From refugee to top chef and teacher

BY DINESH KUMAR MAGANATHAN

Luke Nguyen may have started out life in a refugee camp, but has risen to culinary greatness and is now helping those in need. LUKE Nguyen had nothing to lose. 

He was young and although all he had was only a hundred Australian dollars to his name and a pot full of dreams, opportunity lay before him. He decided to go for it. “I had been talking about doing this since I was a kid, telling myself over and over again that ‘I’m going to open my own restaurant one day’.

So I told myself, ‘just do it. Stop talking about it and just do it’,” Nguyen said in a recent telephone interview from Sydney, Australia. He may have been slightly foolhardy, but he had heaps of perseverance and boldness, qualities he cultivated growing up in refugee camps in Thailand and later in Australia. Things were never easy growing up.

 Nguyen’s life has always revolved around sheer hard work, the sort of harsh reality many of the Boat People who sought refuge in Australia were used to. He reminisced about how his parents used to labour in the factories for 17 hours a day, every day, “until they could save enough money to open their own business”. And eventually they did. They opened a little restaurant and they sold traditional Vietnamese hawker-style food. “As soon as I could walk, I was working in the restaurant helping mum and dad. Although it was hard work, I really enjoyed working there because I was surrounded by fresh produce and fantastic food.”

 At the age of 23, with no proper financial backing (but with a little help from his friends), Nguyen opened his very own restaurant in a rented old building in Sydney and named it the Red Lantern. He was not sure what to expect. He was ready to shut it down after a week if his restaurant was not patronised. But he was in for a surprise. People kept coming back for the delectable, authentic Vietnamese cuisine. And soon, Red Lantern was the talk of the town. 

 That was 12 years ago. Now, he has opened two more restaurants, Red Lantern On Riley and the Red Lily Cocktail Bar. He has also authored five cookbooks including Secrets Of The Red Lantern and hosts two travel and cooking series, including the latest Luke Nguyen’s Greater Mekong (which will be screened on TLC, Astro Ch 707, from Aug 5, at 9pm every Monday), and is one of the top celebrity chefs in the land down under. He has appeared on Masterchef Australia and was a judge and host for the first season of Masterchef Vietnam. Nguyen credits his success to his parents, whom he watched toil and labour to make ends meet. “I think their work ethic has really made me who I am today.

 Surely, coming from such a poor background has grounded me a lot. I feel so fortunate that I can follow my passion as a career. Not one day goes by without me thinking about this,” the 35-year-old Nguyen asserted. But in the midst of his travels as a chef and while managing his restaurants, Nguyen did not have a clue that his destiny was being paved for something nobler. 

 He had no idea that his experiences as an immigrant and refugee and his unquenchable passion for cooking were about to change the lives of underprivileged children in Vietnam. And so it happened on one of his culinary trips to Vietnam. The setting was a market in Hoi An. The sun was scorching hot. The air was thick. Making his way through the dense crowd, Nguyen stumbled upon a young girl running a fruit store all by herself, making smoothies. He thought to himself how well her mother had trained her.

He approached the young girl and commended her for her skills and enquired about her mother. “‘No, my mother is not here. I actually work in this store,’ she told me. And I said, ‘So you mean you’re employed here?’ And she goes, 

‘Yes’. I asked her if she went to school and she said no. She said she wanted to, but her parents simply couldn’t afford it. So she worked every day at the fruit store for this lady so that she could take money home to her family,” Nguyen recalled. He knew then that giving her money might help her in the short term but something had to be done to help the young girl and others in similar situations in the longer term. Nguyen partnered up with a Vietnamese-run non-profit organisation called Reach and, together with his partner Suzanna Boyd, began a foundation to train underprivileged children in Vietnam to become qualified chefs.

 The foundation, aptly named the Little Lantern Foundation, also provides English and life skills courses for children aged between 10 and 18. “Many students are now going through this course and 90% of them get a job upon completion. And to see someone going through the course with no experience at all, and then working in a five-star hotel after that – it is just delightful and it is so worthwhile to play a part in changing someone’s life. I can’t teach them how to become a scientist or an artist, but I can teach them about food and hospitality!” Nguyen enthused. What he finds most fulfilling working with these kids is their zeal and eagerness to learn. He says they are ever ready to listen to what is being taught and absorb instructions quickly. 

Their determination, Nguyen revealed, is inspirational and reckons it is their drive that almost always secures them employment. But Nguyen had a word of caution for aspiring chefs. “Forget about being a celebrity and just focus on being a chef. It’s hard work. It’s a lot of long hours. There’s no social life, you even work on weekends, Christmas, New Year. I reckon if you want to become a chef and maybe one day have your own cooking show, you’ve got to work at it. It doesn’t happen overnight. You’ve got to work for many, many years. Be prepared for hard work.”

Australia says ‘no’ to Rohingya refugees

Sheikh Shahariar Zaman Law & Rights 

 'We used to allow Rohingya refugees to settle in Australia, but not anymore' 

Australian High Commissioner to Dhaka Greg Wilcock said his country had ceased taking Rohingya refugees from Bangladesh under its third-country settlement programme. “We used to allow Rohingya refugees to settle in Australia, but not anymore. The last time we accepted a 100 Rohingya refugees – was in 2009-2010,” 

Greg Wilcock told the Dhaka Tribune after a press briefing at his Dhaka residence yesterday. Australia ceased accepting them, as the issue of Rohingya refugees going to Australia for a third-country settlement would portray a “negative signal” to the ongoing crisis in the Rakhine state of Myanmar, he said. He, however, could not specify the current number of refugees resettled in the country.

 Bangladesh hosts thousands of Myanmar Muslims as refugees who were displaced from Rakhine by decades-long ethnic violence in the country. According to an unofficial count, about half a million Rohingyas currently live here. In the press briefing, the high commissioner also said no asylum-seeker coming by boat without a visa would be allowed in Australia anymore. “Under the new arrangement signed with Papua New Guinea (PNG) – the Regional Settlement Arrangement – all unauthorised arrivals will be sent to PNG for assessment and, if found to be refugees, they will be settled there.” Replying to queries, he said around 1,000 people tried to reach Australia by boat since July 19. 

