Welcome, Dear Refugees
by Scott Davidson, Winter 2017
by Scott Davidson, Winter 2017
This is a kind of threshold that I may never know, unless I let my heart crack open enough to truly meet them at this border crossing, until I am humbled enough to remember my own ancestors and their crossings ages ago.
Over a million refugees escaped war-torn homelands and walked across Europe in 2015 alone, of the more than 65.3 million displaced peoples worldwide today. Fewer entered Europe in 2016 when the borders closed. Perhaps you’ve seen the news and noticed the myriad of walls and gateways associated, within and all around us, often a polarizing debate among western countries and peoples. It’s an epic ordeal on all levels of community, personal to global, human and non-human alike. After such life-changing severances, threshold crossings and safe enough landings on new ground, what might it take for asylum seekers to land well and integrate into a new community? In addition to the life-support services of protection, food, shelter and language classes offered by immigration offices, how might we welcome people ceremonially across this threshold to a new sense of belonging? Or dare I say, how will we? It's the least we could do.
We sorted the reindeer skins and firewood in the early winter light to prep for the day. I was visiting Norway from the United States and honored to be invited into this project with a dear friend who works as a ranger there. In the isolating outskirts of Ås, Norway, well outside of Oslo, in collaboration with the Bjørnebekk Immigration Office, the Norwegian Environment Agency Statens Naturoppsyn, as well as local Norwegian neighbors and me, a humbled threshold guide, we wholeheartedly welcomed refugees from Syria, Iraq, Eritrea and Uganda into the Norwegian forest and local human community with open arms. Their stories were as diverse and human as any, and yet they all shared a common theme: it wasn’t safe to stay home and their will to live was profound. Now the question: where to live, and with whom? A new life welcomed into community has space to emerge, learn, grow and integrate with the whole community, whether a newly discovered aspect of oneself, a new baby in the family or an immigrant in a new country. Life needs welcoming to thrive. Without welcome, a new life is neglected and struggles, often leading to resentments, anger and sometimes reasons for violence. Being welcomed into life is a reason to celebrate.
As we greeted people in the parking lot of this apartment complex for asylum seekers, a temporary home to 250 newcomers, we handed out extra clothes, packed fire wood, and shook hands with a smile. They all spoke Arabic. A few spoke English quite well and offered translations for the group. I noticed a man on the edge of the lot in an intense interaction with Eva, the Bjørnebekk administrator. He was visibly upset and speaking English very clearly. She looked concerned and listened. I paid attention from afar for a moment, then walked over to say hello.
Atheer is a journalist from Iraq who left his life in Baghdad 5 months earlier because of countless death threats and attacks. He walked across Europe to find an uncle in Oslo. He just heard news 10 minutes earlier that his best friend and colleague at home was killed by a car bomb. He was devastated and angry, and didn’t know what to do. We listened wholeheartedly. In a pause, I introduced myself with a handshake and simple condolences. He wasn’t sure if he should join us for the day as planned, or given his situation, if it was best to stay behind.
“Ok, yes, I understand,” I said. “And just so you know our plan, it’s a short walk into the forest where we’ll make a fire, share food together, then later we’ll have space to hear each other’s stories for those that want to share. You are welcome to come as you are. Please join us if you want. And don’t feel you need to pretend to be happy or hide how you are. Just come as you are, with all of this news. If you feel it’s best to stay here, I trust you to know that. It’s no problem at all. It’s your choice, either way.” He took that in, then took some time to think about it.
As people eagerly, or cautiously, joined us around piles of clothes, firewood, thermoses and reindeer skins, we greeted each other, packed our bags and eventually circled up to formally begin the day. Atheer soon joined this opening circle too. Some just arrived in Norway, this being their first week of paperwork, interviews and steady shelter. Others had been here a while, making the best of a long process without a work permit or much promise. All were willing, and some even happy, to briefly stand in a circle to introduce themselves on this -14 degrees Celsius winter day in Norway to begin life again, this time taking welcomed steps to belonging in community.
Packed and ready, we crossed the street to enter the wild birch and pine woods of this place, rich with a quiet truth of the season. At the trailhead, we oriented. “Welcome to this forest,” my local co-guide Live said with a smile. One of them translated for the rest. “Everyone in Norway, including you, is legally allowed access to this land at any time. You are welcome here. It’s for all people and wildlife to enjoy. And it’s part of our Norwegian heritage and deep cultural values. We practice ‘friluftsliv’ here, to live free in the open air, to find peace and quiet in the forest.” Most had no idea that they were allowed to cross the street before this orientation. “There’s nothing here that will hurt you. You’re completely safe. There are wolves but they stay far from people. No plants are poisonous here. The biggest hazard might be local skiers if you step in their ski tracks,” she confessed with a laugh. A few laughed too. All paid close attention. “Norwegians love to ski! Do you see this ski path? A good way to make friends here is to walk beside the ski tracks, not on them,” she shared with a bright pride.
