Agony of a Nation

by Gloria Tupinambas (Brazil)

Making a local connection Colombia

Agony of a Nation It was supposed to be a normal border crossing: Passports getting stamped, motorhome documents and vaccination cards being checked... All this bureaucracy is part of my routine after crossing more than 60 borders, in five continents. However, I was surprised by something else when crossing from Ecuador to Colombia. This time there were tears, sorrow and the feeling of hopelessness. The kind of feeling that hurts like a sharp knife. I spent seven hours and thirty minutes standing in the queue of the Migration Department, roofless, under a temperature of 5°C (41 °F) together with thousands of Venezuelans, who were trying to escape from misery, starvation and lack of future in a country that was devastated by economic crisis. They were seeking a new life in South America. During all the 450 minutes that I have been side by side with that legion of refugees in that endless queue, I felt a bit scared and frightened in the very beginning (I apologize for that). In the disorder of the queue there were some quarrel, poking and shouting as well. As time went by tiredness and cold weather have brought some kind of peace to my hearts. I started talking to each other and that crowd got another aspect for me. Among suitcases, bags, backpacks I was able to understand their real identity. Every month forty thousand people flee Venezuela towards Colombia. But in that queue they were more than figures. With a frightened look, Pablo Mendez, 31, was watchful of his luggage in every step forward. He was a manager at a supermarket in Caracas, he left behind his two kids, wife and parents to try a job in Quito. By his side, shaking with fear and cold, there was an ex-policeman, Hugo Quispe, 52, he was forced to abandon his military career to try to find a job in Lima to support his daughter and his wife. Carmem Alberto, 49, had a restaurant which went out of business, and together with her son Carlos, 28, an ex-clothes-designer, they hit the road seeking for jobs as well. Sad histories were on the faces of those people who were forced to abandon their homes, roots and beloved ones. More than seven hours sharing my feelings with each other and I got closer and emotional. During this time together, the fear which had struck me in the beginning became compassion, perplexity and revolt. I had been through this before when I visited refugee camps in Myanmar, Muslims settlements in Palestine and burned down squares downtown Cairo, right after the Arab Spring conflicts arouse in Egypt. However, this time it was different, it has happened in South America, my home. I am aware of my place in society. I am a privileged one, with solid family, loyal friends, access to health care and quality education, stable financial condition and due to all of this I can make my own choices in life. Despite having the autonomy to make my own decisions and the resources to avoid being manipulated I am neither better nor worse than anybody. We are equals! “We are all in the same boat”. And a question haunts me since then: how long will it take for us to take action against this human tragedy? We are all brothers and sisters, we are from the same kind, set apart by stupid borders. We ban ourselves from Venezuela, we kill ourselves in Syria, we hide in the refugee camps in the Southwest Asia, we pursue ourselves in Africa and we hate each other in Brazil. For how long? Won’t we ever learn the lesson? Concentration camps in Auschwitz, atomic bombs in Japan, genocides in Indochina... Isn’t it enough? We are like sand grains in the immense universe. I will never be the same after those seven hours and a half, which have changed my life forever!