The newcomers would be treated under the new arrangement. “The Australian government, in partnership with the PNG government, will support settlement services for those with refugee status, as safe and appropriate accommodation services are identified,” he added.

Stabbings force close-knit Burmese refugees in Phoenix to turn to police

By Cecilia Chan 

The Republic | azcentral.com

 Mi Reh lived in a crowded Thailand refugee camp for 20 years after escaping the civil war in his homeland of Burma, now called Myanmar. Three of Reh’s four children were born in the refugee camp, which had no running water and rations that included rice and beans. Five years ago, the 48-year-old and his family resettled in Phoenix. Life was good, he felt happy at his new home, he said through a translator. But a double-homicide on April 28 that police say could be a hate crime changed all that. Two Burmese refugees were stabbed at the Serrano Village Apartments near 28th Avenue and Camelback Road, leaving fellow refugees stunned and afraid. Refugees: 

People armed with knives chased them 

Ker Reh, 54, and Kay Reh, 24, who are not related, were attacked outside an apartment unit where they were attending a prayer service for a friend who had died of natural causes. Mi Reh said he saw both men on the ground after the stabbings. Since then, he and his wife mostly stay inside their apartment with their children. Thousands of Burmese refugees call Phoenix home, and the homicides highlighted the struggles the community faces. Community leaders and the police department are working to overcome some of those issues, such as language barriers and fear of the police. 

Burmese in Arizona 

Kay Reh and Ker Reh belonged to the Karenni community, one of the 135 ethnic groups recognized in Burma. The Burmese resettlement in Arizona peaked in 2009 with 898 refugees coming into the state that year, according to the U.S. Department of State. Since then, the numbers each year have dropped. In fiscal 2013, which ends Sept. 30, 242 Burmese refugees resettled in Arizona. More than 4,100 Burmese refugees have moved to Arizona since fiscal 1999 with a majority of them — 3,858 — concentrated in apartments around Phoenix. More than 60,000 Burmese refugees have relocated to the United States, one of the top-three refugee groups in recent years, according to the State Department. Many of the refugees come from camps in Thailand, according to the U.N. Refugee Agency. Other camps are in Malaysia. 

The refugees began flooding into Thailand in 1988 after a failed pro-democracy uprising against the military dictatorship. The country over the years has been wracked with ethnic turmoil and human-rights violations. Joanne Morales, director of Catholic Charities’ Refugee Programs, said refugees on average stay in the camps for 10 to 15 years. “It is a very slow process from someone escaping prosecution to be resettled in the U.S.,” she said. Language barriers The main stumbling block for the refugees is their lack of English skills, leaders said. Phoenix police had to call a translator on April 28 to the murder scene to help piece together what had happened.

 Hay Ray, 33, said many refugees don’t call 911 for help because they can’t speak English. “The 911 ask many questions so people are scared to call,” said Ray, who taught himself English when he arrived to this country. 

He spent 20 years in a Thai refugee camp. Phary Reh, 35, said many of the older refugees also fear the police because of their experiences with them in Thailand and Burma. “When they are driving and see police, they are scared,” he said. “In their heart, it reminds them of the police in Thailand.” “They (also) didn’t trust the police in Burma,” he added, citing rampant bribes and coercion among the police force there. Helping each other Phary Reh helps refugees become more comfortable with the police. He and other English-speaking Karenni are alerted of emergencies, and they call 911.

 Since the murders, Phary Reh teaches community members safety tips — lock doors, don’t answer the door at night without checking first, bring children indoors by 9 p.m. A workshop is scheduled for August to help refugees adjust, with subjects such as how to use public transportation and U.S. child laws, said Philip Htoon, Phoenix chapter president of a national organization that focuses on the welfare of Asian Pacific Americans.

 Police spokesman Steve Martos said the department also is enhancing its ability to serve the Myanmar refugees. “This incident helped us address a deficiency as it relates to language barriers,” he said. “We have since worked with the refugee community to find ways we can have access to their community leaders and someone to translate 24 hours a day, seven days a week.” Detective Luis Samudio, who works with refugees, recently hosted a meet-and-greet with officers and representatives of different refugee groups. 

Now, officers can carry a card that includes contact numbers for refugee agencies and questions to ask refugees to better identify appropriate resources. Families still grieving The deaths have been hard on the families, Phary Reh said. He knew both men and was friends with Kay Reh. Phary Reh, who learned English in the camp’s school and eventually became a teacher there, said Kay Reh as the oldest son helped support his family and translated for his parents.

 Kay Reh had two younger brothers and a sister. And the widow Tay Moh still talks and thinks about her husband, Ker Reh, he said. The couple had two daughters and a son, all under 15. Police have arrested suspects in the case.

Taking Pulse on Burmese Repatriation

Longtime refugees are cautious about the possibility of going home

A recent pilot survey of thousands of Burmese refugees in Thailand could play a key role in gauging possible large-scale repatriation. 

"The whole idea is to get a sense of refugee sentiment about their future beyond living in the camps," Vivian Tan, regional spokesperson for the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR), told IRIN in Bangkok. 

According to The Border Consortium(TBC), an umbrella group of NGOs working along the 1,800-km Thai-Myanmar border, close to 130,000 refugees from various ethnic groups are in nine Thai government-run camps in the area, many of whom have been in the country for decades. 

More than 6,000 households at the Mae La camp near the Thai border town of Mae Sot took part in the survey, which was launched in mid-June and concluded in mid-July. Refugees were asked their preferences over voluntary repatriation, third country resettlement or whether they wished to stay in Thailand. It also compiled data on refugee hometowns, family size, education levels and what kind of job skills they had or needed. 

Funded by UNHCR, the survey was conducted by more than 100 staff from the Mae Fah Luang Foundation, a Thai NGO. Preliminary findings were unavailable, but final results are expected in the coming weeks. 

"In my opinion, most refugees don't want repatriation yet," said Saw George, vice-chairperson of the Karen Refugee Committee. "The situation [inside Myanmar] is still very complicated. People are worried about their return." 

Tan said there are no concrete plans for repatriation, but conceded results of the survey could help agencies prepare refugees, such as through vocational training, should the programme move forward. Local media reports speculate repatriation could happen by 2015 when Myanmar will hold its next general election. 