The cold crept into the bones if we stood still for too long, so we focused on finding a place deeper in the woods to settle and make comfortable together. Birch bark, flint spark, to small flame… Chop wood, grow flame, to warm hearth… Shovel seats, deer skins, “Who wants coffee or tea?” We made home together around the warm hearth with plenty of work and nourishment to share. The winter season invited, or perhaps demanded, a kind of humility and diligence for us to survive well together. We continuously fed the fire, boiled water and warmed each other up with laughter. Many brought foods to share with stories of family meals. Yana is a mother with three teen children from Damascus, Syria. They walked west for weeks through the first winter snows. One didn’t make it. At the moment she was glowing with a pot of nourishing tabbouleh to offer, her mother’s recipe. Barbecued chicken and potatoes were almost done. It was incredible. Nervous systems settled. We were safe and quietly celebrating.
We sorted the reindeer skins and firewood in the early winter light to prep for the day. I was visiting Norway from the United States and honored to be invited into this project with a dear friend who works as a ranger there. In the isolating outskirts of Ås, Norway, well outside of Oslo, in collaboration with the Bjørnebekk Immigration Office, the Norwegian Environment Agency Statens Naturoppsyn, as well as local Norwegian neighbors and me, a humbled threshold guide, we wholeheartedly welcomed refugees from Syria, Iraq, Eritrea and Uganda into the Norwegian forest and local human community with open arms. Their stories were as diverse and human as any, and yet they all shared a common theme: it wasn’t safe to stay home and their will to live was profound. Now the question: where to live, and with whom? A new life welcomed into community has space to emerge, learn, grow and integrate with the whole community, whether a newly discovered aspect of oneself, a new baby in the family or an immigrant in a new country. Life needs welcoming to thrive. Without welcome, a new life is neglected and struggles, often leading to resentments, anger and sometimes reasons for violence. Being welcomed into life is a reason to celebrate.
As we greeted people in the parking lot of this apartment complex for asylum seekers, a temporary home to 250 newcomers, we handed out extra clothes, packed fire wood, and shook hands with a smile. They all spoke Arabic. A few spoke English quite well and offered translations for the group. I noticed a man on the edge of the lot in an intense interaction with Eva, the Bjørnebekk administrator. He was visibly upset and speaking English very clearly. She looked concerned and listened. I paid attention from afar for a moment, then walked over to say hello.
Atheer is a journalist from Iraq who left his life in Baghdad 5 months earlier because of countless death threats and attacks. He walked across Europe to find an uncle in Oslo. He just heard news 10 minutes earlier that his best friend and colleague at home was killed by a car bomb. He was devastated and angry, and didn’t know what to do. We listened wholeheartedly. In a pause, I introduced myself with a handshake and simple condolences. He wasn’t sure if he should join us for the day as planned, or given his situation, if it was best to stay behind.
“Ok, yes, I understand,” I said. “And just so you know our plan, it’s a short walk into the forest where we’ll make a fire, share food together, then later we’ll have space to hear each other’s stories for those that want to share. You are welcome to come as you are. Please join us if you want. And don’t feel you need to pretend to be happy or hide how you are. Just come as you are, with all of this news. If you feel it’s best to stay here, I trust you to know that. It’s no problem at all. It’s your choice, either way.” He took that in, then took some time to think about it.
As people eagerly, or cautiously, joined us around piles of clothes, firewood, thermoses and reindeer skins, we greeted each other, packed our bags and eventually circled up to formally begin the day. Atheer soon joined this opening circle too. Some just arrived in Norway, this being their first week of paperwork, interviews and steady shelter. Others had been here a while, making the best of a long process without a work permit or much promise. All were willing, and some even happy, to briefly stand in a circle to introduce themselves on this -14 degrees Celsius winter day in Norway to begin life again, this time taking welcomed steps to belonging in community.
