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Sudanese Refugees

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Journey into the mind of a Sudanese refugee with UN audio show

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The sound of gunshots and the voices of militia fighters are the kind of threatening noise most Hongkongers only hear on television in one of the wealthiest and safest cities in the world....

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New refugees given land to help promote self-sufficiency and integrate people into local economy
The conflict in South Sudan is still raging and people continue to flee into neighbouring countries. WFP photographer Marco Frattini and I travelled to northwestern Kenya to hear their stories.
It took Martha 11 days to make the journey from her home in South Sudan to reach the safety of the Kakuma refugee camps in Kenya, where she can finally share a meal in peace with her seven children. With the war now entering its fifth year Martha, from a Dinka farming family, is one of the thousands of South Sudanese who continue to flee fighting and near-famine conditions.

Steaming vats of beans and maize are prepared for refugees who have just arrived and those being registered for a place to live. Large families queue up on the left, smaller ones on the right.

Kakuma, home to 180,000 refugees, is a vast series of camps in the dusty, poverty-stricken region Turkana, in northwest Kenya. People pick up a monthly food allowance and take it home. They also get a proportion of their entitlement in cash, which means they can shop for their family and choose what they eat. Rhoda Achol Kongor spent her childhood in a refugee camp in Ethiopia and has lived at Kakuma since 1992. She cooks lunch for her husband Emanuel and four children.

A truck brings refugees, many from South Sudan, but others from Burundi and Somalia, from the reception centre to a food-collection point. Our photographer Marco captures the excitement of a mother about to embark on a new stage in her life.

She is about to be allotted a plot of land and somewhere to live. As part of a pilot project to help make people self-sufficient and integrate into the local economy, new refugees have been given land in Kalobeyei settlement since 2016.

Turkana has been devastated by drought, and the presence of a small city of refugees strains water resources and infrastructure. Here in Kalobeyei, next to Kakuma, refugees are working their own small patches of land.

Mary Itana Simon Matambele is growing spinach and okra. She learnt how to grow vegetables from her father, who worked on a farm in South Sudan.

"Slowly, slowly, I'll be able to cook for the six children and give them a bit of variety because there's usually only beans or cereal," she says.

The project is supported by the World Food Programme (WFP), the Food and Agriculture Organization and the European Union, and is similar to a model piloted in neighbouring Uganda.

In the refugee market at Kalobeyei, Marco and I meet a local Turkana woman clutching a sack with a handful of dried beans. She tells me her money has run out and that one of the stall-holders had given her the beans on credit. Many of the locals in this remote area of Kenya are as poor, if not poorer, than the refugees.

With support from donors and the Turkana authorities, local people have been trained in how to run a market stall so that they too can benefit from the money the refugees spend. Joyce Adiyeh, from Magwi County, South Sudan, with her one-month-old baby strapped on her back, was buying fresh green vegetables with part of the cash allowance she receives from WFP.

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Relive the sights and sounds of a refugee journey - World Food Programme Insight

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The conflict in South Sudan is still raging and people continue to flee into neighbouring countries. WFP photographer Marco Frattini and I travelled to northwestern Kenya to hear their stories. It took Martha 11 days to make the journey from her home in South Sudan to reach the safety of the Kakuma refugee camps in Kenya, where she can finally share a meal in peace with her seven children.

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BUR AMINO CAMP, Ethiopia, July 2 (UNHCR) - When Amina* first saw the tent she and her young family had been allocated in the Bur Amino refugee camp in south-east Ethiopia, she realized that this might be her home for a long time. "I have to adjust to the new environment and accept that this is my new life, the life of a refugee," the 20-year-old Somali mother of two told UNHCR recently.

