If not I, then who
“Do not fail them. Do not look back in your life and regret not being by their side.”
These are the thoughts that race through my mind every time I feel doubt or overwhelmed by the process of getting this trip together. I’ve spent the last 10 years of my life traveling around the world and working with some of the most vulnerable groups, many having endured ethnic cleansing, genocide, sexual violence, exploitation, and extreme poverty. So now, when my beloved Palestinian brothers and sisters are hurting from incomprehensible acts of violence, I can’t and won’t remain paralyzed with fear. I may only be able to do a little bit in comparison to the much larger picture, but I can still do something.
People have been begging to come with me on this humanitarian aid trip. “We want to help those in need, please.” My answer is simply, “No.” This response, as expected, left many unhappy with me. They continue to borderline harass me for several days. I explain to them that there are too many unpredictable variables – it’s too insecure, unsafe, unstable, and simply risky. “But you’re going!” Yes, I am because I have years of field experience in emergency and unstable settings. What most people fail to realize are the countless scenarios I must consider before I even set foot on a plane. Everything from the most basic: Do I have too much luggage? Do I have enough medications for my entire trip? Did I pack enough socks? Then there’s the logistical nightmare of having to plan a trip of this caliber: How many layovers will I have? How many flights will I have to take? How much will all these flights cost? How will I get from the airport to my desired location? How expensive will the car ride be? Where will I sleep? Finally, all the security considerations I must think of: Will the area be safe? Should I go out at night alone? What if I am attacked? What if I am accused of a crime? What to do if I am arrested?
Someone asked me today if I am scared or nervous about going. And I told them that I’m not scared, but slightly nervous and anxious due to the numerous risks I am blindly walking into. I have started the process of giving copies of all of IDs – driver’s license, Global Entry card, Passport - and location of the US embassy to my siblings. God forbid something were to happen to me during my time in the field, my family would hopefully be able to locate me. These are the usual protocols I follow whenever I travel, but the risk is elevated this time around. My family is worried, especially my mom. She is worried I won’t return home. She sees things on the news, but I tell her that I do not go there to start trouble. And that is my standard course – I go to make the proper connections to get the work done – in and out.
Every trip I undertake raises the same emotions for me. I dread the many planes and car rides it will take me to arrive at my destination; I am nervously anticipating the risks I will face on the ground, including those that will impact me physically and emotionally; I try to prepare myself for what I might see – traumatized people, screaming children, injured bodies, amputations, and possibly the dead….the countless dead. Will I hear or see the bombs? Worst, will I hear the screams of their painful deaths?
How will I come back home after all of that? Well, I’ll come back home like every other trip where I’ve seen mothers holding their children, stumbling off of rafts sinking in the Aegean Sea, screaming in fear and desperation as their bodies shook from the icy water; Like after I came back from the world’s largest refugee camp with almost 1 million people littered across a muddy landscape in plastic tents that offered little protection for the oppressed, the marginalized, the poorest of poor; Like after our last visit with one of the families who got pushed-back from the Croatian border back into Bosnia where they returned to an abandoned, unfinished home and shared a meal with us as I played with their beautiful baby girl by a makeshift fireplace near the unconstructed wall that exposed us to the Bosnian forest. I will come back as I always do – tired, angry, sad, frustrated, but most of all, overwhelmed by the feeling of abandonment. This is the one feeling I will never be wrong on. I have the privilege of leaving hell on earth and going back home to my family, my dog, my hiking trails, my bed, my shower. Those people I try to help, do not have that luxury. At the end of every trip, I think of the haunting words the Rwandans yelled to UN Peacekeepers as they left them behind to evacuate at the start of the genocide there. “Do not abandon us!” But they did. They not only abandoned them, they left them to a cruel fate. As for me, I can almost hear those same words being yelled at me, but there are their eyes as I say goodbye. Their eyes beg me not to leave. But I must, so I do exactly what I know will haunt me many times – I abandon them, although I will never forget them. But that will never be good enough. I abandoned them.