Packed and ready, we crossed the street to enter the wild birch and pine woods of this place, rich with a quiet truth of the season. At the trailhead, we oriented. “Welcome to this forest,” my local co-guide Live said with a smile. One of them translated for the rest. “Everyone in Norway, including you, is legally allowed access to this land at any time. You are welcome here. It’s for all people and wildlife to enjoy. And it’s part of our Norwegian heritage and deep cultural values. We practice ‘friluftsliv’ here, to live free in the open air, to find peace and quiet in the forest.” Most had no idea that they were allowed to cross the street before this orientation. “There’s nothing here that will hurt you. You’re completely safe. There are wolves but they stay far from people. No plants are poisonous here. The biggest hazard might be local skiers if you step in their ski tracks,” she confessed with a laugh. A few laughed too. All paid close attention. “Norwegians love to ski! Do you see this ski path? A good way to make friends here is to walk beside the ski tracks, not on them,” she shared with a bright pride.
The cold crept into the bones if we stood still for too long, so we focused on finding a place deeper in the woods to settle and make comfortable together. Birch bark, flint spark, to small flame… Chop wood, grow flame, to warm hearth… Shovel seats, deer skins, “Who wants coffee or tea?” We made home together around the warm hearth with plenty of work and nourishment to share. The winter season invited, or perhaps demanded, a kind of humility and diligence for us to survive well together. We continuously fed the fire, boiled water and warmed each other up with laughter. Many brought foods to share with stories of family meals. Yana is a mother with three teen children from Damascus, Syria. They walked west for weeks through the first winter snows. One didn’t make it. At the moment she was glowing with a pot of nourishing tabbouleh to offer, her mother’s recipe. Barbecued chicken and potatoes were almost done. It was incredible. Nervous systems settled. We were safe and quietly celebrating.
The daylight was already waning some. With the fire still big and bright and bellies full, we shared a short story of the ecology of this forest, its trees and birds, the wolf packs, foxes and hares. There’s magic in these woods to be discovered for those willing to lean in and have a closer look and listen. Everyone was invited to take 20 minutes to find a trail to follow deeper into the woods. “Find a tree that attracts you or feels in some way comfortable to you. When you find it, sit or stand with it for a while. Be with the tree in this forest. We’ll call you back to the fire with a loud raven call in a few minutes. Enjoy.” Most walked curiously away, willing, open.
They returned to furred seats and blankets in a circle ready for a way of council around the well stoked fire. There was a softness about them, and some unsettling too. In a circle, all are included equally, and some felt overexposed.
I introduced myself again, this time in a different light. “I personally have committed my life to cultivating peace, inside and out. I’m very curious about what brings peace to wounded places. I’ve learned again and again that my capacity to bring peace anywhere begins right here in my own heart,” I said. Many heads nodded when they heard this, a few people sighed. This seems to be something all can agree to, beginning with your own heart. What helps me the most is breathing into my heart while sitting with a place in wild nature, being curious about the life of a place. In my home forest, I sit with a douglas fir tree every morning to remember how peace feels in my heart. It’s how I start my day. In that circle in those Nordic woods, we dedicated the council to peace for all people of all places on Earth, then sent a roe deer antler around as a talking piece. “When this antler comes to you, if you’d like, please tell everyone your name again, where you’re from and a short story of a place in your life that you knew you could visit to remind you of how peace feels. Maybe it’s the tree across the street from where you lived, or the edge of a creek, or the hilltop with a view. Please, we want to hear your story.” And the stories came. About half introduced themselves and a place of peace, while the others had a different story that needed to be heard. The fire at the center held us all.
“We used to go as a family to the forests and the sea to share food. But we had to leave because of the war… These trees (in Norway) and what we’re doing here remind me home.”
“I love nature because it is pure. It’s a creation of God.”
“One of my best nature experiences from home is with my grandmother. She used to carry water and collect plants early in the morning. I love to carry water!”
“I like the contrast of the fire and the snow, it is like the desert and the sea (where I am from).”
“When I went into the forest, I felt her as my mother.”
“My tribe used to make fire like this and share stores and knowledge around the fire.” Stephen left the war in Uganda to find refuge here 2 years ago. He hasn’t been granted permission to stay in Norway and he can’t safely go home, so he’s very much living between worlds.
Atheer said, “I’ve been here for four months. This is the first day in Norway I feel happy.”
The council closed in the afternoon twilight. Our return was simple and friendly, with a prayer for all beings to be safe, welcomed and at peace, for all people to remember where we come from and how to possibly belong. The people were well served on this day, with bodies and hearts close to the raw truth, vulnerable and safe. They were safe enough to open to a new community while beginning to incorporate their journey of a poignant severance and many crossings. Marking these life transitions is essential for actual healing, wholeness and integration to occur. A new beginning in this new country was also marked with them, one step of many more to come on a path to finding one’s new center of gravity while choosing how to relate and orient with a new place. They need more than language classes to really belong. The will to live and the willingness to trust in all that supports life is certainly reason to celebrate.