She unpacked pots, the only possessions she had brought all the way from her home near Berdale in southern Somalia's Bay region. "I have to cook for and feed my kids and siblings," she explained. The next day she would get sleeping mats, kitchen sets, mosquito nets from UNHCR and her first monthly food ration from the government's Administration for Refugee and Returnee Affairs (ARRA) and the World Food Programme. That night the family was given a hot meal.
A family of Somali refugees arrives at Bur Amino camp in Ethiopia after the long journey from home. © UNHCR/J. Ose
"We were lucky to survive last year," Amina said, adding: "I saw so many people starving in my village." She was referring to victims of the worst drought to hit Somalia in more than half-a-century. It left countless people dead and forced some 300,000 to flee Somalia last year.

The situation was compounded by the violence that has devastated Somalia for over two decades and continues to displace people. In Bur Amino camp, UNHCR erects about 300 new tents a week, while also building latrines and water distribution systems, to meet the needs of new arrivals.

UNHCR and the Ethiopian authorities have agreed to extend the capacity of the six-month-old camp to more than 25,000, while finalizing site selection for a sixth camp in the Dollo Ado area, which already hosts some 157,000 Somali refugees. Many new arrivals are coming with all of their belongings, including donkeys and livestock. They say other family members and neighbors plan to follow.

Earlier in the day, Amina, and her family had looked vulnerable and lost as they sat on a wooden bench in the town of Dollo Ado and waited for a bus to take them the 12.4 miles from the border to Bur Amino. She was carrying her youngest child, five-month-old son Abdul,* in a traditional baby sling on her back, while holding the hand of her daughter Nhala,* aged six. Amina's siblings, Mohamed,* 12, and seven-year-old Sahla* sat next to her on the bench.

She said she had come to Dollo Ado because life had simply become too difficult and too dangerous, especially after her home area came under the control of a strictly conservative militia. The anti-government group imposed taxes and restrictions that made normal life and trade almost impossible.

Amina recalled days when the family had nothing to eat because she was too scared to leave home and go to the market. Her children and siblings contracted diarrhea because they were forced to drink contaminated water from a local creek. But despite the dire situation, the militants would not allow any humanitarian aid into the village.

Leaving the village was a big decision; it was the place where the young woman was born, got married at age 13, and started her own family. It was her whole world, but the food and water shortages and health risks had become a matter of life and death, especially for the young.

The children also faced another danger - forced recruitment. Somali refugees at Dollo Ado say male children aged eight years and above are at risk. "Young boys are abducted and trained to be soldiers," said one refugee at the Dollo Ado transit center.

Amina headed off for the border in mid-June in a rented vehicle, following thousands of others who have sought safety, shelter and assistance in eastern Ethiopia. Many are so poor, they have to walk. Her party included 13-year-old Hassan, a relative from a neighboring village whose parents were worried that he would be forced to become a child soldier if he stayed.

To fund the dangerous journey, Amina sold several precious goats. She said that when they left the village she was worried about what lay ahead. "People travel in groups" for better protection against militant attacks those, she said.

Amina seemed relieved when she met UNHCR staff after crossing the border. She stayed in the transit center for a couple of days, receiving food, ration cards and medical treatment before boarding the bus for Bur Amino camp. UNHCR and its partners will look after the family, which is regarded as particularly vulnerable, but life will never be the same again for Amina and her young brood.

UNHCR's representative to Ethiopia, Moses Okello, meanwhile, paid tribute to the government for providing protection and assistance to new arrivals and pledged to continue supporting this effort. But he added that a solution "lies in finding a lasting settlement to the conflict in Somalia."
* Names changed for protection reasons By Natalia Prokopchuk in Buramino Camp, Ethiopia

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A Somali refugee's long journey to Ethiopia

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BUR AMINO CAMP, Ethiopia, July 2 (UNHCR) - When Amina* first saw the tent she and her young family had been allocated in the Bur Amino refugee camp in south-east Ethiopia, she realized that this might be her home for a long time.

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About 60 Afghan men were being deported aboard a flight to Kabul from Istanbul last month, including Abdul Mohammed, right. They had spent months on a dangerous journey to Turkey, only to be returned home on a five-hour flight. Credit Credit Mujib Mashal/The New York Times

KABUL, Afghanistan - Their desperate journey out of Afghanistan, en route to safer lives in Europe, had taken months through high mountains and treacherous deserts.

