Displaced Persons 3 of 3

We were again herded into yet another room where we were given some twine, a few bricks and a large canvas and told we should fashion a tent for our group. Night came, the lights went out and the refugee camp soldiers who were supposed to be there to protect us spent the night shining their lights into our tent. In the tent next to me a man was hauled out, frisked, and accused of being a trouble maker in the camp.

The next day, anyone under sixteen was invited to attend the refugee camp school. Thirty kids lined up. They only had room for six.

Several of the women were told that for the price of their watches and rings, an escape could be arranged. So on the second night, they slipped out under the cover of darkness and followed the man who had taken their jewelry as payment. I found out later that they had been sold into slavery.

Finally, the leader of the Crossroads program slipped off his turban and announced "Ladies and Gentlemen, the simulation is now over." The simulation had put me into a rather peculiar frame of mind that was a combination of powerlessness and dread. I thought that I would have snapped out of it once it was over, but it took me a while for the sensations to ebb away.

We debriefed as a group and talked about what it means to be a displaced person. We also talked about how because Hong Kong appears to outsiders to be all about wealth creation, Hong Kong is sometimes accused of having no soul. Someone pointed out that the ever-increasing scope of the work that goes on at Crossroads proves otherwise. The Hong Kong government actually requested that Crossroads outfit itself with a gift shop and a cafe so that they are equipped to handle tourists.

The Crossroads staff, no longer wearing fatigues or holding semi-automatic weapons, brought out all the watches, rings, and other jewelry in individual ziplock baggies that -unbeknown to us- they'd been carefully stowing as they were surrendered during the simulation.

Finally, before departing, we were instructed to leave our laminated i.d. cards on the table by the door.

I had been carefully gripping mine the whole time.

I didn't want to give it up.

I wanted to keep it as a reminder of what had been a rather transformative hour and a half.

I took one last look at the i.d. card I had been given: "Mohammed Chelab. Age 21. Not married. Farmer. Head injury."

I deposited it on the table with the other cards and exited the building.

-Jack

Displaced Persons 2 of 3

Suddenly, several staff women rushed into the room we were sitting in and instructed us -pleaded with us really- to follow them and to move quickly. All seventy of us quickly herded toward the one exit. On the two flights of stairs were more people imploring us to move faster. None of us knew what was going on. I simply gripped my i.d. card and followed the person ahead of me. We were all ushered into a room with Persian rugs and tapestries on the wall.

A man -who I was about to find out was the head of our village- started addressing the group. He told us that he had been to the neighboring village and seen the devastation with his own eyes. He said that he feared that the rebels were coming here next. He said that he knew about a refugee camp just over the . . .

Suddenly, there was a deafening bang and all the lights went out. In complete darkness, we could here soldiers entering the room, yelling orders, telling us to put our heads down. Knowledge that this was a simulation left me. Instinct took over. I did what they said.

Suddenly the lights came back up. I could see that where a taipestry had once been a large six-foot hole in the concrete wall now stood. The soldiers were dressed in fatigues and carrying automatic weapons. The barked at us to move, move, move. As we stepped through the hole in the concrete wall into the next dimly-lit room, the soldiers told us to separate into two line of men and women. We did what we were told. None of us talked among ourselves. I gripped my i.d. card.

When it was my turn, I handed my i.d. to the guard who alternated between shining his flashlight on my i.d. card and in my face. It seemed like he was taking longer than what should have been necessary. I was wishing that he would simply wave me forward so that I could rejoin the rest of my group. I was afraid that he was going to send me somewhere else or detain me for some reason.

In the next room, we were told that we had to get ourselves into groups of seven or eight people and at the same time to keep an eye out for possible relatives. Finally, something constructive to do. I started milling around, approaching various groups of people, and quietly calling out the name "Chelab" hoping that someone would hold up his or her card and show me that he too was a Chelab. I knew that it was just a simulation but I really wanted to find somebody who had the last name as I did. Not quite sure how to explain it but, but I really, really wanted to find somebody who was a family member.