The Sanchez family is from a Central American country that’s overrun by drug cartels. A drug gang had taken over the village where the Sanchez family lived. Rafael, the husband and father of the family, refused to work for the gang. He received threats and was beaten. He feared his family might be tortured or killed.
So he made the decision to take his eldest son Alberto and make the dangerous journey to the US.
At around 9pm, I stood in the international terminal of LAX with a group of people I hardly knew. Some I had just met that evening. But they were my people, my tribe.
In nervous anticipation, we scanned the crowds looking for the people we were waiting for. The only problem was we didn’t really know who we were looking for. We had never seen these people either.
Comparing Skittles to refugees is stupid, but not because you’re equating people to candy. It’s because broad generalizations are the …
In another life, I might have been poor. I might have been malnourished. I might have worked long days to make $14 a month. I might have grown up in a post-war environment and been one of the 100,000 people killed from undetonated landmines. I might have struggled under a repressive government.
But I didn’t. It’s all because of the sacrifice of others on my part. I am in the top 1% of the richest people in the world. And I don’t deserve any of it.
Hospitality is inconvenient. From crisis of Syrian refugees fleeing to Europe, to the debate over illegal immigration in the U.S., letting people in isn’t always the easiest. With politics aside, being a refuge for people is important. It starts with each of us individually, where we are, with who we know. Whether it’s for a nation fleeing oppression, or it’s for an individual fleeing their demons, be a place of safety for others.