They survived bullets, beatings and insults from border guards. Bandits stripped them of nearly everything except their shoes and clothes - which over the months of the journey they would wash in whatever puddle or pool was available, laying the clothes out in the sun to dry and then wear again.

But their migration halted suddenly in Turkey, and now they were being deported to a home country racked by war. I flew with them on the return flight to Kabul from Istanbul that finally ended their hopes. It took just five hours last month.

From the oval windows of the packed airplane, many of the at least 60 young men (all flying for the first time) looked down with amazement at the vast darkness beneath them. They smiled at the cruel reality of it all, as they tried to explain to me what they were feeling.

"It took us so long to get there, and now the trip is so short," said Mohammed Dawood, 19.

Mr. Dawood is from Bati Kot district, a spot in eastern Afghanistan that is under siege by the Taliban and vulnerable to Islamic State loyalists. He left for Europe when three of his friends were killed in a blast targeting a cricket match.

"They were all just like you and me - one was about to get married," he told me. "I said 'enough.'"

Since January, Turkey has deported more than 17,000 Afghans, according to Afghan officials, most of whom were trying to make it to Europe. Nearly 1,200 others have been returned from other European and Asian countries, either voluntarily or by force.

Turkey is a central stop on the most important refugee route frequented by Syrians, Afghans, Iraqis and others, many of whom then board boats to try to make it to Europe by sea.

But in 2016, as Europe struggled with a large number of refugees, it struck a deal in which Turkey would stem the flow in return for about $6 billion in aid.

From the peak of about 850,000 people arriving in Europe via Turkey by sea in 2015, the numbers dropped to 173,000 in 2016, according to United Nations figures. So far this year, about 29,000 people have arrived by sea.

While entry into Europe has become difficult, thousands of Afghans continue to arrive in Turkey through Iran. But the Turkish government has been quickly turning new arrivals right back around.

"The Turkish police would tell us, 'We are sending you home - your leader has agreed, because the population there is decreasing,'" said Fazul Rahman, 21.

For the young Afghans, none of it made sense - not the deal with Europe, not the possible agreement of their own government opening the way for their deportation. How could they be denied a simple right to a better life?

They see it more simply: They tried, they were caught, they will try again.

Still, for the moment, they were buckled into their seats, headed to homes in Afghan places that appear frequently in the news for attacks.

Some on the plane tried to figure out the entertainment system on their screens (one found his way to an Indian movie, another to a Quran recitation). Others were thankful for the first warm meal in weeks: grilled meatballs with rice and vegetables. Shoes came off aching feet.

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The deportees were taken aside for special processing at Kabul's airport. Most returned home with little more than the clothes they were wearing. Credit Mujib Mashal/The New York Times

A flight attendant walked the aisles every hour or so, spraying air freshener. When some of the men couldn't figure out how to open the lavatory doors, she stepped in to help them push in the folding door.

"We have been through such hunger. We didn't taste cooked food for a long time," said Abdul Mohammed, 19, gaptoothed and skinny in a black T-shirt. "For 15 days, we were detained at a place where they only gave us a slice of bread, a candy bar and some water."

Mr. Mohammed, from Maidan Wardak Province, worked for nearly three years as a transport shepherd of sorts. He would be given dozens of sheep and his task was to walk for days, resting in bleak deserts and mountain ridges at night, to bring the sheep to traders on the other side of the border in Pakistan.

He said the hardship of his countless journeys as a shepherd, with only a cane and a dog for protection, were nothing compared with what he saw on the way to Turkey. Border guards spit at the group of migrants he came with, and held a gun to their heads. For days, as they walked, they took turns carrying a friend whose feet had blistered. His cousin, Akbar Khan, was taken from them by the police in Iran and he has had no word of him.

