peace cells

The organization I work for, Global Volunteers Network (GVN), sends volunteers to another NGO on camp called PCO (People Caring Organization) which, despite the fact that it sounds like a group that goes around randomly hugging people, actually focuses primarily on “peace and reconciliation” and “conflict resolution” activities. But what does that all mean? These are really big issues. Like, how do you forgive your enemy enough to co-exist again as neighbors back in Liberia when they may have committed unspeakable acts of violence against you or people you love? Should you? How does the cycle of violence end? What form of justice will work to heal the nation? How can you prepare in exile to return to Liberia?

These seem like pretty impossible questions, but tackling them is precisely what PCO has set out to do. As a part of this, PCO conducts outreach they call "peace cell meetings" around camp. These meetings are held outside in different zones each day and are open to anyone. When I heard about this, I had my doubts that people would actually turn up to talk, vent or discuss what could be potentially deeply rooted traumatic issues. But I was wrong.

The last meeting I went to was held in zone 4 in an area between a cluster of houses, and it drew such a crowd that people spilled out between the houses out of view. I don’t know if it was really the opportunity to talk through issues or if it was the free drinks (that’s usually a big draw) and the chance to break the monotony of daily routine, and I guess it doesn’t much matter. Many people came, and they were not shy about adding their opinions in typically long-winded, metaphor-filled African fashion.

The topic that week was "how to prepare to return to Liberia" now that they have a democratically elected president and relative stability. Quite bizarrely, I thought, the discussion started off with a focus on technicalities - should you fly or take a boat, and how much luggage does each allow you? But while those questions seem to avoid the most important issues, they are also safe areas to approach the subject and everyone can somewhat detachedly discuss the pros and cons of these logistical options. And the discussion inevitably found its way to meatier issues.

Someone summed up what most people seemed to have been thinking saying a bit angrily, "It doesn’t matter how I get there, I cannot go back there. There is nothing left for me. I have no family left, no land and I’ve been here for 15 years. Me, I will not go back to Liberia!" This was reiterated by several refugees, most of whom concluded that their only hope was to be resettled, hopefully in America, or continue to eke out an existence on the refugee camp. But the hope of being granted resettlement diminishes through the years, and it is increasingly difficult to make ends meet on camp as the UN provides less and less handouts. So, people are left feeling truly stateless and hopeless. This rather pessimistic conclusion led to a discussion of the refugees neglect by the international community who seem to have forgotten about them. There was a lot of venting about the lack of concern and support from the outside world, which the facilitators tried in vain to turn around into a discussion of how to become more self-empowered. There were lofty speeches by PCO volunteers about how 1 + 1 = 11 because of the power in unity, and how if stick together and form groups we can have the strength and resources needed to rebuild Liberia. It’s was all very well put and inspiring to an outsider, but I’m not sure how many people were swayed by this rhetoric.

At one point others noted that despite the difficulties of camp living, standards of living are higher here than in Liberia, so there is no real pull to go back to a place whose capital city still does not have electricity and roads are so impassible that goods cannot get to many places in the interior. Not to mention the indeterminate likelihood of a return to violence. Why should they leave a camp that has increasingly reliable electricity, easy physical access to education and medical care (albeit expensive) and even internet access for a place with decrepit infrastructure and the chance of war? It’s a hard sell to say the least. The UN “sweetens” the deal by giving each refugee a whopping $5.00 to help in this transition, something the participants found at least as laughable as it was depressing. If all this were not enough dissuasion, many refugees noted that once they return to Liberia, they forgo their refugee status and forfeit their right to be resettled in a wealthy country. They also lose the ability to appeal to relatives in wealthy countries for help based on their status as refugees.

Most of the group conveyed a message of “our only hope is being resettled in the West, and in America specifically.” This is something I’ve noticed all over camp. It’s the dream of most to win a spot on a resettlement program to America. It’s what people pray for at church, and many of my interactions with Liberians have the subtext of “how can you help me get to your country?” As an outsider it seems like this drain of talent to America can only hinder the rebuilding of Liberia, but I also know that each individual makes the best decisions for themselves and their family. And why should they be different from the millions of other refugees and economic migrants who flock to wealthy countries in the hopes of having a more secure future? My public policy professors would call this brain drain a classic collective action problem. I don’t know how to solve it.

But towards the end of the peace cell meeting, a young woman, probably no older than 18, got up to speak. She said, “Why is it that all of you want to go to America? America wasn’t always so powerful and rich. People made it that way. We can all go back to Liberia, make it strong together and pretty soon people will want to go from America to Liberia.” This was put a lot more powerfully by the young woman, and it kind of stunned the group to silence. I’m not sure what they were thinking. It was easy to admire her aplomb and her eloquence, but the group may have been silently dismissing her message as naïvely idealistic. But maybe that’s what Liberia needs – a little naïve idealism in the face of so many dark realities.