Refugee reluctance 

But many refugees were reluctant to take the survey, which could be traced back to households, believing they might be bound to their original choices. 

"We tried to stress that they would not be held to their answers," Tan said. "At the same time, we cannot promise they will get what they opt for." 

No decisions have been made to expand the survey from Mae La - the largest camp, with about 46,000 refugees, most of them ethnic Karen who fled across the border in the early 1980s amid fighting between Karen rebels and the Burmese military. 

Since 2011, Burmese President Thein Sein, a former general, has introduced sweeping reforms and ceasefires with various ethnic rebel groups, sparking greater interest in repatriation. However, many areas where refugees once lived present security and infrastructure issues. Several obstacles stand in the way: landmines, land disputes, the lack of basic services and guarantees from the Myanmar authorities to ensure the safety and rights of returning refugees, Tan said. 

Burmese government officials, Karen leaders and other stakeholders held initial discussions on repatriation this year, but no details have emerged, said Saw George. 

"We need to have a relationship of mutual respect and understanding before we can work together," he said. 

Meanwhile, Thai government officials have on several occasions given assurances that there is no rush to close the camps. Even if these are false promises, a voluntary and sustainable repatriation would be in their best interest to prevent an uncontrollable surge of people crossing the border again, Tan said. 

"Ideally, repatriation would be completely led by what the refugees want," the UNHCR official said. 

(IRIN is a service of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. This report does not necessarily reflect the views of the United Nations)

Taking the pulse on Burmese repatriation

Photo: Courtesy of Chotiwat Lattapanit

Mae Fah Luang Foundation staff photograph a family in their home

BANGKOK, 25 July 2013 (IRIN) - A recent pilot survey of thousands of Burmese refugees in Thailand could play a key role in gauging possible large-scale repatriation. 

“The whole idea is to get a sense of refugee sentiment about their future beyond living in the camps,” Vivian Tan, regional spokesperson for the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR), told IRIN in Bangkok. 

According to The Border Consortium (TBC), an umbrella group of NGOs working along the 1,800km Thai-Myanmar border, there are close to 130,000 refugees from various ethnic groups in nine Thai government-run camps in the area, many of whom have been in the country for decades. 

More than 6,000 households at the Mae La camp near the Thai border town of Mae Sot took part in the survey, which was launched in mid-June and concluded in mid-July. 

Refugees were asked their preferences over voluntary repatriation, third country resettlement or whether they wished to stay in Thailand. It also compiled data on refugee hometowns, family size, education levels and what kind of job skills they had or needed. 

Funded by UNHCR, the survey was conducted by more than 100 staff from theMae Fah Luang Foundation, a Thai NGO. Preliminary findings were unavailable, but final results are expected in the coming weeks. 

“In my opinion, most refugees don’t want repatriation yet,” Saw George, vice-chairperson of the Karen Refugee Committee, said. “The situation [inside Myanmar] is still very complicated. People are worried about their return.” 

Tan said there were no concrete plans for repatriation, but conceded results of the survey could help agencies prepare refugees, such as through vocational training, should the programme move forward. 

Local media reports speculate repatriation could happen by 2015 when Myanmar will hold its next general election. 

Refugee reluctance 

But many refugees were reluctant to take the survey, which could be traced back to households, believing they might be bound to their original choices. 

“We tried to stress that they would not be held to their answers,” Tan said. “At the same time, we cannot promise they will get what they opt for.” 

No decisions have been made to expand the survey from Mae La - the largest camp with about 46,000 refugees, most of them ethnic Karen who fled across the border in the early 1980s amid fighting between Karen rebels and the Burmese military. 

Since 2011, Burmese President Thein Sein, a former general, has introduced sweeping reforms and ceasefires with various ethnic rebel groups, sparking greater interest in repatriation. 

However, many areas where refugees once lived present security and infrastructure issues. Several obstacles stand in the way: landmines, land disputes, the lack of basic services and guarantees from the Myanmar authorities to ensure the safety and rights of returning refugees, Tan said. 

Burmese government officials, Karen leaders and other stakeholders held initial discussions on repatriation this year, but no details have emerged, said Saw George. 

“We need to have a relationship of mutual respect and understanding before we can work together,” he said. 

Meanwhile, Thai government officials have on several occasions given assurances that there is no rush to close the refugee camps. Even if these are false promises, a voluntary and sustainable repatriation would be in their best interest to prevent an uncontrollable surge of people crossing the border again, Tan said. 

“Ideally, repatriation would be completely led by what the refugees want,” the UNHCR official said. 

Grant Bayldon: Stop passing buck with refugees

Getting tough is not the answer: Australia and NZ must work with Asian nations to help, writes Grant Bayldon.

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Asylum seekers can end up in desperate conditions in receiving countries. Photo / AP

The Asia Pacific region is probably the worst part of the world to be a refugee in. Not only does it have more refugees, it has less protection for them than anywhere else in the world.

This month while in Thailand, I visited Rohingya women and children who had fled from appalling atrocities in Burma. I should be used to hearing such stories by now, working for Amnesty International, but the stories are always so far removed from my life in New Zealand that I don't think I ever will be.

These women had been so desperate to escape that they had fled to Thailand, a terrifying three-week journey in a small open fishing boat packed with 100 people. Some were pregnant - one delivered her baby on the boat. All had terrible stories: houses burnt, family members killed.

The Rohingya are a Muslim minority group in Burma who for centuries have faced severe discrimination, and are denied equal access to citizenship in their own country.

Now in Thailand, the women and children have some room to move around, but their husbands have been caged like animals in a separate detention centre where shocking conditions are standing room only - a desperate mix of disease and depression.

In some ways these are the lucky ones. It's believed that many other Rohingya fleeing Burma by boat over the past year have fallen into the hands of human traffickers who have sold them to become what amounts to slave labourers on fishing boats or into the sex industry.

Some have allegedly been towed out to sea by the Thai Navy, stripped of fuel and supplies and left to die.

For those who've made it to Thailand and other countries, their problem is that - like most countries in the region - Thailand isn't a signatory to the Refugee Convention, and therefore asylum seekers have no guarantee of protection.

What's worse is that Thailand even refuses to allow the United Nations to register the Rohingya for the UN refugee resettlement programme. But even if they did, places are scarce.

