot get my brain around how vastly different our lives can be, just based on where we were born.
But no matter what, every human has the fundamental right to his/her own dignity. You deserve to have it, hold on to it, and practice things in a way that allows others to retain the same amount of dignity as you.
I picture myself getting uprooted to a different country, trying to speak a language that I don't know, and connecting with people that have new traditions and culture. Heck, if one little encounter on a dock in NYC took away some of my dignity, I cannot imagine the amount of bravery that these refugees must have to endure this daily. Not being thought of as a professional, or someone who can even communicate well, would be a continual struggle.
Despite the differences between them and myself, I have been learning a lot about the similarities between us as well. As humans, we all have the genuine desire to feel love and support, and to have a firm community where we derive these necessities. In order to truly be in community with other people, both parties must retain the same amount of dignity—believing that they are worth loving, appreciating, and walking alongside. This is our mission in Portland.
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