As we stepped out of the secure area at Dulles Airport to retrieve our luggage, exhaustion washed over me. It wasn’t the journey itself that drained me, but rather the challenge of traveling with two small children.
My kids were eager to escape the confines of the airport and sprinted toward a large family gathered near the exit. Suddenly, their joyous cheers filled the air as a teenager from behind us ran towards them. Laughter erupted, and children jumped with excitement—a familiar scene in the bustling atmosphere of an airport.
Then I noticed it: THE BAG.
The young man behind us clutched a thin white plastic bag emblazoned with the letters IOM. He struggled to keep his balance as excited family members enveloped him in hugs. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) is an agency that aids refugees in their resettlement efforts, and that bag contained vital documents like visas and passports, crucial for their new life in the United States.
I recognized that bag all too well. Thirty years ago, during my own journey as a refugee, I cherished holding it. As a spirited 12-year-old, I begged my parents to let me carry it. They reluctantly agreed but kept a watchful eye to ensure I wouldn’t misplace it. To me, that bag was a treasure, just like the one my brother clutched when he arrived at the airport after being separated from us for two long years.
Those memories linger, even after all this time. I felt an overwhelming sense of joy for the young man’s family, but as a mother today, I couldn’t help but empathize with the bittersweet tears of his mother. Her tears were filled with happiness and relief as she held her son again.
Throughout my work with Oxfam, I have seen many such bags, each one evoking a smile as I imagined the anxious excitement of those carrying them—their key to a new beginning in a foreign land.
Yet, that night at Dulles, a deep sadness enveloped me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I reflected on how my adopted country has begun to tighten its doors on refugees, making reunions like this one increasingly rare.
Refugees are among the most vulnerable people in the world—women, children, and young men—seeking safety from unimaginable violence and loss. Instead of upholding the values America once stood for, current policies aim to shut out those in dire need. This is not the country that welcomed me three decades ago; this is not our America.
For decades, the United States has offered sanctuary to refugees from all corners of the globe, including my own journey from Communist Romania during the Cold War. Today, many Syrians flee their war-torn homeland, enduring violence and long waits in refugee camps as they navigate our complex security processes. However, upon their arrival, refugees work diligently to rebuild their lives and integrate into the fabric of American society.
As the administration’s executive order faces legal challenges, it is crucial that our voices are heard. In challenging times, we reveal our true character. The America I know would rise to the occasion, expanding its compassion rather than diminishing it. We cannot allow the flame of the Statue of Liberty, which has welcomed millions seeking a fresh start, to be extinguished.
While I could make an educated guess about the young man’s background, I choose not to. He is on a path to becoming just as American as anyone else.
Clara Jensen