 In Thailand, as in most other countries, they are simply illegal migrants liable to fall prey to human traffickers or indefinite detention.

It's no wonder so many people are trying to get on boats to Australia.

But in Australia the issue has become what humanitarian issues should never be - a political football kicked around by politicians desperate to win an election. On Friday the Australian Government announced it will now refuse to resettle asylum seekers who arrive by boat. Instead they will be permanently deported to Papua New Guinea.

But if you've been listening to the political debate in Australia, everything you've heard is probably wrong. Prime Minister Kevin Rudd paints the arrivals as a catastrophe engulfing Australia. The Leader of the Opposition Tony Abbott claims most are economic migrants seeking a better standard of living.

At first Rudd seems right. The numbers are significant, with almost 16,000 arriving so far this year. Until you look at it as a proportion of Australia's total annual migrant immigration, which brings in an additional 185,000 new Australians each year.

And Abbott's claim that most are not genuine refugees? As you'd probably guess, it's not easy to meet the requirements of being a refugee. Poverty won't get you there, you must prove that you are genuinely fleeing human rights abuses or war. But more than 90 per cent of arrivals in Australia are found to be exactly that: genuine refugees.

Then there's the deterrent claim - that tough policies are necessary to stop people dying at sea. Australia set up the offshore processing solution to achieve this, and New Zealand even had a go with our recent legislation to allow for mass detention of asylum seekers.

But the get-tough approach of making asylum seekers wait for years in inhumane conditions in Nauru and on Manus Island didn't work. They kept coming. The biggest group arriving in Australia are Afghanis, mostly the Hazara ethnic group so dreadfully persecuted by the Taliban. Could Australia or New Zealand's policies ever be so terrifying that they'd rather stay and face the Taliban?

The real tragedy is that the Australian move to send the problem on to Papua New Guinea, and the recent legislation change in New Zealand, diminishes what moral legitimacy we have to play the role of respected brokers in the region.

Because what's needed is not more failed get-tough policies, but to work with the receiving countries like Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia to increase recognition and support for refugees so they don't have to get on boats. We need to create opportunities for the most vulnerable people to be settled right across the region.

That's the role Australia and New Zealand need to play - to be leaders in the region, doing their bit and working with other countries to help them do theirs. Not playing pass the parcel.

Grant Bayldon is Amnesty International's New Zealand executive director.

By Grant Bayldon

Karen refugees to host youth conference in New Bern

By Sun Journal Staff

 

Karen refugees, who have resettled the New Bern area from Burma and Thailand, will host a youth conference beginning Thursday.

The Karen Baptist Church USA is the overseeing organization, of which the Karen Baptist Church New Bern is a member. The New Bern church, chartered in October 2010, has upwards of 50 youth members.

The event spans four days at Temple Baptist Church, where the Karen Baptists hold their worship services.

About 400 youth, pastors and trainers from around the country, along with some guests from Burma, are expected to attend.

This national conference is held in a different state each year. This is the first time New Bern has been the host.

Greeters from the New Bern mayor’s office, Southern Baptist Convention, Atlantic Baptist Association as well as other Karen leaders from all over the United States will share opening remarks. The opening ceremony is at 7 p.m. Thursday, and the public is invited.

During the four-day event, the youth will have workshops, praise and worship, Bible studies and community relations meetings. The youth will play soccer and volleyball at Lawson Creek Park Saturday afternoon.

The conference will conclude on Sunday with an outdoor dinner and a 1 p.m. closing ceremony.

Stories of struggle, survival converge at Columbia World Refugee Day

Shalamo has his face painted like a tiger at Columbia World Refugee Day. Shalamo was most recently in Thailand before coming to Columbia.

By MEREDITH TURK

Close to 100 refugees filled Broadway Christian Church Saturday, during the Columbia World Refugee Day Festival. The party started out slow, but picked up after someone tossed a few soccer balls onto the field in the back of Broadway Christian Church. Within minutes, dozens of kids and young men swarm the balls, set up goals and begin to play soccer. 

 A few young girls guard the goal, while the rest dribble and shoot in the afternoon heat. Almost everyone on the field Saturday was a refugee in Columbia. Many Columbia refugees are from Myanmar, but there are others from Ethiopia, Eritrea, Afghanistan and Iraq. Each person here has a different story of struggle and survival when they were forced to leave their home country. 

 Hseh Reh, a 24 year old refugee from Myanmar, stops in the middle of the soccer game to explain how he ended up in Columbia five years ago. When Hseh Reh was seven, he and his family fled to Thailand after soldiers forced them out of their home. After 15 years in a refugee camp in Thailand, Hseh Reh was able to come to the United States. 

 He came alone leaving his family back in Thailand. He was anxious to arrive in Columbia alone. “I didn’t think I would have any friends here,” he said. He was surprised to be greeted by other Burmese refugees at the airport, who became his friends and teammates in Columbia. "I was at Columbia Regional Airport and I look at the window and I see him and another friend, and I was so happy and so surprised,” Hseh Reh said. “Oh, my god, I have my friend and I felt free, like I am good you know.” 

 For now, it is still too dangerous to return to Burma, although Hseh Reh says he’s like to go back eventually. “I want to go because it is my homeland. But there is a lot of starvation there right now,” he said. Hseh Reh calls his family back in Myanmar about once a month to see how they are doing. Other refugees were able to come to Columbia with their family. Some even had children there in the United States. Vung Lun Cing watches her two daughters, ages 5 and 3, learning how to use a hoola hoop.

 She has been here for almost four years, and her daughters were mainly raised in Columbia. She said part of her challenge will be helping her children to remember their Burmese culture. “When she talks with her friends at school she wants to speak just English but at home we talk to her only in our language,” she said. Many spoke about the culture shock of coming to the United States. Columbia’s Refugee and Immigrant Services, one of the organizers of the Columbia World Refugee Day Festival, provides a variety of services for refugees in Columbia.

 “Getting a job is a really important part of becoming self-sufficient here in the United States,” said Katie Freehling, Job Developer at Columbia’s Refugee and Immigrant Services. “Most of them don’t want to be on public assistance or these other things that they have to rely on during their first few months in the United States,” Freehling said, “so finding a job is huge to having their own lives and supporting themselves.” 

