Not long ago, marking the ninth anniversary of the Rohingya massacre, various civil society groups standing in solidarity with Rohingya refugees gathered to host a screening of the film *Lost Land*. The film chronicles the journey of a sister, Somira, and her younger brother, Shafi, as they leave a Rohingya refugee camp in Bangladesh and travel thousands of kilometers toward Malaysia, where their uncle lives. Enduring rough seas, scorching heat, and thirst, their boat eventually reaches the coast of southern Thailand.
Their journey was far from simple. At every stage of their escape, local brokers extorted money from them; those unable to pay were beaten to death. Even in a Thai border village, residents who initially appeared kind and helpful ultimately sold the refugees to brokers.
Amidst the harsh realities of forced displacement and the struggle for survival, the children play hide-and-seek, singing the "Mugunghwa Has Bloomed" song with playful gestures. The sound of children’s laughter echoing from within an abandoned house is like a soft light spreading gradually through the deep darkness. These children are striving to reclaim the time that was stolen from them. Such moments are not merely breaks; they represent the resilience that keeps the children moving forward. Drawing upon cozy memories of the past and creative survival strategies that seem beyond the reach of ordinary people, the children gradually begin to assert their humanity—declaring "we, too, are people"—in the face of a world intent on stripping them of everything.
A doctor who provided child psychotherapy in the Gaza Strip once remarked that he found it utterly incomprehensible how children could laugh in such circumstances. And indeed, it is hard to fathom. If I were to imagine being arbitrarily cast into a strange and perilous place—a place where I belonged nowhere and was welcomed by no one—could I possibly endure and survive for even a single moment? That is why refugees require a very special life skill: the capacity to endure situations in which they do not truly belong. Amidst the chaos, vulnerability, and exposure to raw terror, they must hold fast to a perspective that still seeks out moments of wonder. They must harbor a tenacious resilience that allows them to sustain a dignified, human life in defiance of a world that refuses to see them as human. The laughter of Somira and Shafi was precisely that kind of resilience.
This year marks the 75th anniversary of the 1951 Geneva Refugee Convention, observed under the theme "Until Everyone Is Safe." While the world’s refugee population is often tallied in terms of scale and numbers, the actual lives of these individuals remain rarely understood. By the end of last year, over 117 million people had been forced to leave their homes; of these, more than 30 million were refugees. Yet, behind these statistics lie the human faces—and the families and stories—of those who fled war, persecution, and starvation. Refugees possess a "million stories."
The Refugee Convention is increasingly being rendered ineffective, creating an inhumane world that confines human worth within the narrow boundaries of utility and citizenship. Refugees are treated not as people deserving of protection, but as threats to prosperity and security. Their faces and life stories are erased, and they are shuffled like mere objects between nations and detention camps. Such inhumanity ultimately serves only to spread alienation, prejudice, hostility, and violence.
Pope Leo XIII also reminds us that if we are to truly "remain human," we must resist the tendency to succumb to fear and treat others as alien "others." He urges us to "engage in sincere dialogue, meet face-to-face with those who have become targets of fear and exclusion... and constantly raise our voices"
A few years ago, I visited a Rohingya refugee camp. Endless rows of shacks stood packed together on a vast, dust-covered plain. The difference between living in a comfortable home in Seoul and staying in a shack at a Rohingya refugee camp is, quite simply, a matter of chance. There is no reason why any specific person *must* be in one place rather than the other. In the deepest sense, we are all displaced wanderers, still searching for the place where we truly belong. Standing in solidarity with the displaced helps us find that very place where we ought to be. I wonder what other path for humanity could possibly exist.
* The Rohingya, a Muslim minority group in Myanmar, have long suffered from discrimination and violence. They were stripped of their citizenship in 1982, rendering them all stateless. In August 2017, the Myanmar military launched a massive operation in Rakhine State—home to the Rohingya people—causing over 700,000 people to flee to Bangladesh within two months. The United Nations characterized this crisis as "genocide."
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