Questions of a Nonprofit Human Rights Organization Activist: The Things ‘Wahha’ Can’t Do
By Park Jung-hyung
Published August 6, 2024
Translated by Marilyn Hook
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The Korea Migrant Human
Rights Center, where I work, met Arab refugee women in our region (Incheon)
in 2018 in the process of opening a shelter called Wahha that [like its name,
the Arabic word for “oasis”] is meant to be an oasis for Arab/refugee women.
Since we had already discussed the opening plans with the women who were
helping with interpretation for Arab people in our region, Wahha’s opening
ceremony was met with much anticipation and a warm reception from Arab women.
In fact, the opening ceremony of Wahha actually felt like our center was the one being welcomed, since many so many local Arab women happily joined in preparing food and celebrating with us. Refugee women want to find work,
but the reality is∙∙∙ Since then, the history of
Wahha has to some extent been a series of unfortunate disappointments that we
should be sorry for. It was perhaps natural that the needs and demands that
were accumulating among the refugee women in the area flooded into the center
that was supposedly created to help them. However, as a small non-profit
organization, it has been really difficult for our group and its
activists—who had to use almost all our resources and capabilities just in
creating the space—to meet those needs. And I, one of the activists,
didn't know what kind of people the Arab women I met would be, and I think I
had some prejudices. I thought they would be satisfied with a facility that
was a comfortable space within Korean society for them, where they could do
small activities and build strength with a small number of people in the community,
so there have been times when it was difficult to deal with the new people,
new problems, and requests that seem to pour in every day. In the end, I
think there have been more instances of us telling the women of Wahha what
they shouldn't do than telling them what they could do. For example, many women want
to find a job. The job centers run by the national government or local
governments do not provide job training or information to immigrants with
refugee visas, except for a very small number of recognized refugees. This is
despite the fact that refugee applicants and people on humanitarian stay
permits can legally work if they submit their work contract and other documents
to the immigration office and receive its permission. Since the government does not
play an active role in connecting them with jobs, many employers do not hire
them because they think their visas do not allow them to work. There have
even been people who worked in simple labor jobs that would be permitted by
the immigration office who were fined over 2 million won for doing so without
permission. However, our center has also
had to tell these women that we could not find them jobs. Job placement is work
that requires a lot of effort and responsibility, and it was beyond our
capabilities. In addition, the women want jobs that they could do while
raising their children, but the simple labor that can be done on a refugee
visa requires long working hours. In the end, all we have been able to do is file
a request with Incheon’s Human Rights Commission that the city help find jobs
for refugees, and as of now, this request has not been fulfilled.
A Yemeni woman said that
because she has hairdressing skills, she wanted to cut and style hair at
Wahha’s facility to make money and pass the time. In Arab Muslim culture,
there are separate hair salons for women and men, and only women use women’s
hair salons. Since Korean hair salons are also used by men, Arab women have
difficulty taking off their hijab to get their hair cut. We knew about that situation,
but at the time, our space was a small house, and there were a lot of
children coming and going, so we had to tell the Yemeni woman that she
couldn't cut and dye hair there. She then wanted to get a hairdressing job outside
the center, but hairdresser is a professional occupation in Korea, which
means it's hard to get a work permit for and it requires training that costs
money. The woman is still, today, not able to do the job she wants. Support available from small
nonprofits is insufficient for the desperate needs The problem of how to make a
living has been one that many people experience. We have thought about how we
could solve our problems as a community. We thought of making Aleppo soap, a famous
Syrian soap made with laurel leaf oil, to earn pocket money for the women,
and all the facility’s members agreed it was a good idea. However, right
around that time, the law changed to permit only licensed manufacturing
facilities to manufacture and sell soap, so we had to give up after only a
few classes on soapmaking. The attitude of the women who
have to prepare for their future in Korea is serious. Rather than learning
something as a hobby, they hope that it will actually help with solving their
current problems and improving their future lives. They have a seriousness
and desperation that goes beyond the level of wanting pocket money, and we have
sometimes felt burdened by that desperation. An external foundation
running a mental healing project once funded our organization to hold
sessions on making aromatherapy oils. We thought it would be just a time for
our members to gather, share their hardships, and heal, but they always
demanded more. The women did not just want to just make nice-smelling oils and
instead asked for detailed information that could be helpful at some point in
the future, such as where to buy ingredients, bottles, and packaging boxes.