 In the end, Freehling said she just supports refugees, but all the hard work is their own. “I help these people but they find these jobs themselves and represent themselves in the workplace and they do it tremendously,” she said. The games die down as dinnertime approaches. Families and friends gather inside to listen to traditional marimba music and enjoy some hamburgers and hotdogs. To some this day is a chance to relax, play games and share in a meal. 

 To others, it is a chance to remember the story of their journey to safety. “I want to thank you for the World Refugee Day because it reminds us where we are from,” said Hseh Reh. “If we don’t celebrate maybe five years or ten years later kids might not know where they come from.

 Why are they here? Why? Maybe they don’t know.” Hseh Reh said although he had to start over here, he feels like he is safe in Columbia. He’d like to return to Burma one day when it is less dangerous. “It will always be my home,” he said.

Grace: Teacher visits Thailand to help Myanmar refugees in Omaha

By Erin Grace / World-Herald columnist 

 This is how far Omaha teacher Betsy Hoefer was willing to go to help her refugee students from Thailand. A plane ride to the other side of the globe. A pickup truck ride into the jungle. An hour's walk daily from the village where she stayed for three weeks to two schools where she taught English. She washed her clothes in the river. She slept on the floor inside a mosquito net. She used what euphemistically can be called a “squatty potty.” None of this fazed the young woman who ditched a promising corporate career to teach middle school. 

She had spent a year teaching in an earthquake-devastated part of Peru with no electricity and running water. And her idea of downtime is to start teaching summer school for OPS one day after a 30-hour journey home. This is where I catch up with our intrepid traveler. I meet Betsy, 33, early on a Monday morning at Howard Kennedy Elementary. Some 200 children, born in the mountains of Myanmar or in the refugee camps of Thailand, are eating breakfast in a north Omaha cafeteria. 

There is a poster bearing the Statue of Liberty's image telling them in tiny print about their civil rights. They are eating cereal and graham crackers and drinking milk. Some are yawning and resting their heads on the tables. Others are giggling and doing sing-song hand-claps. Aside from the sleepyheads, these elementary-age children look happy to be here. “They really want to learn,” Nickole Carmichael, principal of this summer school session at Kennedy says. “They're eager.” These children are from tribes of persecuted ethnic minorities that fled the military junta that ruled Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, from 1962 to 2011. 

Their families hid in the mountains and then crossed into the jungles of Thailand, landing in refugee camps that dot the border between the two countries. Camp life is hard. Fire, with bamboo huts and open-flame cooking, is a constant threat. Education is spotty. Travel is limited. The U.S. in recent years has let some refugees into the country, with many landing in a place about as foreign as it gets — Omaha. 

 OPS has shouldered the education of these Burmese refugees, who are most commonly referred to by their ethnic group names: Karen, Karenni, Chin or Kachin. Some students have landed in Betsy's computer classes at Monroe Middle School and in her Saturday school language class at Franklin Elementary. These north Omaha schools are a world away from where Betsy grew up. She went to Millard North, graduating in 1997. She earned a finance degree from Texas Christian University. She built a strong resume that included big-time companies: Bell Helicopter in Fort Worth, Texas. Election Systems & Software and Kiewit Corp. in Omaha. 

She kept the books for Kiewit's coal mining arm. But something nagged at her. The best part of her job wasn't the work but the people. The best part of her week wasn't the time she spent in the office, it was the time she spent volunteering for a group that worked with Sudanese refugees. Betsy thought about a future with Excel spreadsheets. Then she applied for a teaching job in Peru, quit Kiewit and worked as a waitress until it was time to leave for South America. After a year there, Betsy returned to Omaha and worked at Starbucks and as a substitute teacher while earning a teaching certification. 

This fall she will start her fourth year at Monroe Middle School. She was one of six Nebraska teachers, and the only one from OPS, awarded a $5,000 professional development fellowship through the national nonprofit Fund for Teachers. She used the grant to go to Thailand, where she hooked up with a Thai-based relief organization called Rain Tree Foundation, which provides social welfare help to Thailand's poor. This group set Betsy up in a northern Thailand village outside Nai Soi. 

 She lived there for three weeks with a Karenni school principal and her social worker husband. Betsy spent her mornings teaching English at the Karenni Bible School, a post-secondary school that provided English, music and religious instruction. Her students were college-age and most had made incredible sacrifices, including risky travel from Myanmar, to live there. She spent afternoons teaching sixth-graders in a village outside a Thai military checkpoint for one of the refugee camps. 

The village was called Long Neck, a reference to a Karenni group's controversial practice of wearing so many rings around their necks that their necks become elongated. Betsy found her students in Thailand to be eager, bright and hardworking, just like her refugee students in Omaha. Unlike her modern computer classroom at Monroe, Betsy taught in thatched, open-air huts with a chalkboard.

 “I'm here as your teacher,” Betsy told them, “but I'm also here to learn from you.” Here's what she learned: 

Many Burmese and Thai people are either willfully or accidentally ignorant of the terrible repression caused by Myanmar's former military dictatorship. Another lesson: Villages may not have had much, but they shared and were extremely gracious and protective of her. Jungle life is hard. It's very physical. And sometimes you encounter sudden frights, like three huge, looming bulls who appeared in her walking path one day. Columnists Michael Kelly, Erin Grace and Matthew Hansen write about people, places and events around Omaha. Read more of their work here.

 She showed her Karenni students in Thailand pictures of her Karenni students in Omaha. In one case, Karenni Bible School Principal Htoo Lar Paw gasped in shock. There, published in an OPS book on refugee students, was Ka Paw Say, who went to the Bible school before immigrating to Omaha. Back in Omaha, she stood in the Howard Kennedy library overseeing a reading program that pairs older, more English proficient refugees with younger newcomers. 

 The library buzzed with voices talking in English and Karen and Karenni dialects. Sitting in one corner were a pair of girls, Rosalin Htoo, 14, who landed in Omaha three years ago unable to speak English and Pawlew Paw, 12, who came to Omaha last year. Rosalin had an open book on her lap and was pointing to the English words as she read aloud.

 “Some people see Jack and Jill and their …” she begins.

 “Pail,” Betsy softly prompts.

 “Pail of water,” Rosalin finishes. 

