A refugee from a “land of happiness”

I hope Norway never sees my son as a threat, in stark contrast to Bhutan, which perceived my existence as such.

RAMESH GAUTAM, lecturer, St. Olav Upper Secondary School, and research fellow, University of Stavanger

 

One day, my son asked about his origin. I explained that he was born in Norway to a Bhutanese-Norwegian father and a Nepalese mother.

However, his question reminded me of the harsh realities I faced in refugee camps in Nepal. Fifteen years ago, on a snowy February evening, my family and I landed at Karmøy Airport, uncertain of what lay ahead.

In my possession were some clothes, books, and documents evidencing my education and experience—an attempt to pack 17 years of life in a bamboo hut into three bags.

I was born in Bhutan to parents of an ethnic Nepali Hindu background. Our family had lived in Bhutan for at least five generations before we were evicted in the 1990s. I was only seven years old.

The history of Nepalis in Bhutan is complex. It is claimed that the first families arrived in Bhutan in the early seventeenth century. They were referred to as “Lhotshampas” in Dzongkha, the national language of Bhutan, a term that translates to “Southern Bhutanese.”

Bhutan’s Citizenship Act of 1985 aimed to control illegal immigrants. The year 1958 was used as the basis for citizenship, and those who could not provide proof of residence before this year were considered illegal immigrants.

In 1988, during a targeted census aimed specifically at the south, many Lhotshampas were declared illegal. As the Norwegian Refugee Council noted, “In 1989, the King issued a royal decree to promote so-called Bhutanese etiquette, the national costume, and the Dzongkha language.”

The Lhotshampas protested this, and many were arrested and imprisoned without trial. Repressive measures escalated. Schools, hospitals, and health centers in the south were closed. Scare propaganda against Lhotshampas, mainly farmers with limited education, became a systematic practice.

Soldiers patrolled through the villages and arrested men and sexually assaulted young girls. An atmosphere of uncertainty and fear dominated.

Those arrested were labeled traitors, and their families were coerced into signing “voluntary emigration forms” as a condition for the release of their loved ones. The authorities took their smiling photos, which were later used as “proof” that they had moved voluntarily.

Eventually, thousands of Lhotshampas were forced to flee to Nepal. Bhutan had largely isolated itself “to preserve its pristine Buddhist culture.” This meant that the sufferings of Lhotshampas remained largely unknown to the international community. The international response was minimal, and the silent suffering of this group went unheard.

Over one hundred thousand Bhutanese refugees, equivalent to one in six inhabitants, lived in refugee camps in Nepal for almost two decades, their hopes of returning to Bhutan unfulfilled.

Despite this, Bhutan always managed to portray itself as a land of happiness, and the world was served an image of a happy Shangri-la.

Hopelessness, uncertainty, and statelessness characterized the camps. Eventually, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees collaborated with eight Western countries, including Norway, for resettlement. Approximately one hundred thousand refugees found new homes in the United States. Norway contributed by accepting around 600 individuals. I am one of them.

Soon after arriving, I experienced Norway’s warmth, even under the February snow. I received an introductory salary to learn Norwegian. My teachers guided me through the application process for higher education; I studied engineering and education.

My education and teaching experience from Nepal was appreciated and approved. I got a job. And I achieved a great sense of satisfaction in building a new life from scratch.

The journey towards successful integration is often challenging. As someone who has taught social studies to newly arrived immigrants, I know how challenging it is for both immigrants and the municipalities responsible for the settlement.

These challenges extend beyond specific groups. The global refugee crisis is a complex phenomenon. However, the biggest risk lies in the misinterpretation and overgeneralization of these problems.

Norway has transformed the lives of many who were unloved, unwanted, and forgotten. Despite the complexities of integration, support for refugees should transcend geographical, ethnic, religious, or racial distinctions.

And I hope Norway never sees my son as a threat, in stark contrast to Bhutan, which perceived my existence as such.

[Editor’s note: The article, which first appeared in the print edition of VG on February 21st and online on VG.no on February 25th, in Norwegian, has been translated into English by the author and is published here with the written permission of VG.]