As the plane gained altitude, many of them clung to their seats, their discomfort visible.

"This was nothing," Mr. Mohammed said, putting up a brave face. "You don't know what I have seen."

After the plane had landed, Ezzatullah Tanha, 21, would board a bus to Dand e Ghori, in the northern province of Baghlan. Afghan commandos have fought difficult battles there against the Taliban.

Mr. Tanha comes from a farming family. He and his three brothers grew onions and melons. Their father was killed by a roadside mine in the 1990s, when he was just 3.

When the fighting became intense in recent years, disrupting any hopes of farming a decent harvest, Mr. Tanha paid a smuggler $1,500 and set off for Iran.

"There would be as many as 33 people in the back of a Datsun," he said, referring to the trucks that would drive them through the deserts of Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iran. "The smugglers would load all of us and have us all stand next to each other, and then say 'sit.' Half of us couldn't sit - there was no space."

Mr. Tanha said Iranian border guards repeatedly fired at them. He saw at least two dead bodies on the way, just lying in the desert. At one point, the truck they were stuffed into flipped.

"There was one person whose back broke: They just dropped him at a bathroom on the way so the police doesn't see him," he said. "We all left."

He added, "What I saw - it disgusted me from life."

When the plane landed about 7 a.m. Kabul time, the young men had no part in the jostling to get out. They remained seated as flight attendants urged other passengers already opening the overhead bins to wait.

After almost everyone else had exited, and following a considerable delay (as if they waited for a miracle - that the plane might take off, with them on board) they emerged one by one. Most of them carried nothing but an empty plastic bag with their name and case number written on it, given to them by a refugee agency.

Some limped from their blisters. Others walked in their sandals, their shoes long fallen apart, to a special queue where they would be processed. One young man, scrawny in tight jeans, looked lost. He dragged his feet, the disappointment of a shattered dream, a simple wish of a better life, clearly written on his face.

Days later, I spoke to Mr. Tanha, who had reached home in Baghlan Province. He was happy to see his family, but it was difficult to explain to them why he hadn't made it.

He said he was waiting for Ramadan to finish before he made another attempt.

"I will try again," he said. "There is nothing here."

Correction:

An earlier version of this article misstated the year in which the number of migrants arriving in Europe via Turkey by sea dropped to 173,000. That occurred in 2016, not last year.

A version of this article appears in print on , on Page A11 of the New York edition with the headline: After Long Road to Turkey, Brief Flight Home Feels Cruel. Order Reprints | Today's Paper | Subscribe

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Their Road to Turkey Was Long and Grueling, but the Short Flight Home Was Crueler

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KABUL, Afghanistan - Their desperate journey out of Afghanistan, en route to safer lives in Europe, had taken months through high mountains and treacherous deserts. They survived bullets, beatings and insults from border guards.

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© James Weir

The anthropologist James Weir documents the intentions, family preparations and transit experiences of a young Afghan who left Kabul in 2015, in pursuit of security and stability in Europe.

The decision to leave Afghanistan on foot, and cross Iran and Turkey into Europe - with 250 US dollars (USD), a knapsack, and a dream of better future - warrants close ethnographic scrutiny. Over a million people, nearly a quarter of whom are Afghan, left their homelands seeking asylum on European soil in 2015 alone. 1 Among these is Akbar, a young Afghan man who left Kabul in early June 2015 and, three months, 7,000 km and 7,000 USD later, arrived in Frankfurt, Germany. In early May 2016, he anxiously awaits news of his asylum application in a refugee hostel. This article traces his family's history as refugees beginning with the Soviet-Afghan war nearly four decades ago, and details the costs and the abuses Akbar experienced enroute to Europe. We conclude: first, four decades of conflict shape how Afghans evaluate current circumstances and possible futures; and second, after the devastating toll - emotional, physical and financial - of the journey itself, the forced repatriation of asylum seekers would add yet one more vulnerable group into the country's instability.

