Breathe
By Silvia Garduño
I recently met a Salvadoran refugee family in Monterrey. Through UNHCR's Local Integration Program, the family had just been relocated from southern Mexico, the father had just been hired in a glass shop and the daughter and son teenagers already going to school. I remember that the mother, Carla**, had a splint on one arm, the result of aggressions she had suffered in her country, and that for the moment she was dedicated to the home, although she did not rule out working in the future. When I knocked on the door, a puppy came out to greet me. It had been adopted almost obligatorily by the family, since the owner of the house -and of the dog- agreed to rent them the house only if they took care of the puppy. Carla was not very convinced about having him, but the dog made Martín**, her 14-year-old son, happy, and that made her happy. The family had been living in their new home for a little over a month, which was equipped with the bare minimum: a fridge, a few burners that served as a stove, a small table and, to my surprise, an electric keyboard. Considering that they had just moved into the city, the keyboard was completely out of the picture. When Carla began to tell her story, with no questions asked, she referred to the musical instrument, "the only thing we brought was the clothes and the child's keyboard," she told me. To my surprise, the artifact had accompanied them throughout the journey they began at the end of 2022 to reach first Frontera Comalapa and then Tapachula, where they requested asylum, and now Monterrey. Refugees leave their countries with the bare essentials, which are usually reduced to a change of clothes, some papers, amulets and photographs, whatever they can fit in a suitcase. But what is indispensable changes from person to person, from family to family, and for this one, the keyboard was something they could not leave behind: the young man had learned to play by ear since he was four years old, during the Sunday sessions of the religious congregation that met in his house. When they had to flee, his mother did not hesitate to carry the instrument that validated his talent. It was her way of packing her dreams.
The story of Martin and his keyboard gives a glimpse of who refugees are: those who are forced to leave their countries, those who would not want to leave their community, their religious congregation and their music, but have to do so to save their lives. If we were in the same circumstances, we would probably do the same.
Dreams are packaged in many ways. Last year I spoke with young refugee women, I remember two Nicaraguan sisters, Nataly and Scarlett, settled in Aguascalientes, and a young Venezuelan woman, Cecilia, a refugee in Tijuana. The sisters left Nicaragua following threats they received for publications they made in the university newspaper denouncing an environmental problem. Cecilia's parents in Venezuela opted to take their daughter to safety in Mexico, after some situations against the student community in their city. When I asked them what they had brought with them from their countries, they all told me that they brought their school certificates, as it was essential to continue with their university studies in Mexico. Today, Nataly is about to graduate with a degree in chemical engineering, Scarlett with a degree in business and administration, both from the Technological University of Aguascalientes, and Cecilia finished software engineering at the Autonomous University of Baja California. Of course there were things that did not fit in a suitcase, but it is enough to close your eyes to feel them close. For Nataly and Scarlett, the intense sun of Aguascalientes gave a very important value to the rain in Managua. As Scarlett recalls: "I need it to rain, the smell of wet earth is Nicaragua".
A few days ago, UNHCR published its annual Global Trends Report 2023. For the twelfth consecutive year, forced displacement reached historic levels, reaching 120 million forcibly displaced people by May 2024. The increase is due to both the consequences of new and existing conflicts and the inability to resolve protracted crises. In Latin America, there are 23 million people assisted or protected by States in collaboration with UNHCR and its partner organizations. Mexico also broke a record for asylum applications, exceeding 140,000 in 2023.
On World Refugee Day, I invite you to put a face to these numbers. Martin, Carla, Nataly, Scarlett and Cecilia are just a few of the thousands of stories behind these numbers. A few months ago we launched a campaign in which several refugee women around the world said who they are. "I am a refugee woman...but I am also a pilot on an airline. I am a refugee woman, but I am also a software engineer. I am a refugee woman, but I am also a student, a spokesperson, an entrepreneur." People who have been forced to flee are much more than their refugee status. Like anyone else, they are pursuing their dreams, which means packing them up for a while. The time will come to dust off the keyboard, to resume their studies and, probably, to smell the scent of wet earth again.
**Some names have been changed for protection reasons.
* Silvia Garduño is the Public Information Officer of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR-Mexico).
The opinions expressed are the responsibility of the authors and are absolutely independent of the position and editorial line of the company. Opinion 51.
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