Saturday, July 31, 1999
Despair to hope:
Refugees move on
By Gael P. Mustapha
Special to the Star-BulletinA 3-year-old from Kosovo told Chaplain (Maj.) John Stepp, "I can't sing my songs because they burned up in my house back home." Within two weeks after arriving at Ft. Dix, N.J.'s Operation Provide Refuge "village," this youngster was singing again, loud and clear with a smile on his face.
Another 3-year-old literally saved her daddy's life when Serbs broke into her family's home. The child grabbed onto her daddy's legs and refused to let go. She cried loudly, "Don't kill my daddy, please." The attacking Serb somehow found it in his heart to walk out of the house without killing.
Stories of the travesty in Kosovo are legion among these refugees, according to Stepp. He found his duty at Dix to be "one of the greatest blessings in my life." (This reporter and former Hawaii resident, who spent parts of two days with some of the refugees, agrees that it was a peak experience in her writing life.)
Stepp told of a 10-year-old girl who was afraid of him at first because of the cross on his beret, which signified Christian. "Milosevic, the 'bad man,' is Christian." Before she headed out to resettle in a new community, she'd become Stepp's friend, learning that not all Christians are bad.
The chaplain and 40 other active-duty military personnel from Ft. Bragg, N.C., were part of the multi-agency Joint Task Force operation to help more than 4,000 Kosovo refugees who came from camps they fled to in Macedonia.
Active duty, reservists, National Guard, and volunteers from the Department of Health and Human Services, American Red Cross, Immigration and others participated in this humanitarian operation to process and assist refugees with resettlement in the U.S.Gen. Thomas A. Schwartz, commander of the Army's Forces Command, called Operation Provide Refuge a "huge success, an example of our military personnel putting their training to good use in service, not only to country, but to mankind."
He noted profound feelings of good "as we help these people, children, families. We gave hope to many who had lost hope. That's what America is about."
Most people here don't have a clue what it's like to flee from their homeland with five minutes notice and little more than the clothes on their backs, facing an entire future of uncertainty. These Albanian refugees suffered atrocities, walked a long way to refugee camps, then boarded planes to fly to more uncertainty in America.
More than 4,000 men, women and children sought refuge in this tiny "village" from a Serb war that killed more than 10,000 during 78 days of NATO bombing in Kosovo. This represents about half the number of refugees who came to the U.S.
In New Jersey, many began to turn tragedy into new hope as an uneasy, potentially disreputable peace begins in the middle of an age-old hatred which prevails in their homeland. Peace keepers, including the U.S. and its allies, are hard-pressed to effect law and order, and prevent Albanian revenge against Serbs still in Kosovo as hate continues to simmer.
Refugees' stories are heart-wrenching. While in the "village" at Dix, they often gathered on the grass, under the trees at chairs and tables to practice their new language, to play with their children, and to talk among themselves or with the media.
Through an interpreter, Emrush Dullovi expressed pleasure at having arrived with his wife and six children. An electrician in Vata Kacanik, he had hoped to come to America someday: "I had no real plans, but here we are. It is good."
He indicated he would some day like to return to Kosovo, but only when it "is a better place." He's not certain where he will go in the U.S. or when, but is willing to try to make a new life here for his family.
The Dullovi family left mothers and brothers in Macedonia. They were uncomfortable talking about what was behind. Instead, they talked about culture shock. "The children have problems with food. It's so different." He added quickly, "But America...people give us chance to say everything without being afraid. I feel safe here. Thank you, Americans."
Agim Shaqiri, an attorney in his homeland and a refugee, served as interpreter. He apologized for his English, which was good.
Obviously a fast learner, he built on the culture shock remark: "I don't eat the bread here. Too sweet." He came with his wife and child. "For me, it is practical to stay here some time, to improve my English, gain experience."
He also noted that American journalists don't pronounce Kosovo correctly. "It's Kosavah (Ka-sa-va with short a, accent on the first syllable). They keep talking about Yugoslavia, too. It doesn't really exist any more."
At the close-out ceremony, Agim spoke on behalf of the refugees at Fort Dix: "You gave us back our hope." He looks forward now, to life "after all that has happened."
Refugees have six months to decide to stay or return home; after that, they must pay for their own return to Kosovo. As refugees, they are in the U.S. legally. They quality for assistance with housing, youth school enrollment and employment. They are encouraged to find work. After a year, they can become permanent residents. After five years, they can apply for U.S. citizenship. This country is committed to helping them return to Kosovo when it is safe.
Some refugees are being sponsored by relatives already in this country. There are also 10 resettlement agencies with networks of more than 400 local affiliates helping across the nation.
One refugee, Bajaram Rama, was able to express his deep-seated anger and confusion related to just about everything in his two months at Fort Dix. "I am confused. We don't get answers. I feel I'm being mistreated psychologically."
Often, refugees didn't learn where they were going until 24 hours prior to departure. "This is frustrating, monotonous. I want to go back to Kosovo. This was a dream, to come to America one day, but not this way. This camp was not my idea of America."
Master Sgt. Donna Gauze, assigned to the aerospace medical unit at a nearby Air Force base, has volunteered with the refugees on lunch hours and weekends for two months: "You get attached. It's a mixed feeling when they leave to resettle. You want them to go, wish them well in finding new lives, but it's sad, too. You made friends. I'll miss them."
Carmen Nazario, deputy assistant secretary for children and families, added, "Everybody here will be remembered for their untiring dedication to offer a new beginning to homeless people. This refugee assistance gives a new appreciation of what it means to be an American."
Gael Mustapha, a Hawaii resident for 30 years,
retired as communications director of the state
Department of Education. She lives in Arizona,
but is spending the summer in New Jersey.