I introduced myself again, this time in a different light. “I personally have committed my life to cultivating peace, inside and out. I’m very curious about what brings peace to wounded places. I’ve learned again and again that my capacity to bring peace anywhere begins right here in my own heart,” I said. Many heads nodded when they heard this, a few people sighed. This seems to be something all can agree to, beginning with your own heart. What helps me the most is breathing into my heart while sitting with a place in wild nature, being curious about the life of a place. In my home forest, I sit with a douglas fir tree every morning to remember how peace feels in my heart. It’s how I start my day. In that circle in those Nordic woods, we dedicated the council to peace for all people of all places on Earth, then sent a roe deer antler around as a talking piece. “When this antler comes to you, if you’d like, please tell everyone your name again, where you’re from and a short story of a place in your life that you knew you could visit to remind you of how peace feels. Maybe it’s the tree across the street from where you lived, or the edge of a creek, or the hilltop with a view. Please, we want to hear your story.” And the stories came. About half introduced themselves and a place of peace, while the others had a different story that needed to be heard. The fire at the center held us all.
“We used to go as a family to the forests and the sea to share food. But we had to leave because of the war… These trees (in Norway) and what we’re doing here remind me home.”
“I love nature because it is pure. It’s a creation of God.”
“One of my best nature experiences from home is with my grandmother. She used to carry water and collect plants early in the morning. I love to carry water!”
“I like the contrast of the fire and the snow, it is like the desert and the sea (where I am from).”
“When I went into the forest, I felt her as my mother.”
“My tribe used to make fire like this and share stores and knowledge around the fire.” Stephen left the war in Uganda to find refuge here 2 years ago. He hasn’t been granted permission to stay in Norway and he can’t safely go home, so he’s very much living between worlds.
Atheer said, “I’ve been here for four months. This is the first day in Norway I feel happy.”
The council closed in the afternoon twilight. Our return was simple and friendly, with a prayer for all beings to be safe, welcomed and at peace, for all people to remember where we come from and how to possibly belong. The people were well served on this day, with bodies and hearts close to the raw truth, vulnerable and safe. They were safe enough to open to a new community while beginning to incorporate their journey of a poignant severance and many crossings. Marking these life transitions is essential for actual healing, wholeness and integration to occur. A new beginning in this new country was also marked with them, one step of many more to come on a path to finding one’s new center of gravity while choosing how to relate and orient with a new place. They need more than language classes to really belong. The will to live and the willingness to trust in all that supports life is certainly reason to celebrate.
The refugee in me was well served too, healing from generations of separation in this colonial world. I am well aware of my country’s long track record of displacing people, intentionally or not, and its unwillingness at times to welcome them in. My own ancestors, once intimately connected to the land, waters, seasons and peoples of those places ages ago, didn’t uproot from homelands and transplant elsewhere without heartache and disorientation. Potato famines and colonizations aren’t pretty. The closer I get to the truth of who I am and what places and peoples I am deeply from (the Davidsons from Scotland and the Schoemakers from Holland, for example), the more present I can be to wholeheartedly welcome people across thresholds like this, wounds and gifts alike. The more willing I am to decolonize myself, use my privilege in service to reconciliation and to trust in life enough to sincerely ask for permission and listen before taking what I want, the more embodied my sense of belonging can be. I’m learning how to be present with the intensity of these moments without taking them on as a savior or martyr. I’m curious, as a white-skinned U.S.-born man, what’s mine to do, and for whom? As a humbled and caring human being, what other questions would serve for me to ask and hold in these times?
This work is growing me up to be more present with people crossing thresholds (there are plenty more crossings to come) and inviting them to take specific steps to belonging wherever they land. I wonder, what can I offer to help welcome people trying to land closer to my own home in California? What part of myself resists this impulse to wholeheartedly welcome, perhaps feeling too threatened to let others in? My heart knows better. Now more than ever is the time to trust, find common ground and practice deeply listening to each other. If not now, when?
This work is growing me up to be more present with people crossing thresholds (there are plenty more crossings to come) and inviting them to take specific steps to belonging wherever they land. I wonder, what can I offer to help welcome people trying to land closer to my own home in California? What part of myself resists this impulse to wholeheartedly welcome, perhaps feeling too threatened to let others in? My heart knows better. Now more than ever is the time to trust, find common ground and practice deeply listening to each other. If not now, when?