Exercising Catharsis: The Rehumanization in a Refugee Story (EE1 DRAFT)

Exercising Catharsis: The Rehumanization in a Refugee Story

It is only through definitive courage and bravery that a refugee is epitomized as the true definition of strength. When a refugee capitulates to fear, self-loathing, and self-violence, it is then that the refugee becomes the next headliner drenched in tears. It is from survival and an intangible notion of personal sovereignty that the “outsider” can really feel pity for the sake of inspiration, motivation, and divine perspective. Because an outsider can never feel what it means to be “internally displaced,” a paradigmatic shift becomes the only product of the outsider’s looking-glass approach to the “refugee.” As such, the dynamic between the refugee and the outsider becomes an act of catharsis: an act in which the reader and the refugee find solace in one another, seek refuge through their individual truths, and pivot towards a new direction of emotional upheaval and outsider empathy. 

Many things come to mind when thinking about refugees and what it means to become one. For me, a refugee is a synecdoche for those without a home, for those forced to leave their homeland, for those seeking “refuge” in the classic definition of the word. With these certain individuals, the role of the “outsider” becomes cemented. Without the refugee, there is no outsider, no paradigmatic shift. There is no such change in the minds of others (of “outsiders”) to be a little more thankful for the plate of food they have and the immutability of the place they call “home.” A refugee story crystalizes our immediate thankfulness for the life we live and contributes to a much more symbiotic relationship between those of a refugee status and those of a privileged background. 

Before refugees and outsiders can experience catharsis, the writing must accurately portray notions of suffering. Suffering is a key component in the refugee experience as it seeks to approach true emotion rather than compartmentalizing it as a nonentity. It is important to approach emotion with sensitivity and the writing of such a topic becomes quintessential to understanding a refugee story. A story is wonderful in all of its essence, but it really becomes concrete when the story or “discourse of suffering” evokes immediate attention and responsiveness. Hron alludes to Virginia Woolf’s essay “On Being Ill” when describing the nature of writing of story of suffering. Reaching for authenticity, it becomes difficult to fully capture the nature of suffering as “suffering” is inherently ineffable.  I particularly identified with the notion of visiting a doctor’s office to only lack the capability of describing what hurts. At that point, since “language at once runs dry,” my illness becomes nebulous, inconsequential, and mutable because it cannot be described in a lexical manifestation (81). Moreover, it becomes almost impossible to recount the truths of “historical trauma” because it extends to include personal, individual, and unique descriptions. One instantly becomes ill-informed and insensitive by merely normalizing the experience of suffering and giving a broad understanding of what trauma “looks like” for each and every personage. The fact of the matter is that suffering looks different for each person, and to simply slap a label on an experience, making it the discrete definition of every sufferer, only breeds insensitivity, ignorance, and atomistic tendencies. It becomes increasingly challenging to translate the story of an immigrant as “immigrants survive always in the ghostly shadow of their former selves” (Hron 39). Coupled with the telling of an immigrant’s suffering is a transcendent ability to “treat, or even, heal it” (Hron 40). It is almost as if the nature of expressing (or fully capturing the refugee experience) can fully evoke notions of treatment, healing, and immutable empathy.

For several years, the term “refugee” has built up a myriad of different connotations because of the historical, economic, and social implications of those displaced from their own country. The denotation of the term does not fully capture the societal perspective of the term.  As for the English definition, refugees could be defined as those needing “refuge.” They are people. They need saving. Ismail Haniyeh, a refugee himself, once said, “Doesn't the world see the suffering of millions of Palestinians who have been living in exile around the world or in refugee camps for the past 60 years? No state, no home, no identity, no right to work. Doesn't the world see this injustice?” From this single quote, it is easy to see that a refugee status comes with a wish—a wish to make things better, to disseminate the truth about displacement, a wish to allow the once called “home” to desist in its struggle.

At times, a refugee story is told with certain cultural connections in order to establish a supreme reader-refugee relationship. As with the film, The Lost Boys, and Fadlallah’s article on “Contested Borders of Inhumanity: Sudanese Refugees and the Mediation of Suffering and Subaltern Visibilities,” refugees is often told with certain cultural connections in order to lend a personal and steadfast relationships between the outsider and the refugee. One depiction which I noticed was the same in both Amal Hassan Fadlalla’s discussion of the refugees and the one in the documentary was the notion of the “Lost Boys” of Sudan. While Fadlalla focuses on the subaltern (or widespread inferior) nature of social welfare and politics, the documentary similarly talks of the longest civil war between the North and the South.  This depiction of the “Lost Boys” from Peter Pan made a pop-culture connotation for those who could still not grasp the gravity of the situation. It is from this depiction of lost children of Peter Pan—boys without homes, those without a homeland (or anything to live for)—serves as a metaphor for the nature of the boys of refugee camp. This commonality forces understanding. The cultural reference allows for people (originating from a bubble of perfection and infallibility) to know and empathize for those children of a refugee status and of a “lost”-status (seeking care and some sort of attention, with nowhere/no ultimate goal of feasible achievement) in the face of all adversity and misunderstanding.

