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The Displaced | 360 VR Video | The New York Times

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How Virtual Reality Can Create the Ultimate Empathy Machine by Chris Milk (TED Talk--March 2015)

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How Virtual Reality Can Create the Ultimate Empathy Machine by Chris Milk (TED Talk--March 2015)

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How virtual reality can create the ultimate empathy machine

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Chris Milk uses cutting edge technology to produce astonishing films that delight and enchant. But for Milk, the human story is the driving force behind everything he does. In this short, charming talk, he shows some of his collaborations with musicians including Kanye West and Arcade Fire, and describes his latest, mind-bending experiments with virtual reality. (This talk was part of a session at TED2015 guest-curated by Pop-Up Magazine: popupmagazine.com or @popupmag on Twitter.)

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View Stories of Home in 3D on the Occulus Store by clicking the above link and using a VR headset.
Most current applications for virtual reality filmmaking lie in the commercial or gaming realm. StoryCenter's Artist-in-Residence Parul Wadhwa has expanded the vision of our Stories of Home program by adding virtual reality (VR) filmmaking techniques to the mix. With Parul's support and guidance, a small group of three immigrant and refugee women came together online in 2020, during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic, to explore and share memories of material objects they hold most dear. In this participatory workshop, the women identified objects of significance in their lives, told stories, and reflected on their intersecting identities as women, migrants, mothers, daughters, people of color, activists, healers, and artists.

From this collaborative process, story scripts emerged and were audio recorded by the storytellers. Parul then worked with 3D illustrators, programmers, and sound designers to craft a set of individual VR videos, which enable viewers to literally enter into stories they have never encountered, thus opening the possibility of connection and intimacy between storytellers and story watchers. Watch the Stories of Home VR Trailer

Our hope is that the vulnerability of the storytellers in sharing their own precious memories will in turn spark poignant memories of home for viewers, and that in this shared emotional space, compassion can grow. Special thanks to the Ngawang, Nahid, and Anju for collaborating with us on these stories. The three VR stories produced include (shown here as 2D videos on YouTube):

The Prayerbook. Ngawang Lama was born in Nepal to Tibetan parents who left their country due to the Chinese occupation. She was brought up in Nepal and India, and has to date never visited her home country (Tibet). Ngawang immigrated to the U.S. in 2017, with her husband and their two children. She currently works as a nursing assistant in an assisted-living facility in Berkeley, California, and is attending classes to become a registered nurse. In her VR story, Ngawang shares her own connection to a precious Buddhist prayer scroll. Passed down to her through generations, the scroll reminds her of her grandmother and mother. Taking care of it has been a constant in Ngawang's long journey. She prays to the scroll daily and draws wisdom from it about how to live her life- with strength, fortitude, and compassion.

The Poet. Nahid Fattahi is an Afghan-American writer, activist, and mental health practitioner who uses storytelling and poetry to create new narratives of refugees and others whose voices are often silenced. She works in the San Francisco Bay Area as an adjunct professor of psychology and as a psychotherapist. Nahid's VR story is a tribute to the gift of poetry that she received from her father. As a young girl, she wrote her first poem at age eight and used to recite poetry for guests in her family's home in Afghanistan, until they were forced to flee the country during its war with the Soviet Union in the 1980s. After subsequently being trafficked as a child bride, Nahid arrived in the U.S. with a book of poems inscribed with a still-intact dedication from her now-deceased father. She cherishes the book and dedication to this day.