This was a request that even the instructor we invited had never received
before and did not expect. The circumstances of the
center have always made it difficult to handle refugee women’s serious
concerns about the future. Our organization has limited resources and has to
apply for [mainly financial] support from external bodies in order to carry
out activities. However, we cannot guarantee that our applications will be
successful every time, and it is difficult to find an organization that will
let you submit an application for the same project multiple times. What Wahha’s members want is
to learn practical skills that will help them prepare for the future under
their circumstances, such as sewing, hairdressing, and using computers, but
mastering such skills requires equipment and cannot be achieved through
short-term study. It has also been difficult
to find organizations that would pay for these activities, and when our
applications are rejected, I end up blaming myself for not writing them better. In this way, we have been
going through a process of learning what works and what doesn't, and it's
still ongoing. It has been very stressful having to say no so much, but the
women’s disappointment and resignation upon being told no must be huge as
well. If there's anything I have learned, it's that explaining why something
won’t work takes a lot of time but is also an essential step toward
understanding each other's situations and moving forward together.
‘Second home’ created by women from many
countries learning from, relying on, and working with each other It has already been six
years since Wahha opened. In that time, we have moved once and gone through
the brutal COVID pandemic, and some of the original members have stayed, some
have left, and new people have gathered. The space that was created primarily
for refugee women has also become a space for women who are accompanying
family members staying in the area for business and women studying in Korea
on student visas. We still have regrets and disappointments about things that
are needed but cannot be done, and we discuss and move forward with what we
can do within our limitations. Although their statuses do
not allow these women to invite their parents, siblings, or sisters to Korea,
they take time to learn how to cook from women who are recognized as chefs in
this community. Although they have difficulty receiving medical treatment due
to language barriers or the cost of care, female doctors in our community
provide them with health-related advice and give lectures. The empty feeling
caused by not being able to fully practice Islamic religious life is also filled
through lectures by religious studies majors in the community. Above all, Wahha is becoming
a space where women of various nationalities who would not otherwise meet in
their home countries can meet and learn and share each other’s cultures. Our
space is not one that can be created by just a few people but one that is
filled by the discussions of the women who fill it—rather, it is filled by
being led by those discussions and demands. If something is achieved at
Wahha, it is the product of the efforts, understanding, and cooperation of
the women here. As a guardian of the space, I
am grateful that Wahha can accompany the women on their journey, and that
some of them call Wahha their “second home.” However, Wahha’s limitations are
also clear. The institutional barriers that women constantly encounter in Korea
in trying to live a life where they can fully demonstrate their abilities are
ultimately things that Korean society must work with them to resolve. Korean society sees
immigrants only as a means to support Korean society, assigns them limited
roles, and punishes those who step past those limits. Also, Arab women are
seen as mere victims of a patriarchal society and not seriously considered as
beings who are creating their own futures. Immigrants are not interchangeable
machine parts but people. They dream of a future where everyone has their own
unique dignity and is treated with respect. It is impossible to confine
immigrants to limited existences. When we eliminate the boundaries of
discrimination so that immigrants can give free rein to their capabilities,
Korean society will become more diverse and abundant. About the Author: Park
Jeong-hyeong is the director of the Korea Migrant Human Rights Center. Currently,
she plays a major role as a facilitator of Wahha, which was created by the
center for engaging in activism with Arab women. While counseling immigrants
on their difficulties and working with immigrants, she began to ponder the
questions that their existence poses to Korean society. In an attempt to find
her own answers, she is also pursuing a graduate degree in cultural
anthropology. *Original article: https://www.ildaro.com/9972 |
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