It’s been a month since US troops pulled out of Afghanistan and the Taliban swiftly took control. We saw video clips of people attempting to flee, and photos of those who managed to get on planes. The image of more than 600 Afghans crammed into a departing transport flight is deeply moving to me. All of it calls to mind what happened in Vietnam at the end of April 1975. Viet Thanh Nguyen’s essay in The New York Times on the subject is particularly poignant.
I was a child refugee, and even though it’s been over 40 years since my family left Vietnam in a hurry, the plight of displaced people is something I think of often. Afghans escaping from Taliban rule, Syrians fleeing war in their home country, or people forced to move due to natural disasters — so many are vulnerable and only one calamitous event away from a life of instability and uncertainty. I am cognizant of how tenuous life can get, and how much being uprooted can affect their state of mind.
In my twenties, I moved to Seattle in search of new opportunities. While I worked my day job, I reflected on how fortunate I was to have made it through a childhood in poverty and go so far as to earn a university degree. Longing for more meaning and purpose in life, I stumbled upon a small organization that helped refugees: Refugee Women’s Alliance.
Back in those days, ReWA was housed in a modest old building and ESL classes were offered to English language learners in small rooms in the back. For a time, I was a volunteer ESL instructor to a group of women who were much like my mother, displaced and in need of not just English fluency but skills for the workplace, too.
I would drive over from my apartment in Kent, offering my free time to improve their prospects in life. I felt young and naïve (no doubt I was both), but knew I wanted to do my part for refugees, just as others had helped my family when we came to the United States. While I taught the nuances of conversational English to these ladies, many of whom were Southeast Asian, I imagined my own mother sitting in a similar classroom, learning to read and write in English while I attended elementary or middle school. I recall flipping through the workbooks she brought home and abandoned on the kitchen table. It took her years to get comfortable with speaking in English.
I’m happy to see that ReWA has grown over the years and their services are varied and robust. I love that a social services organization founded by Southeast Asian women in the mid-1980’s remains strong, is thriving, and continues to support new refugees and immigrants.
ReWA accept donations, but if you are in the Seattle area, consider volunteering your time. It brings so much value those you help, and it may be a bright spot for you, too. I fondly remember my time with ReWA, and I wonder about all the amazing things my students have gone on to do.
For those looking to help Afghan refugees in the Puget Sound, ReWA has a campaign. Find out more here.