A refugee story is a paragon of the limbo-effect—a theory in which a person is centrifugally pulled in different directions. It is one of grasping on tightly to the thing known true and deep while learning to forget about it in the same breath. Unfortunately, for many of the “Lost Boys,” their experience with the culture of America has inadvertently altered their habits, customs, and daily practices. While they cling to one culture and learn the nature of another, they are truly between two worlds. A refugee story is different from any other story because it encompasses this Limbo Effect. When listening to a refugee in America, I believe that it is all-important to understand the severity of their situation and the “twice-removed” nature of their identity. First, a person (not a refugee at the time) is forcibly removed from their original residence. The refugee, then, is removed from the refugee camp only come to a foreign land and experience living once again. When revealed, this undeniable reality formulates a rooted development in refugee grievance and recovery. Without this verisimilitude in refugee story and the true nature of their present existence, the story becomes null and languid rather than cathartic and rehumanizing. It is from this beating beneath the fabric of troubled life that allows for personal recovery, outsider understanding, and eventually, external support. 

As reiterated above, a refugee story includes a plethora of different attributes which allow the outsider and refugee to experience a paradigmatic shift. However, the ownness is placed on the privileged outsider to approach the situation with a helping hand, an open heart, and an understanding spirit. In What is the What, Eggers introduces an allegory which clearly represents the definite cultural difference between those of a “civilized nation” and those of a refugee origin. The story starts with the Dinka (an African tribe) who are given the cattle first, superior land, fertile and rich. The Arabs are forced to suffer through the desert without “water or arable soil” by God’s decree (Eggers 43). The Arabs eventually steel the cattle, only to butcher them and never really understand the true value of the cattle. This too serves two distinct purposes: (1) clearly define the northern Arabs from the Southern Dinka, and (2) show the manner in which First-World Citizens (especially those from the United States) abuse the bounty, resources, and opportunity which they have attained.  This relationship and contrast between the “have” and the “have-nots” was clearly set-up in both God Grew Tired of Us and Of Beetles and Angels; however, the exploration of such cultures and the misuse of power is cemented within What is the What. In consideration to Deng’s story, the plot ultimately surrounds the robbing and flashbacks of deplorable scenes from his childhood. Moreover, a reader must dissuade himself or herself from becoming too enveloped by the conflict of fate and destiny within the novel.  As fate becomes a product of the puppeteer, the reader is forced to look at the situation with a new question: is it just meant to be? And the answer, yes, it may just be that certain individuals are handed better “fates” than others. However, it does not diminish one’s duty to seek social equity, personal sovereignty, and peaceful longevity.

The story of refugee illuminates a path of rehumanization and catharsis in the depths of a trouble and calamity. The “story of suffering” or the “story of triumph” (in some cases) are all different and cannot be classified as one conglomerate unit. At times, the refugee story is ineffable and cannot be accurately described in words. However, if and when the words do come, and the story is told, it is not the story of all—it is solely the story of one.  We must ignore our natural tendency to categorize, label, stereotype, and criticize those individuals we know nothing about. With this mindset, it will be easier for individuals to truly focus on the authentic, real being of a refugee rather than the amalgam of refugees that he or she may stand for. The story of a refugee adds perspective, lends a hand of motivation, and allows outsiders and refugees alike to look upon the world in a global sense. From the semblance of truth and a rooted interest in the emotional turmoil of the refugee experience, one is able to view a much more wholesome paradigm of the refugee experience. Rather than waiting for the eruption of pure happiness and the “fairy-tale” ending, one is forced to look upon any refugee situation with a little bit more caution and awareness to the gravity of the situation. One cannot help but feel inspired by the apostrophe for the godsend of humanity and rehumanization within refugee stories and the humility which transcends the singular nature of their experiences.

Works Cited

Fadlallah, Amal. “Contested Borders of Inhumanity: Sudanese Refugees and the Mediation of Suffering and Subaltern Visibilities.” 38.1 (2009): n. page. Web. 9 Apr. 2013. <https://blackboard.du.edu/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?tab_tab_group_id=_2_1&url=/webapps/blackboard/execute/launcher?type=Course&id=_208109_1&url=>.

Hron, Madelaine. “’Suffering Matters’: The Translation and Politics of Pain.” Trans. Array Translating Pain: Immigrant Suffering in Language and Culture. Toronto, Canada: University of Toronto Press, Print.