 Betsy said she went to Thailand to help her students. But the trip, she said, may have made the biggest difference for her. She's even more grateful now for the things she took for granted, like a bed, a shower, being American. 

“When you meet people who are stateless, who have had so much taken from them …,” her thought trailed off as she told me about a busload of Burmese students who had to pay fees to Thai soldiers for not having identification.

 “I'm trying to figure out how to fit back into life in Omaha,” she said, “having the knowledge and experience that I did.”

Myanmar native one of many ex-refugees to embrace entrepreneurial spirit

By Emily Nohr / World-Herald staff writer 

Saw “Rocky” Khu, right, the owner of K'Nyaw Poe Asian Market, talks with Jose Montalban and other friends at the store. This year Khu and his family opened a restaurant, Salween Thai, as well. He is an ethnic Karen from Myanmar and was a medic there.

 Saw “Rocky” Khu's day is familiar to others who own small businesses. His alarm beeps at 7 a.m., and he crashes around midnight, often later. During the hours in between, Khu drops off and picks up his children and squeezes in part-time hours at Lutheran Family Services, where he works as a caseworker to help refugees get on their feet. And, of course, he checks in at the businesses he owns with his family. Khu, who moved to the U.S. 15 years ago as a refugee from Thailand, is the owner of K'Nyaw Poe Asian Market near 90th and Fort Streets.

This year, he, his wife, Salweena, and family opened the Salween Thai restaurant and grocery on Northwest Radial about a mile north of Dodge. Among the ventures, they employ about nine people. His journey of traveling to the U.S. as a refugee and becoming a small-business owner make him one in a small pool. When Khu, who is an ethnic Karen from Myanmar, first arrived here, there was just one Karen-owned business. Now, there are about a handful in the area, including a clothing store, auto repair shop and, in Lincoln, a video production company. 

Refugees are entrepreneurial, but it's uncommon for them to open small businesses, particularly if they're new arrivals, said state refugee coordinator Karen Parde. Of employed people born in Myanmar — formerly known as Burma — now living somewhere in the U.S., about 4 percent are self-employed, according to Census data provided by David Drozd at the University of Nebraska at Omaha's Center for Public Affairs Research. “Just as people who are born here, (refugees) come with all kinds of skills and abilities,” Parde said. “Some find ways to move forward quickly. 

For others, it takes longer. I love it when I see it happen.” Ryan Overfield, coordinator of Lutheran Family Service's refugee employment and education program, agreed. Refugees who have been here for a longer time have started to look at owning their own businesses where they can hire other refugees. Khu's business is an example, along with businesses owned by Sudanese, Somalis and Bhutanese, he said. Khu didn't set out to open a business. Born in the 1960s Burma where Karen people continue to face persecution, he graduated from high school in a Thai refugee camp and later studied medicine.

 He used his training to perform cataract operations and dental care in remote areas of Burma's jungle. He was also a medic for the Karen National Liberation Army. “My ambition was to become a doctor, a bone surgeon,” he said. In 1999, Khu, his wife and young daughter traveled to the U.S. He packed his portable microscope, just in case. “When we arrive here, everything is a change. No (medical) license,” he said. “When I arrived here, I lost all my interest” in medicine. Other things, like finding a job, home and stable life for his family, took precedence. 

 Originally settled in Lafayette, La., Khu landed a part-time job at an Asian grocery store. They lived there three months before friends drew them north to St. Paul, Minn. There, he found a “very good job” at a manufacturer. Khu saved up money and purchased a house. His parents and other relatives started to arrive in the U.S. Khu and his family members became U.S. citizens. Things were looking up, but with the influx of Karen people moving to St. Paul, they found job opportunities dwindling. In his search for other cities to live, Omaha looked attractive.

 Khu's good American friends he met through church lived here. Business appeared to be doing well, and on “every street we found a bank,” he said. Plus, the weather was better than in bone-chilling Minnesota. They toured the city a handful of times before making the move in 2005. At the time, they were one of three Karen families here. Today, Khu estimates, there are 4,000 people from Myanmar — most of them from the Karen ethnic group, though there are others — in Lincoln and Omaha. Others live in Crete, Schuyler and Grand Island. Not everything fell into place right away. 

Khu's Minnesota home sat on the market for nine months until it sold, while he struggled to find a job in Omaha. “When we first arrived, wow, it was hard,” he said. “A couple years, you don't have a job.” His friends here helped, opening their home to Khu and his family, which had grown from three to four, plus one on the way. Finally, Khu found a job when he brought some friends who didn't speak English to Justman Brush Co. for a job opportunity. Because of the language barrier and Khu's good English, the company hired him to work as a machine operator. “I told the employer I couldn't work a long time, a few months,” he said. “It took me over a year I worked there.” Khu's stint at Justman led to Design Plastic, another manufacturer.

It was hard work forming windshields for motor bikes and plastic parts on pickup trucks and still not exactly what Khu wanted to be doing. After saving enough money, Khu and his family decided it was time to open a store like the one he worked at in Louisiana. Salweena Khu scoured the Internet for rules and regulations and ordered inventory. Business grew steadily and for a couple of years all the earnings went back into the store. It was always the Khus' intention to open a restaurant, too. They had planned for an open space in the strip mall where their first store is located, but it turned out the space required $100,000 to remodel. The strip mall on Northwest Radial had an open space that was previously an Ethiopian restaurant. 

 The updates there were fewer, and they cut costs by doing many of them themselves. Khu's wife selected the decor. Khu and his brother-in-law installed the carpet. “I said, 'I have seen (someone put in carpet) but I didn't do that by myself. He told me that he saw on YouTube. OK. So we started doing it,” Khu said, laughing. Parde said refugees can find a niche in opening restaurants and grocery stores that offer products from their home countries. Through them, she said, they fill the special needs of their communities. At K'Nyaw Poe Asian Market, for example, Khu offers snacks common in Myanmar and Thailand. He gets new shipments from there about every week. 

New vegetables arrives twice a week. The store has grown from three standard display shelves to an entire store, complete with freezer and refrigerator space and a section with cleaning and home products. Khu, 46, said the road to owning small businesses has come with struggles, many of which stem from coming to a country without knowing the language, customs and culture. But he faces the same challenges as other Americans, including from keeping up with the schedules of his kids, ages, 14, 13 and 7.

