Why we should treat refugees and displaced with empathy

“In Kabul, I was a King,” he used to tell me in his inimitable style. The night was always young for both of us, and we hated the ordeal called early morning lectures.

I cannot claim that Farhad is my friend. He was my batchmate in journalism college. We interacted a bit during our time in Chennai, and I have fond memories of that period. We lost touch after we finished our course, and I had almost forgotten him till it all came back the day Taliban entered Kabul.

I saw images of people desperately clinging to planes. It was a challenging time for me at work. But my minor inconveniences at work seemed like a privilege compared to Afghanis whose lives were falling apart. Every image of Afghanis trying to flee their country distressed me, and I thought about Farhad.

I contacted a mutual friend who was still in touch with Farhad, and we wracked our brains about how to help him. We were clueless. We are still. We did random things hoping something would come out of it.

I contacted politicians who were close to a minister. But they were helpless.

Meanwhile, I stared at memes and jokes about the Afghan crisis on the numerous WhatsApp groups I was part of, and it didn’t sound funny. The pulls and pressures of my privileged life took over. Farhad became a slightly non-recurring worry. I still check with our mutual friend whenever I have those pangs of guilt. There are moments in life when my privilege makes me feel awkward. The Afghanistan crisis was one such moment.

Last I checked, Farhad is safe. He is waiting for a US visa and is yet to get a word from the Indian embassy. Whatever little I read about India’s refugee policy revealed that we do not have one. And we are not a signatory to the refugee convention of 1951. The number of refugees has gone up 20x, apparently, since the convention came into existence. And close to two-thirds of the refugees come from five countries, including Afghanistan.

India uses the laws meant for citizenship and foreigners to deal with those who seek asylum. And though there are guidelines regarding how to treat foreigners who seek asylum, it is not in the public domain. And whether someone gets a gentle treatment or not depends on strategic interests at that time.

In the chessboard of geopolitics, people are expendable pawns. And their struggles are sob stories that need to be overlooked in the larger national interests (whatever that means).

At times I ask myself shouldn’t empathy be the cornerstone of our policy while dealing with the displaced. After all, didn’t we have a glorious tradition of receiving those seeking asylum with open arms?

I think of Swami Vivekananda’s speech in Chicago. He declared proudly that he comes from a land that had a glorious history of sheltering the helpless from all religions and all nations of the earth.

We embraced Israelis who came to the south of India to escape tyranny and nurtured the survivors of the Zoroastrian nation. Well, that was then; we have come a long way.

It’s not just sentiments towards an old friend that makes me say this. We are all at the risk of getting displaced. A national lockdown two years back forced many to take the gruesome journey of walking miles to reach their hometowns and villages. Many fell dead on the way, reminding one of the dark days of partition.

A few years back, an unusually high rainfall during monsoons left hundreds dead in Kerala and lakhs were evacuated. Many lost their homes which were built with savings of a lifetime.

I remember rushing from Mumbai and wading through knee-deep water to reach my apartment while carrying my luggage on my head. We were worried that water might enter our homes, but thankfully nothing happened. I am not sure whether I will be lucky if there is another flood.

We as a society have a commitment towards our fellow human beings who are displaced more so now than ever before because we are all vulnerable.