Carving Lost Human Space

Displaced individuals and refugees often intrigue me due to the multiple ways in which their identity shifts and the challenges they have to face in rebuilding a new life. Human beings have faced this not once and not only in any one continent. Most people, in general, also experience transition to and from new lands in some mild way, at least once in their life.

The loss of stability in what you call your territorial space has been an issue as old as eternity itself. When you don't own your own piece of home or land of any kind, the person is vulnerable to being treated like a number on a constantly moving boat of uncertainty or is considered a lost child, devoid of ownership, and exposed to fluctuating or difficult conditions. Before they know, due to lack of any better norms, such individuals are at risk of dehumanized because to the world they become displaced property for whom decisions are made by wise people in power found nearby. Hence the help that follows for any such people is generally financial in nature, similar to taking care of poultry in which basic everyday existence is made possible. Life is saved. However, to me what is quite feasible and more important to provide are the socially built conditions that can introduce a sense of safety and belongingness, which mainly requires constructive human skills, not much money.

Let me give an example of how this is often attained naturally in refugee camps, particularly the ones that undergo a shift in becoming a place of transit to almost looking like a small village. Here's one example from one of the largest refugee camps found in Jordan. The children born in similar camps later may not even feel like displaced individuals or refugees waiting to return home. Intergenerational stories, however, help them trace a past which can give some perspective about what their ancestors were capable of psychologically and physically, and what they may be able to imagine for a better future. The priceless intangible gift that is shared intergenerationally here is culture, not land. Here's why.

Culture can make a city.

Not once but every time people find themselves in no man's land. Even in the initial establishment of any large or ancient city, people must have initially come together in some organized manner to cover shared psychological and cultural needs, not just to plan the design of buildings. Humanness is what is built during these initial phases of city establishment and is what people essentially are majorly devoid of when displaced. When people lose homes for any reason and have to find new spaces, initially most may think how the loss of land is what they were mourning. Seen closely, land was only a symbol of stable respect and humanness, which is why a balm of relief is felt when people form new relationships with others facing similar fate.

Slowly, a city begins to get formed once enough people accumulate and understand the above well. The socially congenial nature of human beings is such that it can resume humanized existence lost due to displacement or similarly shared conditions. The original land of existence finds new roots in a new space, and for a second people may forget of themselves as lost, nomadic, or destitutes of any kind or nature. We have the capacity to regularly build our identity through shared culture and practices. People only take care of lands. We don't necessarily own land in permanent ways for a very simple reason.

Land was here and will be here regardless of human inhabitation. We make the frequent mistake of calling any land our own when most of what human beings are able to achieve is taking care of land, similar to how a bird mends and grooms the nurturing trees they inhabit.

In light of this idea, a few suggestions for building humanization for displaced people are:

1. Providing low-cost nutritious food close to what is found in the people's original culture instead of simply giving boxed food items that'll keep people alive. Good tasting food, considerate of cuisine, generates a sense of respect and reminds of being a normal human being, particularly when coupled with a sense of physical safety and security.

2. Community meetings in which people get to share their stories, who they are and inform others of the skills they can contribute with to build a resumed community.

3. Access to clean spaces and decent living conditions, similar to what a home looks like, even if made possible in a small space.

4. Being free from the fear of daily or immediate danger to safety.

5. Redefining what 'home' means to the person, culturally, and thinking of their priorities in life in terms of values that may matter even after death.

6. Participating in recreational activities including dance and music, making crafts, and playing simple games, even if enabled for 30 minutes or one hour each day.

7. Applying spirituality in daily life, if the person has spiritual beliefs, in a way that enhances a sense of connectedness to a higher sense of order and builds personal competence. For example, 'Complete one good deed each day.' 'Complete a small piece of art, poetry, story, or craft each day.'

8. Being surrounded by works of art reminding people of their shared culture. To the senses, and eyes in particular, the immediate world you see can always be made beautiful. For examples, see here.

9. Introducing more green spaces by planting trees or grass can also visually give a sense of stability and peace.

   
   

An Indian song from 1994 captures the essence of constantly finding your permanent home. I have hummed this song several times while walking my dog in the forest paths of Virginia in the United States, when no one was looking. The lyrics, written by Gulzar, are as follows:

Yeh faasle teri galiyon ke humse tay naa huay.

Hazaar baar ruke hum, hazaar baar chaley.

(Translation: The distances of your streets couldn't be captured by me.

I stopped a thousand times; I kept walking a thousand times.)