I’m sitting in a bustling outdoor café in Jakarta, feeling the sun's heat on my sundress as sweat beads down my back. Opposite me, a young Muslim woman in a black hijab and long sleeves sits seemingly unperturbed by the oppressive humidity. The stark difference in our attire feels symbolic, highlighting the divide between us. I am a middle-class American on a work trip, while she is an Afghan refugee navigating life in a foreign land that seems to offer no refuge.
The contrast between our situations is striking, and we have yet to choose our circumstances. It's a matter of birth and fate. The privilege I carry is palpable, though it remains unspoken.
As we start our conversation, a few things quickly become evident. Her voice is soft but carries an undercurrent of strength and resolve. Her English skills impressed me, especially since she only began studying the language in 2017. Warm, candid, and exceptionally intelligent, she reveals her past ambition to become a lawyer—an aspiration that aligns with her evident potential. Her current plight makes her story all the more poignant.
I’ll refer to her as Roya, a pseudonym she prefers to protect her privacy. Roya is here to discuss The Sisterhood, a community initiative she helped establish to support refugee women in Jakarta.
Understanding the refugee situation in Indonesia is crucial to grasping the importance of The Sisterhood. Traditionally, the country has been a transit point for refugees heading to more permanent resettlement destinations. However, this has shifted recently.
Globally, 70 million people are displaced due to conflict, which has more than doubled in the last two decades. Indonesia has become a bottleneck, with countries like the U.S. and Australia reducing their refugee intake. Refugees arrive in droves but leave at a trickle.
In 2017, the UNHCR informed the 14,000 refugees in Indonesia that their chances for resettlement were virtually nonexistent, suggesting they prepare to stay indefinitely. While refugees won't be deported, they lack legal status, hindering their ability to work, open bank accounts, or access education.
In this limbo, refugees rely on charity, clinging to hope for an increasingly elusive future. Limited government and NGO support, alongside overcrowded immigration detention centers, leave many in dire situations, relying on local charities for basic needs.
Roya's situation, and that of others like her, is grim. Having been in Indonesia for five years, her options seem limited. It’s hard to imagine how refugees maintain hope amid such uncertainty.
Enter The Sisterhood.
Recognizing the unique challenges faced by refugee women—personal safety, trauma, discrimination, and family responsibilities—a group of refugee women, including Roya, founded The Sisterhood in 2018. Although external partners support logistics, the initiative is led by refugee women.
A generous local donor provided a former orphanage building rent-free for three years, so The Sisterhood now operates from a well-equipped facility. The center offers free classes, such as tailoring, Indonesian cooking, self-defense, and a playroom for mothers’ children. It also serves as a space for socializing, wellness programs, and essential services.
The organization is attuned to its members' evolving needs. For example, after feedback, the self-defense class was replaced with yoga and mindfulness. The center now also offers computer skills, beauty, and basic English literacy courses, along with occasional health and dental checkups and hygiene product distribution.
The Sisterhood provides survival resources and opportunities for learning and emotional support, crucial for maintaining mental well-being. For many refugee women, it’s a place of safety and equality. Roya notes that refugees often feel unsafe even within their community, and The Sisterhood offers a rare haven of security.
Regarding mental health services, Roya explains that traditional therapy might not be suitable in their current precarious state. Instead, focusing on skill-building and present-day activities helps maintain a sense of purpose and hope. Despite the uncertainty, this preparation allows them to be ready if a resettlement opportunity arises.
Roya’s frustration with the UNHCR’s assessment of their resettlement prospects is palpable. She believes that such “honesty” can be demoralizing. To keep hope alive, she sometimes tells her friends that resettlement might be just around the corner, even if it’s not true. This “sweet lie” provides a crucial psychological boost.
Refugees must find ways to stay productive and contribute meaningfully without the hope of resettlement. It’s a testament to their resilience that they organize grassroots support systems like The Sisterhood to fill gaps left by inadequate institutional support.
Roya’s insights reveal that projects like The Sisterhood are commendable but don’t change the harsh reality of refugee life. Resilience and strength in these circumstances are survival mechanisms, not personal choices.
Refugees possess extraordinary strength, demonstrated by their ability to survive and adapt in unfamiliar and often hostile environments. Roya and her fellow refugee women embody this strength, using their experiences to serve their community despite severe limitations.
Reflecting on the U.S. government's current low refugee resettlement numbers, I’m struck by the irony. The refugees I’ve met, including Roya, embody qualities that would enrich society. It’s tragic that their talents and potential are not widely recognized and utilized.
Roya’s dedication to The Sisterhood encapsulates her commitment to instilling hope and dignity in refugee lives. Her message is perseverance and optimism, inspired by Stephen Hawking’s words: “While there is life, there is hope.”
As our conversation concludes, I thank Roya for sharing her story and the mission of The Sisterhood. I leave with a deep sense of the disparity between our lives and a renewed awareness of the power of hope and resilience.