 Khu, who continues to work part time as a case manager at Lutheran Family Services and is following his true passion of ministry by being ordained next month, said problems remain in finding work for everyone within his community and in other refugee communities. Many older refugees have an especially difficult time learning English and adjusting to American culture. 

 But, the majority of the people in his community are trying, he said. “We are here and it's a real opportunity — a land of opportunity to live our life, to pursue the American dream.” Today Khu doesn't consider himself a refugee. He's an American who owns small businesses, just like many other Americans. “I feel like a family, you know, not a guest or not a stranger,” he said.

Ready for a 2,000-mile lesson

Posted by Marcus Yam

Bellevue College educator Stella Orechia is cycling 1,000 miles in the Pacific Northwest, visiting several communities of Burmese refugee communities, and another 1,000 miles in Myanmar (the former Burma) to raise money and awareness both for refugees in the Pacific Northwest and those at the Thailand/Myanmar border. A former Olympic athlete, Orechia wanted to find a way use her strengths to benefit the refugee communities in the Northwest. By dividing her Northwest journey into five segments, she said she can connect with different refugees at the end of each trip with a picnic. 

 In Redmond, Stella Orechia and Nancy Karnes look at a photo they took of themselves in advance of a bicycle trip to Spokane. Orechia is trying to raise money and build support for Burmese refugees. "It is a way for me to go back to my birthplace and be able to experience it in a way that connects to my profession as a health and wellness instructor -- being able to exercise and use biking to demonstrate fitness and creating a humanitarian project that brings me back to a country where I was born." Stella, born 50 years ago in the nation then known as Burma, will return to the country for the first time to continue the second leg of her journey.

 After that, she will spend a month volunteering as a health educator at the Mae Tao Health clinic for fleeing refugees on the nation's border with Thailand. Proceeds of her cycling efforts will go to the Northwest Communities of Burma and the Mae Tao Health Clinic. The last leg of her journey in the Pacific Northwest will begin Aug. 3, at the Canadian border Peace Arch at Blaine and will end Aug. 10 in Kent. 

MARCUS YAM / THE SEATTLE TIMES

The journey's conclusion in Kent will will coincide with the Northwest Communities of Burma's All-Star soccer tournament, which will bring together various Burmese communities in the region for a picnic and some athleticism. Bellevue College educator Stella Orechia is cycling 1,000 miles in the Pacific Northwest and 1,000 miles in Burma to raise money and awareness for refugees from Burma in the Pacific Northwest and in the Thailand/Burma border.

Bonded by Shared Horrors, Refugees Find Housing Solutions

This is the second in a Tyee Solutions Society series, running Monday to Thursday this week, that examines the unique housing challenges of refugees who've fled violence in other countries and are now settling in British Columbia.

In an alley behind a run-down noodle shop off Kingsway in East Vancouver, a group of men in T-shirts, jeans, and flip-flops stands smoking, laughing, and talking among parked cars. A piece of hand-painted plywood mounted high on the garage door behind them displays the name of the group, the Achehnese Canadian Community Society. 

Its members comprise Canada's first generation of newcomers from Acheh Province, Indonesia, a troubled, violent region on the northern tip of the island of Sumatra, west of Malaysia. The 15 or so men gathered in the alley are relatively young. Most are in their mid-thirties, part of approximately 200 families from Acheh province living in Metro Vancouver. About 60 of those families contribute $20 a month each to help pay rent for the Community Society's basement meeting space, which features a large common room for Muslim faith practices, and for sitting together in wide circles to socialize and share information. Most importantly, they come here to support one another.

They have all lived through unspeakable events that forced them out of their home country. Now they grapple with new challenges. Chief among them are the gaps between the incomes they earn, mostly in the construction or food-service industry, and how much it costs to put a roof over their heads -- even at the bottom end of the rental market. Their housing and income struggles are similar to other refugees in the Lower Mainland, who commonly struggle with poverty, low incomes, and precarious or substandard housing. But few other refugees share the unique solidarity of the Achehnese community. 

 The people mingling at the Community Society today are among thousands of Achehnese who fled their home province in 2003. In May that year, after eleventh-hour negotiations over demands for local independence failed, some 50,000 Indonesian soldiers and police imposed martial law in Acheh, launching a large-scale crackdown on members or supporters of the separatist Free Acheh Movement, known in Indonesia as Gerakan Acheh Merdeka, or GAM. Indonesian forces routinely singled out young Achehnese men on suspicion that they were among GAM's estimated 5,000 armed members or supporters. Suspects were beaten, arbitrarily detained, forced to disappear, or killed. 

If men failed to cooperate, the military went after their families. Abdul Halim Andib describes his country at the time as a "war zone" where it soon became impossible to live. He fled by boat across the busy Malacca Strait to nearby Malaysia. But the refuge it offered was scant. "There's no government," is how Andib puts it. What Malaysia's government lacks is a system to receive or protect asylum seekers. Among the lucky ones, Andib found shelter in a refugee camp. Other Achehnese in Malaysia were less fortunate. 

They faced police extortion and extreme poverty. Some were even deported back to the violent conflict they had risked their lives to escape. A Canadian welcome Acknowledging the unbearable situation for Achehnese refugees in Malaysia, the federal government, at the time under Liberal Party of Canada political management, stepped in. "Canadian Immigration supported us from the UNHCR [United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees] in Malaysia," recalls Safrizal Dulysah.

He and Andib both reached Vancouver in June 2004; they were 25. "Usually, the men or the husbands were in refugee camps in Malaysia, so we came here first," Dulysah, now 34, adds. "Then, we supported our wives and some kids. They came here after that." The Canadian federal government supported families fleeing Acheh as landed immigrants, not as refugees. They received permanent residency as soon as they arrived. As is the custom for other government-assisted refugees, they spent their first two weeks in Canada at the Immigrant Services Society of BC's Welcome House in downtown Vancouver. "They gave single men $500 welfare for rent, but a family, maybe more," Dulysah recalls. "Enough for rent and food." Armed with the barest essentials, the Achehnese worked steadily to rebuild their lives in Canada. They searched for jobs. They studied English and became fluent speakers.