The Red Ribbon. Anju Subbaand her family came to the U.S. in 2010, as part of the resettlement of Nepalis who escaped ethnic cleansing in Bhutan. She lived and worked in the Bay Area as an aesthetician and a leader serving the Bhutanese refugee community, before moving to Pennsylvania in early 2021. In Anju's VR story, she speaks of the brightred ribbon she was required to wear in the school she attended, located in the refugee camp in Nepal where she grew up. Her mother insisted that she keep her hair short, as it was easier to care for, that way. As a girl, Anju wanted to wear her hair down, but she and her friends did their best to tie their colored ribbons in creative ways. Now, she brings this creative flair to her work as a hairstylist.
Stories of Home has screened at the following film festivals: Austin Indie Fest If you're interested in making a contribution to further our work with Stories of Home, donate now. (U.S.), Beijing International Film Festival (China), Bilbao Seriesland Web Fest Festival (Spain), deadCenter Film Festival of Oklahoma City (U.S.; recipient of Honorable Mention); FIVARS - Festival of International Virtual & Augmented Reality Stories (Canada), Florida Film Festival (U.S.; an Academy Award qualifying film festival), Harlem International Film Festival (U.S.; winner of the Best of VR award category); World Film Carnival (Singapore; winner of a Best of AR/VR Certificate of Achievement). The project was also screened online by the California Film Institute and presented in the 360 films exhibition section of the Diversity and Inclusion Research Conference in New York City.
Special thanks to our community partners at the Center for Empowering Refugees and Immigrants' Wellness in Action program, the East Bay Refugee and Immigrant Forum, and the California Film Institute, for their support. This project has been supported in part by an anonymous family foundation located in the San Francisco Bay Area; the East Bay Fund for Artists; and the California Arts Council, a state agency.

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View Stories of Home in 3D on the Occulus Store by clicking the above link and using a VR headset. Most current applications for virtual reality filmmaking lie in the commercial or gaming realm. StoryCenter's Artist-in-Residence Parul Wadhwa has expanded the vision of our Stories of Home program by adding virtual reality (VR) filmmaking techniques to the mix.

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A Syrian Refugee in Lebanon | 360° VR experience

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The Forgotten: Refugee Camps in DRC Congo

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The Forgotten: Refugee Camps in DRC Congo

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VR Gorilla - Virtual Reality & 360 Videos

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The Forgotten - Refugee Camps in DRC Congo - VR Experience

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VR Gorilla - Virtual Reality & 360 Videos

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The Forgotten: Yumba - 360 VR Short Film - Refugees in DRC Congo

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We Are Displaced: My Journey and Stories from Refugee Girls Around the World

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Amazon.com: We Are Displaced: My Journey and Stories from Refugee Girls Around the World: 9780316523646: Yousafzai, Malala: Books

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Reviewed by Deborah Menkart

Review Source: Teaching for Change
Book Author: Margriet Ruurs

This bilingual children's picture book (English and Arabic) is worth reading for the illustrations alone. The three dimensional characters, made from beach stone by Syrian artist Nizar Ali Badr, are so expressive and exquisite that they tell a story of their own. Badr conveys the plight of refugees, although he himself has never left Syria. He explains, "How could I leave the country that gave to humanity the world's oldest writing, the cuneiform alphabet?"

Author Margriet Ruurs has added a story of a young girl who also loves Syria, yet is forced to flee when the bombs fall close to her family home. The text conveys the beauty of daily life in her homeland, the pain of leaving, and the fact that the journey is so dangerous that not all travelers survive.

The realistic nature of the book then shifts when the refugees arrive in another country, welcomed with open arms. Adults can explain to young readers that while this is how it should be, sadly it is not the norm. Additionally, the publisher's promotional description of the book references Syria's "civil war" instead of the injustice from foreign intervention. Badr is quoted on his website as saying that he feels the "deepest love for my homeland that is suffering from the appalling injustice inflicted upon it by alien global elites." The publisher should have included not only Badr's illustrations, but also his political knowledge and analysis of Syria. We recommend getting the book for the illustrations and supplementing the text while reading it aloud.

Additional review from Kirkus Reviews.

Publisher's synopsis: This unique picture book was inspired by the stone artwork of Syrian artist Nizar Ali Badr, discovered by chance by Canadian children's writer Margriet Ruurs. The author was immediately impressed by the strong narrative quality of Mr. Badr's work, and, using many of Mr. Badr's already-created pieces, she set out to create a story about the Syrian refugee crisis. Stepping Stones tells the story of Rama and her family, who are forced to flee their once-peaceful village to escape the ravages of the civil war raging ever closer to their home. With only what they can carry on their backs, Rama and her mother, father, grandfather and brother, Sami, set out to walk to freedom in Europe. Nizar Ali Badr's stunning stone images illustrate the story. Orca Book Publishers offers this book as a dual-language (English and Arabic) edition. Translated by Falah Raheem.