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From Kabul with Hope: the Journey of an Afghan Refugee to Germany - L'Osservatorio: research centre on civilian victims of conflicts

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© James Weir The anthropologist James Weir documents the intentions, family preparations and transit experiences of a young Afghan who left Kabul in 2015, in pursuit of security and stability in Europe. The decision to leave Afghanistan on foot, and cross Iran and Turkey into Europe - with 250 US dollars (USD), a knapsack, and a dream of better future - warrants close ethnographic scrutiny.

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Rohingya news: the desperate journey to safety

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We Walk Together: a Syrian refugee family’s journey to the heart of Europe

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This article is the first in a series written by Piper Perabo in partnership with WhoSay and the IRC about her experience with Syrian refugees in Greece.

How bad would things have to get, for you to spend all of your money so your family could cram into a flimsy, rubber boat with 40 other people?

Imagine you can't swim, and nor can anyone else in your family.

It's night, you have no lights, and you must travel six miles across of choppy seas. There is no captain. A man who has never even been on a boat will navigate. They tell you to sit on the dinghy's inflated edge with your son on your lap. Your husband must stand, and you cannot even see your brother, because it's so dark.

How bad would things have to be, before you put your family in that boat? How bad would things have to get, before you actually felt lucky to get a spot on that boat?

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A few weeks ago, I went to Greece with the International Rescue Committee -- (the IRC) -- a global humanitarian aid , relief, and development nongovernmental organization -- to help out in any way I could. The Greek island of Lesbos is the closest to the shores of Turkey, so thousands of people arrive on these flimsy, rubber boats each day. On Lesbos, both refugees and inhabitants need all the help they can get.

We arrived by plane at in the morning. The beaches looked as if they were painted orange because of the thousands of life jacket left on shore. Refugees carry only what they absolutely need. They discard their life jackets next to the deflated dinghies.

( IRC Voice Piper Perabo visits Molyvos in Lesvos Greece to witness the arrival of refugees. While on the beach she helped clean up as well as distribute fresh fruit and water to recent arrivals.)

Hundreds of thousands of people have risked their lives on those boats. I witnessed them arriving during the day and in the middle of the night. On one occasion, I saw a woman cry out in relief and pass her children to strangers on shore as her boat struck land. One man fell to his knees on the rocky beach, raising his hands and sobbing in triumph. I have never seen anything like it.

(As you know, not everyone makes it across the water. I met a young Greek woman, who raises money to bury those who have drowned. This is not her job, but someone needed to do it. She even attempts to locate their families on Facebook, to tell then, gently, what has happened.)

Those who reach shore must cross the island to the ferry port, a grueling 40-mile walk in wet shoes on mountain roads, to the transit center so they can arrange travel to their next destination.

( Refugees land on the beach in Lesbos Greece.)

What's strange is that Greece isn't a developing country--it's Europe. In fact, Lesbos is a desirable tourist destination. The juxtaposition of vacationers heading to the beach in their swimsuits, next to soaking wet refugees carrying their meager possessions was surreal.

The walk to the ferry port along the coast is long and hot. There are no stores, no toilets, no water... just dry earth and olive trees. If you're a healthy young man with good shoes, you can make the trek in almost one day, but if you're elderly or walking with children, it can take up to three days.

Once they've made it across the island, travelers must register as refugees--a confusing and ever-changing process that can take anywhere from one day to five days--before they can take a ferry off the island. Many people sleep on the streets in small camping tents while waiting for their papers to be processed.

( Refugees walk to the northern part of Lesbos to continue their journey north into Europe.)

During the few days I was there, the IRC staff, along with local officials and volunteers, helped register more than 15,000 people. But that's not all they did. They greeted incoming boats, organized buses for people traversing the mountain roads, cleaned the transit camp, and provided shelter and assistance to the most vulnerable--all the while treating people with dignity and humanity.

What stood out to me most was just how incredibly patient and full of good will the Greek people and the refugees were after all they have been through. I got to know dozens of them during my time on the island and was moved by their kindness, sheer determination, and concern for one another.

