The first 12 days of Germany have been full, exciting, but almost completely exhausting. But they were also filled with some life-giving, interesting and peculiar moments. When I flew into Frankfurt Airport my good friend, Elisabeth, picked me up and took me to her parent’s home in Rodenbach. I spent a couple of days there and the town was beautiful.
Eventually, on two separate occasions, Elisabeth’s mother and father joked about how most people in the village probably thought I was “ein Flüchtling” … a refugee. Though false, this presumption was not unfounded. Amusingly, I was the only brown person in just about 98% of the places we had gone, with bad German, who almost regularly seemed confused. At the very least, I was the most obvious outsider.
But I couldn’t get the title out of my mind. A “Flüchtling,” what must that be like? I don’t know. But I can tell you that in the last couple of days I have generated greater empathy for them.
I arrived in Germany with a handful of supportive and helpful people, but I still felt unsettled. Everyone spoke German so quickly, that I was having difficulty holding a basic conversation. When I responded it seemed like it took me forever to speak and felt helpless and stupid when I could not express myself. At one point I went to the store and spent 10 solid minutes trying to figure out how to insert my credit card into the machine, an action I have performed a thousand times, but one that was different in Germany.
I am not estranged to the topic of migration. Both my parents are immigrants from India, but even in my sympathy I can’t tell you how many times I have been frustrated with my parents for taking forever at the bank, or misreading the GPS or misunderstanding a stranger. They were tasks that were “simple”, but I then realized first hand that it is only simple if you don’t need time for translation.
Right now, historically, we are at the dawn of the greatest refugee crisis we have ever known. There are activist groups trying relentlessly to migrate and resettle 68.5 million displaced people, 25.4 million of whom are refugees and 3.1 million asylum seekers (stats found here). But there are also alternative groups, people who don’t want to help resettlement, at least not of the masses. Because they know that the greatest challenge to resettlement is not immigration, but social integration. There is going to be a foreign person(s) in the country, who will not understand the language, who will cost tax dollars to relocate, who will spend too much time holding up the grocery line (sorry!). And let me tell you… social integration is indeed a challenge…
…But let me also tell you another story…
After Elisabeth, her Father and I had lunch, I would go with Gerd to the farm. Gerd didn’t speak very much English, and yet we would get on the tractor to make hay, talking. Me in bad German, him in too fast German — pausing often to clarify our sentences with English or German additions. In our conversations I found out that we both come from a lineage of farmers and it seemed like his childhood mirrored my parents’ stories. As we talked I thought about how I had similarly sat on a tractor next to my uncle as a child in India, also sharing stories in what was then my limited Punjabi. Similar experience. Thousands of miles apart. I learned Gerd and Waltraud (Elisabeth’s mom) are both entrepreneurs, creating business’ with their personal vision. So are my parents, and many of the adults in my family. And slowly this German family and a Canadian college student began to draw threads of similarities in broken communication with plenty of misunderstandings.
My anecdote may inspire some to say, “Well see, deep down we are all the same!” But I just don’t think that’s true. The cultural differences that shape us are actually just that… different. And the challenge of social integration is indeed a challenge. But, when it seems like we come from entirely different worlds, simple acts of empathy reveal how much closer we can bring our different worlds. Our friendships build bridges.
I am a privileged person. A small percentage of people might think I am a Flüchtling. But, when it is difficult to communicate I can always resort to English and if this whole Germany thing does not work out I can catch a flight back to Toronto and go eat cherries on my porch… Because… I am not a refugee. But, there is an astronomical amount of people in our world who are and who cannot do that, because there is no home for them to return too. So, the decision to resettle them is truly the choice between life and death…
… and that is daunting…
But, as a child of immigrants and a young person who has spent a lot of time with new migrants and refugees I have to believe that the move forward is to cling to our threads of friendship and common humanity. Because not to do so is to turn a blind eye to millions of people who just want a chance to live, and to do so is to invite people from different walks of life to bring their worlds to you, as you do yours.
… and that is how social integration begins.
Don’t believe me? Well… why don’t you try it?
Message me if your are interested in helping new settlers in your own communities.
