Scottish authors celebrating refugee stories
On 21 June in the Women’s Library – a truly amazing and magical place in its own right – I listened to several Scottish authors read the stories authored by refugees that had touched them. And I once again realised I am the sappiest person alive.
Real lives – touching, incredible stories
Of the stories, one covered the sense of helplessness and hopelessness of Yarl’s Wood detention centre, another about how once, cockroaches in a sub-standard accommodation forged and army against its newly arrived occupant, and a poem about how living in exile means living in limbo.
And there was one about egg cups.
And I cried.
Small tokens of home offer reassurance
Something about how such a small piece of home, of what was and the memory it has become, can make the world seem less foreign, less alien… I don’t know what items I would choose if I had to flee my home. Such a luxury.
I think sometimes such luxury brings a sense of meaninglessness. One of the authors, Catherine MacPhail, spoke about how, here, in Scotland, if it rains there’s a bad turn out at the ballot. In the States, where I am originally from, there’s always a bad turn out, too. It seems trivial when you think of the things people are fighting and dying for their beliefs and fleeing for their lives. And we in the West sometimes just can’t be bothered – and don’t appreciate our liberties – our rights to choose.
As I was sitting there, I couldn’t decide if I wanted us in the West to realise the value of our rights more, or for those who don’t have those rights, to someday soon have the luxury of not using them. Maybe both equally.