They had made it so far, but in fact, they had only just begun.

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Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the International Rescue Committee offers emergency aid and long-term assistance to refugees and those displaced by war, persecution or natural disaster. The IRC resettles refugees and helps them become self-sufficient.

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Piper Perabo Opens Up About Helping Syrian Refugees In Greece

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This article is the first in a series written by Piper Perabo in partnership with WhoSay and the IRC about her experience with Syrian refugees in Greece. How bad would things have to get, for you to spend all of your money so your family could cram into a flimsy, rubber boat with 40 other people?

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The Center for Migration Studies of New York (CMS)

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Omar al-Muqdad - a prominent journalist, documentary filmmaker, and former Syrian refugee - writes a bi-monthly blog for CMS titled, "Dispatches from the Global Crisis in Refugee Protection." This series covers the Syrian Civil War, the experiences of Syria's immense and far-flung refugee population, the global crisis in refugee protection, religious persecution, and US refugee and immigration policies. Mr. al-Muqdad's work has been featured by the BBC, CNN, and in many other media outlets. CMS will be featuring this work in its weekly Migration Update and on its website.
The brutal war that has haunted Syria for almost seven years has displaced nearly five million Syrian civilians, forcing them to flee their war-torn home and seek consolation and protection from horrifying conditions. As human beings, the least we can do for those affected by this epic crisis is to try to empathize and understand their agony, and to recognize their essential humanity. This global crisis also requires collective action, particularly in addressing refugee protection needs in the Middle East and Europe. It is a global responsibility to aid the millions of refugees adrift in the world and to end their suffering. Yet the United States - the country that has so often stood at the forefront of refugee protection - has put a halt on the entry of many refugees and immigrants. Because of an unjustifiable fear, President Donald Trump has been pushing the United States to close its borders to refugees and immigrants, and has left the US refugee resettlement program in a state of chaos. Politicians, public intellectuals and others regularly question how to treat and view borders at this time of crisis. The refugees' experience is being starkly documented by human right organizations, the United Nations, faith communities, and others. Their reports leave no doubt about the details or scope of this human catastrophe.

To understand the Syrian refugees experience from its roots, however, one has to know the kind of life choices these refugees had before fleeing their country. Living under the whip of a dictatorship, rebel militias, and, worst of all, the terrorist group ISIS, were the only choices for many Syrians, short of fleeing their homes. Even now, when the world is announcing the defeat of ISIS in Iraq and Syria, the suffering has multiplied among Syrian civilians. In the recent battles with ISIS inside Syria, thousands of families have found themselves trapped in a war zone. While the US-led coalition were shelling the positions of the terrorist group, thousands of families living in these areas were forced to run away to safer places.

Most towns and suburbs of cities controlled by ISIS are completely destroyed. Homes, hospitals and schools have been flattened to the ground. Some areas were left with not a single sign to show that civilization ever existed there. To take for an example the latest fighting against ISIS in their stronghold city of Raqqa, east of Syria, the destruction is massive. Last month, a UN official declared that "at least four fifths of Raqqa city is now uninhabitable, partly because of material destruction, but also due to unexploded ordnance and a lack of electricity and water." What's worse is that a lot of areas controlled by ISIS are littered with some 8,000 mines planted by the so-called Islamic State. The risk of escaping these areas - without being killed by a mine, struck down by a hovering warplane or captured by ISIS - is enormous.

For two years, Fatima, a 28-year-old mother of two, who spoke to me in a recent phone interview, found herself and her two children stuck in a town near Raqqa that was controlled by ISIS. With the recently escalating fights against the terrorist group, she found herself continuously on the run in search of safety. She reached a point of desperation where she wished for the shelling and bombing to never stop so that ISIS fighters would hide, and she and her children could leave the pothole of hell in which they found themselves. "We were once a normal family, wife, husband and kids, just like any other family on earth," she said, "my husband and I were living peacefully where our ultimate worry was the kind of education that we will offer our kids. We discussed normal issues of our future and the future of our kids. But alas, all our dreams are dissolved now." Her husband was killed by ISIS in one of their raids on their town. She had to run for her life with her children to the unknown. The trip to a safe zone inside Syria took Fatima 21 days. During her journey, she and her children hid in safe houses, dealt with smugglers, and rode undercover in pickup trucks with sheep and goats.