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Stepping Stones: A Refugee Family's Journey - Social Justice Books

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Reviewed by Deborah Menkart Review Source: Teaching for Change Book Author: This bilingual children's picture book (English and Arabic) is worth reading for the illustrations alone. The three dimensional characters, made from beach stone by Syrian artist Nizar Ali Badr, are so expressive and exquisite that they tell a story of their own.

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When Stars Are Scattered by Victoria Jamieson and Omar Mohamed

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When Stars Are Scattered by Victoria Jamieson and Omar Mohamed

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When Stars Are Scattered - Social Justice Books

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Reviewed by Lidwien Kapteijns Book Source: African Access Book Author: This graphic novel for 9-12 year-old readers is a real masterpiece. It is based on the life of a Somali boy called Omar, who had to flee his rural village in Somalia in 1991 when he was four, and, together with his mentally challenged younger […]

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Stormy Seas: Stories of Young Boat Refugees

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Stormy Seas: Stories of Young Boat Refugees

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stormy seas: stories of young boat refugees

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social topics - emigration & immigration

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juvenile nonfiction / social topics / emigration & immigration

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Stormy Seas: Stories of Young Boat Refugees

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The phenomenon of desperate refugees risking their lives to reach safety is not new. For hundreds of years, people have left behind family, friends, and all they know in hope of a better life. This book presents five true stories about young people who lived through the harrowing experience of se...

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The Arrival is a migrant story told as a series of wordless images. A man leaves his wife and child in an impoverished town, seeking better prospects in an unknown country on the other side of a vast ocean. He eventually finds himself in a bewildering city of foreign customs, peculiar animals, curious floating objects and indecipherable languages. With nothing more than a suitcase and a handful of currency, the immigrant must find a place to live, food to eat and some kind of gainful employment. He is helped along the way by sympathetic strangers, each carrying their own unspoken history: stories of struggle and survival in a world of incomprehensible violence, upheaval and hope
The following is an extract from an article written in 2006 for Viewpoint Magazine, describing some of the ideas and process behind this book.
Looking over much of my previous work as an illustrator and writer, such as The Rabbits (about colonisation), The Lost Thing (about a creature lost in a strange city) or The Red Tree (a girl wandering through shifting dreamscapes), I realise that I have a recurring interest in notions of 'belonging', particularly the finding or losing of it. Whether this has anything to do with my own life, I'm not sure, it seems to be more of a subconscious than conscious concern. One contributing experience may have been that of growing up in Perth, one of the most isolated cities in the world, sandwiched between a vast desert and ocean. More specifically, my parents pegged a spot in a new northern suburb that was quite devoid of any clear cultural identity or history. A vague awareness of Indigenous displacement (which later sharpened into focus with a project like The Rabbits) only further troubled any sense of a connection to a 'homeland' in this universe of bulldozed tabula rasa coastal dunes, and fast-tracked, walled-in housing estates.

Being a half-Chinese child at a time a place when this was fairly unusual may have compounded this, as I was constantly being asked 'where are you from?' to which my unsatisfactory response of 'here' only prompted a deeper inquiry. At least this was far more positive attention than the occasional low-level racism I experienced growing up in 1980's Western Australia, and which I also noticed directed either overtly or surreptitiously at my Chinese father from time to time. I did have a vague sense of separateness, an unclear notion of identity or detachment from roots, on top of that traditionally contested concept of what it is to be Australian, or worse, un-Australian (whatever that might mean).

Beyond any personal issues, though, I think that the 'problem' of belonging is perhaps more of a basic existential question that everybody deals with from time to time, if not on a regular basis. It especially rises to the surface when things go wrong with our usual lives, when something challenges our comfortable reality or defies our expectations - which is typically the moment when a good story begins too. We often find ourselves in new realities - a new school, job, relationship or country, any of which demand some reinvention of 'belonging'.

This was uppermost in my mind during the long period of work on The Arrival, a book which deals with the theme of migrant experience. Given my preoccupation with strangers in strange lands, it was an obvious one to tackle, a story about somebody leaving their home to find a new home in an unseen country, where even the most basic details of ordinary life are strange, confronting or confusing - not to mention beyond the grasp of familiar language. It's a scenario I had been thinking about for a number of years before it crystallised into a narrative form.

