Through the eyes of a refugee: violence on two continents

The Republic of the Congo Coat of Arms

After more than two decades of tempestuous politics fueled by Marxist-Leninist rhetoric and an authoritarian regime, the Republic of the Congo transitioned to a multi-party democracy in 1992. That's when the African nation elected a new president in professor Pascal Lissouba.

Yet, things were far from peachy for the former French colony. Lissouba had defeated Denis Sassaou-Nguesso, the previous ruler since 1979, but it wasn’t long before the country would erupt in civil strife. Lissouba dissolved the National Assembly in 1992 and called for new elections in 1993, sparking violent unrest before the dispute was squashed by international mediators. That wasn’t the end: The democratic process would once again come to a violent, screeching halt in 1997. With presidential elections slated for July, tensions between the Lissouba and Sassou-Nguesso camps escalated.

The country plunged into a two-year-long civil war that displaced hundreds of thousands of people. The impact of that cataclysm has had lasting effects on the region and is still rippling through the rest of the world because of the refugees that fled the country fearing for their lives.

What follows is an account from one of those displaced people, a man to be referred to only as Joseph, because of privacy issues. The 42-year-old Congolese refugee isn’t living a glamorous life by any stretch of the imagination. When I interviewed him for an academic research project in April 2011, he was working for a janitorial service and living in a humble, somewhat cramped Rogers Park studio apartment with his 32-year-old wife, referred to here as Patrice. But ask Joseph and he'll tell you just how grateful he is.

This is a story about lessons harvested from harrowing times.

When home isn’t home

[I left the Congo] because I couldn’t accept the things I was seeing with my eyes… it was the best time for me to leave. Otherwise, I would die. Because of my situation, my security was a problem … I was in a political party [the Pan-African Union for Social Democracy]. After [Sassou-Nguesso] took the power, his people were chasing people who were in the party of the professor Pascal Lissouba [who I supported]. My life was in danger because of those people who were killing people … One day I was on a train, this was in 1998; I was riding a train from Pointe-Noire, to Diosso. We arrived at Makoua. Makoua is a place where there is a camp for new soldiers... I got off of the train and sat down near the train to [get] some air. And one soldier came in front of me and asked, 'Please, show me your ID.' I told him that my ID was in my bag in the train. I said, 'Let me go in the train and get my ID to show to you.'

He said, 'No.'
He said, 'I know you. You were a soldier of the professor Pascal Lissouba.'
I told him [my ID] was in the train. And he said 'No. Show me your ID.'

I [stood] up, and I was just in front of the door to go to the train, but he stepped in front of me and blocked my way to go back to the train.  

And I say to him — 'You are a soldier. I think your duty is to save people. And everything belongs to the people. The thing you are going to do is not your duty. The thing you are saying is not your duty.'

And at that point he just put his two hands inside my pocket. One hand in the left pocket and one hand in the other pocket. And he pulls out everything I have in my pocket. Money, keys, everything out. And he just took all the money I had, and just gave back the keys and my papers.
 
I said, 'This is my country, Congo?' To see people like this. To have people like this. This is a dream. I am dreaming or what? His friends came. They were smoking. And when the friends arrived… they asked him, 'What happened with this guy?' He talked to this other soldier and said, 'This guy, he was a soldier of Pascal Lissouba!'

They took a cigarette … and they put the fire on me like this...

Joseph raised one of his forearms to show me where he had been burned. His eyes broadened in outrage and a painful grimace contorted his face.  It was as if he was standing outside that train in Makou, feeling the pain anew.

I was dreaming. It was a dream for me.

I forced my way away and found a way to go back to the train. And at that point, one police was on the train. And when the soldiers saw him, then they left. The police asked me what happened and I explained everything to the police. He said, 'Oh, I’m sorry.'

I didn’t have anything [I could] do. It is very difficult; you are living in a country and soldiers are treating people of the country like that. I condemn that kind of habit. So I went to Benin, and then to Gabon, and then I came here.    

What happened from my experience living in Congo is that now… I know that violence is no good. Taking the power in the country, using guns, is not a good thing. Because still now we have trouble in my country. We don’t have freedom of speech. It is a dictatorship, we don’t have rights. But here in the United States, it’s different.

Every time I see in a country [that] people try to use violence to get the power to control the country, I condemn it. It’s no good. I was telling [people in Benin], please don’t choose violence. If you need to become president — if you need to become president — do the election in the peaceful way… You have to negotiate, and you have to talk to each other. You know, in enough of Africa, like Tunisia and Egypt, the people they were ready to kick out the president because of the dictatorships. And maybe, in Congo, we are ready for a demonstration.

Maybe. I don’t know.
 
From violence to violence

I have to say that we have to build safe.

People have to build safe — if they can. I accepted to come here. But before coming here, first, I know that, in the United States, there is a lot of violence. When I was living in Congo, I was reading in the newspaper… all the time they kill people in the United States. But I accepted to come here because of the freedom of speech … Since I have been living in Chicago, I [haven’t seen yet] … somebody acting with guns against another person. But I heard a lot of stories from my friends about violence in the United States, especially in Chicago. For me, I know where to put my legs. I’m living in North Side, but it’s not like all North Side places are secure… Sometimes when I sleep and I wake up around 3 a.m., I hear some shots. Some shots coming from a far place. But I can’t tell if the shot was from police or gang. I don’t know who did that. I couldn’t have guessed. [In some ways] the violence in the United States is more than in Congo. Because citizens here have guns. Sometimes they do it for no reason, or because of drugs. They kill people for no reason. It’s so easy.

I recently read in a newspaper here, two police were arrested. Why? Because they met with one lady in downtown. The two police mated the lady and asked the lady if they can help her, something like that, to bring her to her home. But what happened next is, the police took the lady inside the car and one police officer was driving. And the other police abused the lady inside the police car. And that shocked me. And when they arrived at the apartment of the lady, what happened next? The other police abused the lady inside her apartment.  (Note: A few of the details of Joseph's retelling of what allegedly happened are slightly off, plus the case is ongoing, so click here to read news coverage of the incident, and see the video above for more insight.)


That is violence against the people. That is here. I’m living here, and I’m still watching a situation like that… Each of us as human beings… we have to fight for justice for every people in this country. Regarding jobs. Regarding school. Regarding everything. We need to fight. We need equality for everyone. And we have to fight violence.

Author's Note

I interviewed Joseph on a misty, gray, drizzling Sunday afternoon in April. A mutual friend, RedEye intern Jessica Cilella, accompanied me. At the time, we both worked for The Loyola Phoenix, where I was editor-in-chief from May 2010 to May 2011.

Joseph and his wife Patrice welcomed us into their humble abode with a warmth that, I can say from my own experience, can only be achieved by people who have been through cruel times and escaped with hearts intact. Plenty of people are left embittered, fragile and afraid. Their hardships break them; They end up shells of their former selves -- living, breathing specters darkened by their own suffering. You can almost feel the shadows of their past angst swirling about them. Sometimes it's hard to tell the living from the dead, as Ed Winters once sang.

But then there are those souls who emerge from their trials with more vitality and courage than before. Their survival is proof that men and women can transcend the malevolent powers that be, that good can outlast evil. For those people, like Joseph and Patrice, the light of optimism illuminates them. There is nothing quite like being around a survivor and basking in that spirit.

I want to dedicate this posting to Joseph and his wonderful, ever-smiling wife Patrice. They are truly blessed. I pray the universe grants the same fortune to the millions of displaced people seeking refuge on this violent, mixed-up planet.