Fatima's story stands for those of many other Syrians who are fleeing the same kind of horror. Unfortunately the refugees' agony never seems to end. These kinds of stories have swarmed my desk as a journalist every day for the past six years, overwhelming, exhausting and breaking me apart mentally and emotionally. It leaves you questioning the kind of help that can be offered to remove these people from their endless suffering and help them make it to safety. Fatima's story, like hundreds of other horror stories I've heard over the last six years, keeps me awake at night.

What does this all mean to the world and to the President of the United States in particular? It seems to be that the civilians that get crushed in world conflicts are no one's responsibility. Worse, once these refugees seek help, they get labeled a danger to national security. This entire attack on refugees and immigrants demonstrates how much this administration is misleading the public. It is very disappointing for the Trump administration to blame all national security problems on refugees and immigrants. Not to be able to distinguish between the victim and the criminal in these situations is a gross humanitarian failure, which will ultimately stigmatize this administration, not the refugees.

Furthermore, the administration's attacks on migrants and refugees have wreaked havoc on immigrants who already live in the United States. Due to the irresponsible executive orders, many immigrants cannot leave the country without fear of being rejected for re-entry. Moreover, the futures of many immigrants are in limbo. Two Syrian professors, who are also a couple, have been waiting for six years to finalize their asylum status. They find themselves stuck in the United States with no apparent hope in the horizon. Because of the strict new laws against immigrants, asylum seekers and refugees are again facing threats of deportation to the unknown. They wait indefinitely to know what their status in this country will be, if any.

It is worth noting that even though Syrian refugees are considered a new wave of immigrants to the United States, much of the small Syrian immigrant community has been residing in the country since the late 19th century. According to the Pew Research Center, approximately 83,000 people born in Syria reside in the United States, accounting for less than 0.2 percent of the overall foreign-born population of 43.3 million. More notably, most Syrian immigrants are well-integrated into society and have higher levels of education and English proficiency than the overall foreign-born population.

It is unjustified to treat immigrants as a threat to the national security based on their country of origin, ethnic background, or religion. The United States, the country built by immigrants and refugees, has become a hostile environment for those seeking safe haven. The victims of terror and mistreatment cannot possibly inflict the same terror or threats as those from whom they are fleeing. The refugee experience, as painful and agonizing as it is, nonetheless has instilled in refugees values that the United States has always embraced - resilience, pushing forward against all odds, never quitting or giving up, and gratitude to their new country. These are the qualities and values refugees would bring to the United States today.

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The Syrian Refugee Experience: A Tormented Journey into the Unknown - The Center for Migration Studies of New York (CMS)

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Omar al-Muqdad - a prominent journalist, documentary filmmaker, and former Syrian refugee - writes a bi-monthly blog for CMS titled, "Dispatches from the Global Crisis in Refugee Protection." This series covers the Syrian Civil War, the experiences of Syria's immense and far-flung refugee population, the global crisis in refugee protection, religious persecution, and US refugee ...

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First Person Account of the Refugee Experience

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First Person Account of the Refugee Experience

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A first person account of the refugee experience

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Psychologists address the U.N. community about global violence and highlight psychology's evidence-based contributions to prevent and mitigate it.

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Stories of Syrian Refugees in Lebanon - Life on Hold

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Al Jazeera's immersive, interactive video experience Life on Hold takes us to Lebanon for a close and personal look at the lives of Syrian refugees. Five years of unrelenting violence across Syria has claimed close to 200,000 lives. Towns and cities have been laid to waste.