The book had no single source of inspiration, but rather represents the convergence of several ideas. I had been thinking at one stage about the somewhat invisible history of the Chinese in Western Australia, particularly in an area of South Perth once used as vast market gardens a century ago, which is now grassed parkland. I did a little research into who these people were and how they related to the Anglo-Australian community around them, and came to be particularly motivated by one short story, 'Wong Chu and The Queen's Letterbox' by the West Australian writer T.A.G. Hungerford, which draws on the author's childhood memories of a strange, segregated group of misunderstood men, and considers their tragic isolation from families back in China.

Drawing on more immediate sources, my father came to Australia from Malaysia in 1960 to study architecture, where he met my mother in who was then working in a store that supplied technical pens (hence my existence some time later - I have a special appreciation for technical pens). Dad's stories are sketchy, and usually focus on specific details, as is the way of most anecdotes - the unpalatable food, too cold or too hot weather, amusing misunderstandings, difficult isolation, odd student jobs and so on. In researching a variety of other migrant stories, beginning with post-war Australia and then broadening out to periods of mass-migration to the US around 1900, it was the day-to-day details that seemed most telling and suggested some common, universal human experiences. I was reminded that migration is a fundamental part of all human history, both in the distant and recent past. On gathering further anecdotes of overseas-born friends - and my wife who comes from Finland - as well as looking at old photographs and documents, I became aware of the many common problems faced by all migrants, regardless of nationality and destination: grappling with language difficulties, crushing home-sickness, poverty, a loss of social status and recognisable qualifications, not to mention the separation from loved ones.

In seeking to re-imagine such circumstances, of which I have no first-hand experience, my original idea for a fairly conventional picture book developed into a quite different kind of structure. It seemed that a longer, more fragmented visual sequence without any words would best capture a certain feeling of uncertainty and discovery I absorbed from my research. I was also struck with the idea of borrowing the 'language' of old pictorial archives and family photo albums I'd been looking at, which have both a documentary clarity and an enigmatic, sepia-toned silence. It occurred to me that photo albums are really just another kind of picture book that everybody makes and reads, a of chronological images illustrating the story of someone's life. They work by inspiring memory and urging us to fill in the silent gaps, animating them with the addition of our own storyline.

In 'The Arrival', the absence of any written description also plants the reader more firmly in the shoes of an immigrant character. There is no guidance as to how the images might be interpreted, and we must ourselves search for meaning and seek familiarity in a world where such things are either scarce or concealed. Words have a remarkable magnetic pull on our attention, and how we interpret attendant images: in their absence, an image can often have more conceptual space around it, and invite a more lingering attention from a reader who might otherwise reach for the nearest convenient caption, and let that rule their imagination.

I was particularly impressed by Raymond Briggs' The Snowman, having come across it for the first time while thinking about my migrant story. In silent pencil drawings, Briggs describes a boy building a snowman which then comes to life, and is introduced to the magical indoor world of light-switches, running water, refrigeration, clothing and so on; the snowman in turn introduces the boy to the night-time world of snow, air and flight. The parallels between this situation and my own gestating project were very strong, so I could not help reading the silent snowman and small boy as migrants, discovering the ordinary miracles of each other's country in a modest, enchanting fashion. It also confirmed the power of the silent narrative, not only in removing the distraction of words, but slowing down to reader so that they might mediate on each small object and action, as well as reflect in many different ways on the story as a whole.

Of course, this came at some expense, as words are wonderfully convenient conveyors of ideas. In their absence, even describing the simplest of actions, like someone packing a suitcase, buying a ticket, cooking a meal or asking for work threatened to become a very complicated, laborious and potentially slippery exercise in drawing. I had to find a way of carrying this kind of narrative that was practical, clear and visually economical.

Unwittingly, I had found myself working on a graphic novel rather than a picture book. There is not a great difference between the two, but in a graphic novel there is perhaps far more emphasis on continuity between multiple frames, actually closer in many ways to film-making than book illustration. I have never been a great reader of comics (having come at illustration as a painter) so much of my research was redirected to a study of different kinds of comics and graphic novels. What shapes are the panels? How many should be on a page? What is the best way to cut from one moment to the next? How is the pace of the narrative controlled, especially when there are no words? A useful reference was Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud, which details many aspects of 'sequential art' in a way that is both theoretical and practical, not least because it's a textbook written as a comic - and very cleverly done. I noticed also that many Japanese comics (manga) use large tracts of silent narrative, and exploit a sense of visual timing that is slightly different from Western comics, which I found very instructive. Simultaneously, I had been working in some capacity as an animation director recently with a studio in London, adapting The Lost Thing as a short film (where much of the narrative is silent) and closely studying to the techniques used by storyboard artists and editors in that industry. All of these pieces of 'research' informed the style and structure of the book over several full-length revisions.