 They rented what apartments they could afford to accommodate their growing families. Nine years later, Dulysah is the father of three children and works as a finishing carpenter. He pays $1,100 a month for a two-bedroom apartment in Burnaby for his five-person family. Their success, community members say, comes from the fact that they have each other. Early on, the men and women who fled Acheh's violent divisions took steps to keep connected and support each other, even when prohibitive housing costs forced them to live in far-flung spots across the Lower Mainland. 

 "As soon as we came here, we thought we might need to stay together, so we decided to rent a place," Andib says, explaining the origins of the East Vancouver gathering space. "Because we are Muslim, we needed a place to gather together." Only a year after most had arrived, the group registered the Achehnese Canadian Community Society with the provincial government in 2005. Approaching their tenth anniversary in Canada next year, the community has much to be proud of in addition to its modest meeting hall. All its members have learned English. 

They're employed and self-supporting. They don't make use of income assistance from the provincial government. 'They won't cry for help' But the Achehnese community's record of steadfast mutual support of one another is exceptional. "There's a popular myth that in newcomer communities, everybody takes care of everyone. I hear that all the time," says Stephen Gaetz, director of the Canadian Homelessness Research Network (CHRN) and an associate dean of York University's education faculty.

 Behind the popular ideas that ethnic immigrant communities take care of themselves, he says, is the harsher reality that people of all backgrounds face setbacks, job loss, financial difficulty -- and struggle to keep a roof over their head. "Newcomer homelessness is a very complicated and important issue," Gaetz says. "It's not all hugs. Issues around settlement, and the breakdowns that can happen: breakdowns with refugees, breakdowns in families, moving with family, reunification, things like that can happen." A 2005 study for the National Secretariat on Homelessness, conducted by MOSAIC, a settlement services agency, and the UBC geography department, examined relative and absolute homelessness among immigrants, refugees, and refugee claimants in Greater Vancouver.

 It found that newcomers' success in finding housing relies heavily on the social capital of ethnic or cultural communities that already reside here. The youthful Achehnese community, determined to stick together, built their own social capital. "Something that I really appreciate about the Achehnese community is the way that they come together, [to] make decisions as a community," says Byron Cruz, a Downtown Eastside healthcare worker who has been working with the Achehnese community since its members arrived in 2004. But while it has unity on its side, the community still faces significant challenges, Cruz says. "Despite the fact they are not on social assistance, and they are working so hard, housing is an issue for them. For a hardworking person in the construction industry, they have a hard time paying the rent." And not every refugee has a ready-made community of people from their home country to buffer their landing in Canada. 

"While established ethno-cultural communities may have the ability to 'take care of their own,'" MOSAIC found, "Other groups who lack extensive social networks, including recently arrived individuals and refugee claimants, may fall through the cracks." Even for those with support, success is relative. "The extent of relative and absolute homelessness among immigrants, refugees, and refugee claimants is less than would be expected given the income levels of these groups," the MOSAIC report reads. "This is not to say that the delineated groups are well housed." Social networks may keep newcomers off the street, but the alternative for many is to live in crowded, often substandard homes, with family members double-bunking in living rooms in what small spaces they can afford. Sherman Chan was the principal investigator on that 2005 report. In his view, refugees will continue to be poorly sheltered until people start speaking out.

 But the settlement services director of MOSAIC says that outcry won't come from refugee communities themselves, even those who are struggling. "They won't cry for help," Chan says. "It's unlikely they will do anything big to voice their concerns or to really deal with the issues that they are suffering from," he says. "I think that's always the challenge, in terms of becoming more visible and voicing out the concerns, pushing the policy makers." As Chan sees it, policy makers are "paying more attention to the aboriginal homelessness issue, the youth homelessness issue, seniors' homelessness issues, [and] mental health, because they are more visible. "Many of the ethnic communities, they tend to accommodate themselves, couch-surfing, or they'll stay with somebody's family for a while and then move to another one, or they may be housing in a really overcrowded environment," Chan says.

 "So they are not coming out." Aiming higher The Achehnese community is exceptional in that as well. Proud of its achievements to date, the group is eager to aim higher. "When we started working, we got paid very low [sic]," says Dulysah. "We started from $10 without experience and without English." He improved his own circumstances slowly over time, forcing himself to study English in the evenings after work, finding new work through his community of friends. But while everyone's found some sort of shelter in the private market, Achehnese families are scattered in various configurations across Burnaby, Surrey, and East Vancouver. Many struggle with affordability and inadequate space. Andib, like Dulysah a finishing carpenter, makes $3,000 a month. He lives in Surrey with his wife and two children, sharing a one-bedroom apartment that rents for $850 -- just barely affordable by national standards that dictate shelter should consume no more than 30 per cent of one's income. "Right now," Dulysah volunteers, "it's very hard to pay rent." He wants something better that he can rely on. 

 The same is true for others in the group. Once again, they've come together through the Achehnese Canadian Community Society, this time to draft a community "wish-list" for 2013. Exploring alternative housing possibilities is high on the list. There are as yet no concrete plans for how to proceed, but Dulysah says some ideas have been floated already. "What we want," Dulysah says, "is a place for the community [to gather] and a co-op building or rent-to-own for life." The dream is for Achehnese families to live in the same co-operative housing complex, or another such affordable, community-oriented space they co-own or rent to own. Ideally, there would be enough room for the kids as they grow up, as many Achehnese children are now double- or triple-bunking with siblings or parents in small apartments. Most importantly, secure long-term, affordable housing would free the group's energies to pursue ambitions that extend beyond housing innovations. They want to build a social enterprise, for example, where those employed as carpenters donate their skills to the community at large. With characteristic solidarity, the community's 2013 wish-list also includes doing more for parents, siblings and cousins left behind in Acheh. 

For the many who did not flee, a destructive tsunami on Boxing Day, 2004, added homelessness to the existing miseries of the troubled region. Like many others, Andib's small budget for shelter and other household expenses in Canada is stretched further by the amounts he regularly sends back to family in Acheh province. "I'm really proud that we have come together," Andib says. He looks around at his friends, who nod. "We have close friendships, and we have stayed together." It's a good bet the same spirit will find a way to secure affordable housing too. Tomorrow: Teaching new refugees in Greater Victoria, who've fled violence and persecution in their home countries, to get 'ready to rent.'