Opinions

An Alaskan’s observations from an Afghan refugee camp

I recently returned from a brief volunteer stint at a refugee camp for recently evacuated Afghan people in the desert on the Texas-New Mexico border. I was a bit player in the operation to provide a small measure of comfort and hope to some 9,000 men, women and children who have lost their homes, livelihoods and, in many cases, their families to America’s 20-year war and abrupt withdrawal from their country. Each day, more arrive, and each day some depart as agencies manage to place them with relatives.

I served with Team Rubicon, a nonprofit disaster response outfit that draws most of its members from the ranks of military veterans. With donated funds, TR each year mobilizes thousands of volunteers, in every state and in several other countries, for tough and dirty jobs like cleaning up after hurricanes, tornadoes, floods and fires.

By comparison, our job was relatively easy. As the third “wave” of TR volunteers there, about a dozen of us — with the help of a few Army troops — ran a big warehouse at the Dona Ana Range Complex. We were receiving, sorting and preparing for distribution the mountains of donated goods intended for the new arrivals. Clothing composes the greatest volume of contributions, but we handled everything from baby strollers to toothbrushes, diapers and sanitary pads, blankets and shoes, skin cream and hair ties. For 12-14 hours each day, from 6 a.m. lights-on to evening debrief back at the makeshift co-ed barracks on Fort Bliss, we were on duty, and most of the day we sorted, filled and moved dozens of cardboard cartons in the desert heat and dust. The evening before we departed, the fourth wave arrived. Others will follow.

The Dona Ana complex looks like a prison, with chain-link fences topped by concertina wire surrounding clusters of gigantic white tents, multiple police checkpoints on the access road, armed MPs at strategic points throughout the camp. But the gates are open. The “guests” — the official term — walk freely through the camp and out the roads for exercise. Despite the language barrier, interactions between guests and staff were cordial. Kids appear for the most part to be enjoying the experience.

My own Marine Corps service half a century behind me, I found TR’s military culture a bit strident. We worked in “strike teams,” and our daily schedule was called the “battle rhythm.” Our incident commander, a big Samoan woman, was a retired Army master sergeant. Several of my teammates were veterans of Afghanistan or Iraq and retained some soldierly demeanor and vocabulary.

TR has a strong culture of mutual care and respect. Team members made friends quickly and supported one another absolutely. No one griped, no matter the assignment or how often it changed. Personal safety and health — physical and mental — came first. We all wore our COVID-19 masks, lights-on to lights-out. In twice-daily briefings/debriefings we got pep talks and offered mutual acknowledgement and support. Our incident commander was also our pal, our mom, our therapist.

Seven long days doesn’t make me an expert, but here are a few observations:

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• The U.S. government spent trillions of dollars on the war in Afghanistan. And in a miracle of planning and execution probably unmatched in history, it safely extracted 120,000 people in the space of only a few days. But it can’t seem to provide toothbrushes or soccer balls to the refugees its policies created.

• Other organizations, like the Red Cross, Save the Children, Armed Forces YMCA, Catholic Social Services, to name just a few, also have mobilized — largely with volunteer labor — to do what should be the government’s job. Numerous corporations and organizations, including Christian, Jewish and Muslim faith-based groups, and thousands of generous and loving people, are giving their time and cash to provide material aid, and to help with the immense task of finding homes for the guests.

• There is a lot to know about running a warehouse. Fortunately, at least two in our wave had done so in the military, and we were able to organized the place into a fairly smoothly functioning facility in just a few days.

• So many of the contributions that arrive each day — thoughtfully assembled kits of travel-size hygiene products, attractive clothing, toys, and much more — don’t reach the refugees. The distribution system is not set up to handle them. We had to disassemble the gift packs and sort the larger containers into huge bins for distribution through an Army-run “storefront.” Cases and pallets of goods move smoothly through the system, but not small items in small quantities. Most clothing gets distributed, but extra-large sizes and culturally inappropriate styles are shunted to other bins, where they may languish indefinitely.

• The new arrivals are people, not statistics and not threats. They are members of a complex and sophisticated culture. Many are professionals or skilled technicians — talented, energetic family people who have been ripped from their homes and lives through no fault of their own. They are in this dire situation because they assisted the U.S. or its allies. They have been vetted and vaccinated. They arrive with literally the clothes on their backs and are entirely at the mercy of the people of this country.

I understand that 100 or so of these refugees are coming to Alaska in the next several months. I hope they get the respect they deserve and the help they need.

Terry Johnson is an Anchorage resident and former Marine.

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