The actual process of then producing the final images came to be more like film-making than conventional illustration. Realising the importance of consistency over multiple panels, coupled with a stylistic interest in early photographs, I physically constructed some basic 'sets' using bits of wood and fridge-box cardboard, furniture and household objects. These became simple models for drawn structures in the book, anything from towering buildings to breakfast tables. With the right lighting, and some helpful friends acting out the roles of characters plotted in rough drawings, I was able to video or photograph compositions and sequences of action that seemed to approximate each scene. Selecting still images, I played with these by digitally, distorting, adding and subtracting, drawing over the top of them, and testing various sequences to see how they could be 'read'. These became the compositional references for finished drawings that were produced by a more old-fashioned method - graphite pencil on cartridge paper. For each page of up to twelve images, the whole process took about a week, not including any rejects, of which there were several.

Much of the difficulty involved combining realistic reference images of people and objects into a wholly imaginary world, as this was always my central concept. In order to best understand what it is like to travel to a new country, I wanted to create a fictional place equally unfamiliar to readers of any age or background (including myself). This of course is where my penchant for 'strange lands' took flight, as I had some early notions of a place where birds are 'bird-like' and trees 'tree-like'; where people dress strangely, apartment fixtures are confounding and ordinary street activities are very peculiar. This is what I imagine it must be like for many immigrants, a condition ideally examined through illustration, where every detail can be hand-drawn.

That said, imaginary worlds should never be 'pure fantasy', and without a concrete ring of truth, they can easily cripple the reader's suspended disbelief, or simply confuse them too much. I'm always interested in striking the right balance between everyday objects, animals and people, and their much more fanciful alternatives. In the case of 'The Arrival', I drew heavily my own memories of travelling to foreign countries, that feeling of having basic but imprecise notions of things around me, an awareness of environments saturated with hidden meanings: all very strange yet utterly convincing. In my own nameless country, peculiar creatures emerge from pots and bowls, floating lights drift inquisitively along streets, doors and cupboards conceal their contents, and all around are notices that beckon, invite or warn in loud, indecipherable alphabets. These are all equivalents to some moments I've experienced as a traveller, where even simple acts of understanding are challenging.

One of my main sources for visual reference was New York in the early 1900s, a great hub of mass-migration for Europeans. A lot of my 'inspirational images' blu-tacked to the walls of my studio were old photographs of immigrant processing at Ellis Island, visual notes that provided underlying concepts, mood and atmosphere behind many scenes that appear in the book. Other images I collected depicted street scenes in European, Asian and Middle-Eastern cities, old-fashioned vehicles, random plants and animals, shopfront signs and posters, apartment interiors, photos of people working, eating, talking and playing, all of them chosen as much for their ordinariness as their possible strangeness. Elements in my drawings evolved gradually from these fairly simple origins. A colossal sculpture in the middle of a city harbour, the first strange sight that greets arriving migrants, suggests some sisterhood with the Statue of Liberty. A scene of a immigrants traveling in a cloud of white balloons was inspired by pictures of migrants boarding trains as well as the night-time spawning of coral polyps, two ideas associated by common underlying themes - dispersal and regeneration.

Even the most imaginary phenomena in the book are intended to carry some metaphorical weight, even though they don't refer to specific things, and may be hard to fully explain. One of the images I had been thinking about for years involved a scene of rotting tenement buildings, over which are 'swimming' some kind of huge black serpents. I realised that these could be read a number of ways: literally, as an infestation of monsters, or more figuratively, as some kind of oppressive threat. And even then it is open to the individual reader to decide whether this might be political, economic, personal or something else, depending on what ideas or feelings the picture may inspire.

I am rarely interested in symbolic meanings, where one thing stands for something else, because this dissolves the power of fiction to be reinterpreted. I'm more attracted to a kind of intuitive resonance or poetry we can enjoy when looking at pictures, and understanding what we see without necessarily being able to articulate it. One key character in my story is a creature that looks something like a walking tadpole, as big as a cat and intent on forming an uninvited friendship with the main protagonist. I have my own impressions as to what this is about, again something to do with learning about acceptance and belonging, but I would have a lot of trouble trying to express this fully in words. It seems to make much more sense as a series of silent pencil drawings.

I am often searching in each image for things that are odd enough to invite a high degree of personal interpretation, and still maintain a ring of truth. The experience of many immigrants actually draws an interesting parallel with the creative and critical way of looking I try to follow as an artist. There is a similar kind of search for meaning, sense and identity in an environment that can be alternately transparent and opaque, sensible and confounding, but always open to re-assessment. I would hope that beyond its immediate subject, any illustrated narrative might encourage its readers take a moment to look beyond the 'ordinariness' of their own circumstances, and consider it from a slightly different perspective. One of the great powers of storytelling is that invites us to walk in other people's shoes for a while, but perhaps even more importantly, it invites us to contemplate our own shoes also. We might do well to think of ourselves as possible strangers in our own strange land. What conclusions we draw from this are unlikely to be easily summarised, all the more reason to think further on the connections between people and places, and what we might mean when we talk about 'belonging'.

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The Arrival is a migrant story told as a series of wordless images. A man leaves his wife and child in an impoverished town, seeking better prospects in an unknown country on the other side of a vast ocean. He eventually finds himself in a bewildering city of foreign customs, peculiar animals, curious floating objects and indecipherable languages.

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The collective tale of Syrian refugees’ attempt to escape the horrors of their country’s civil war in search of a better tomorrow.

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The Horn Book Guide Online is fully searchable by author/illustrator, title, subject, bibliographic data, rating, and keyword. New features include useful, timely, and topical booklists -curated by Horn Book editors and updated frequently-as well as the ability to save all your favorite titles to "My Library."

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Children's Books That Illustrate the Refugee Experience

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Children's Books That Illustrate the Refugee Experience

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Staff Picks: Children’s Books That Illustrate the Refugee Experience

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This year in celebration of World Refugee Day our staff has hand-picked children’s books that highlight the refugee experience.

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Books To Help Kids Understand What It’s Like To Be a Refugee

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Books To Help Kids Understand What It’s Like To Be a Refugee

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We see the news stories about refugees almost every day. We hear the true but almost unimaginable accounts of families forced to flee their homes, their homelands, their entire lives. While we may wish that our children didn't have to know about such trauma, the facts are that it's real and very present - and there are countless children actually living it. Stories can facilitate dialogue and promote healthy communication on this difficult topic, help to foster empathy and understanding, and even inspire young readers to take action to ensure safe and welcoming environments in their own communities. Here are a few titles that can help:

Picture Books

Young Adult

As the refugee situations worldwide grow increasingly urgent and complex, be proactive about engaging your children in conversations about what it means to be a refugee, and how citizens of all ages can work to make newcomers feel welcome and safe. Remember that children respond to trauma and challenges in different ways, and there is no "typical" refugee or "single story" that represents the myriad experiences children have in these situations.

For additional suggestions, check out the Teaching Tolerance's " Immigrant and Refugee Children: A Guide for Educators and School Support Staff." The British Red Cross also has a helpful fact sheet on the refugee crisis around the world, with definitions, that can be found here. And Amnesty International provides links to a number of resources for children of all ages, including an online educational game called Against All Odds, which you can find here.

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Books to Help Kids Understand What It's Like to Be a Refugee | Brightly

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We see the news stories about refugees almost every day. We hear the true but almost unimaginable accounts of families forced to flee their homes, their homelands, their entire lives. While we may wish that our children didn't have to know about such trauma, the facts are that it's real and very present - and there are countless children actually living it.

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“Breaking the Fourth Wall”: The Effects of Cinematic Virtual Reality (Trudeau et al., 2023)

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“Breaking the Fourth Wall”: The Effects of Cinematic Virtual Reality (Trudeau et al., 2023)

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The Power of Storyliving: A Study of Adolescent Students’ Responses (Trudeau et al., 2024)

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The Power of Storyliving: A Study of Adolescent Students’ Responses (Trudeau et al., 2024)