My Rohingya journey from statelessness to the US, via Malaysia and Manus Island

We grew up physically, but we didn’t develop well emotionally or mentally. We felt very disconnected from everything; we knew that we were being marginalised, but the hardest thing is, we marginalised within ourselves. We could see that things were wrong in our area, but all the wrongdoings by the authorities to the Rohingya became normal. Everything was, and continues to be, highly controlled and restricted. We have lived in this situation for decades. It feels like this is the normal way of living; pain doesn’t feel like pain, and wrong things don’t feel wrong. 

When there is even a minor problem, everything goes against us. To see our Buddhist childhood friends regarding us as their enemies, to see them standing by their racial group, is so eerie. We are left with only one choice: to flee from our homeland, where we are at risk of losing our lives. We know that, no matter what, our voices would never be heard; it is us who would end up in prisons. It simply means we would disappear and never rejoin our families.

Many people don’t have the opportunity to make plans to leave our motherland on a specific date, at a particular time, and from a selected place. We are so desperate to escape from a life-and-death situation – extortion, arrests, torture from local authorities, not to mention the decades-long systemic military operations against the Rohingya population.

Thousands of refugees have been making boat journeys through the Andaman Sea, the lifeline for Rohingya to save their lives when a crisis unfolds in Arakan state. Rohingya flee from Myanmar in search of safety; however, boat journeys bring unimaginable hardships, as asylum seekers don’t have a clue of their destination. The traffickers abandon them at sea and people die because of lack of water and food. The 2015 Andaman Sea crisis displaced thousands, many of whom had managed to escape Myanmar’s brutality. They couldn’t imagine they would be stranded on boats, starve, and become so desperate as county after country turned them away. Endless struggles await them when they do get to the neighboring countries of Bangladesh, Malaysia, Indonesia, Cambodia, and Thailand.

I was 16 when I fled my home to save my life. I lost my parents, siblings, friends, and home, overnight. I didn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye to my beloved mother, and my heart will carry this pain forever.

I became even more vulnerable as I learned that, because I was without documentation, I was like human trash. I continued searching for protection and freedom without knowing anything about the world. I went to Bangladesh and then travelled for 15 days by boat to reach Malaysia, during which time I saw babies dying in their mother’s arms and many elderly people losing their lives because of lack of food and water. 

I met hundreds of Rohingya in Malaysia. I thought we had left the fear behind, but I was totally wrong. Most of them had no documentation; some did have refugee ID cards from UNHCR. They were not officially allowed to work or get an education, so they worked in a dangerous environment all day and hid in the mountains all night. I stayed with my cousin and other villagers in a construction area.

All the time, I heard everyone saying the word ‘Ovaresi’. Police officers. This was a constant fear which dominated their lives, as Malaysian police officers raided different construction areas and other neighborhoods where immigrants were living. Many people died trying to jump from the windows to avoid being caught. Malaysian immigration authorities sent people back to their countries of origin, but stateless Rohingya had no choice but to stay, stuck in prison for a long time, until UNHCR gave them refugee status. This status helped them to get out of prison, but still they were not allowed to do anything except wait for resettlement in a third country, which could take years and years. There was no stability, certainty or future in sight.

Many families were so desperate to send their children to school, they would ask a Malaysian citizen to adopt them, so that the children would have legal documents. It was the only way for the Rohingya kids to go to school, but it was a very risky choice. Parents could lose their children if things got caught up in legal issues.

After seeing the dire situation in Malaysia, in particular children not able to get an education, I left with some of my Rohingya friends in 2012. We wanted to go to Australia, so we went first by boat to Indonesia, where, sadly, found ourselves arrested and imprisoned in Indonesia’s immigration system. Our parents thought we had died, as we couldn’t communicate with them. We didn’t know anything about our processing or when UNHCR would come to conduct interviews with us. We were just left to rot. We were extremely vulnerable, and all we could think about was, if something did go wrong with our cases, we could be there forever.

One of my Rohingya friends became sick and didn't recognise the severity of his illness. He didn’t receive proper medical treatment until it was too late. His name was Ishak, and he had left Myanmar with his father when he was about 15 years old. They lived in Malaysia for nearly five years. His mother and sisters came to Malaysia in 2013, while he was incarcerated in Indonesia. He would not have left Malaysia had he known they would be able to make it to Malaysia. The day our refugee status came, the smile I saw on his face was indescribable. This piece of paper allowed us to leave two prison doors and spend some time in the garden area during the late afternoon. We talked about what we would do when we got out of the detention center. He used to tell me he couldn’t wait to see his mother.

The day before our release, his condition worsened and eventually he became paralysed. He was taken to the hospital but he asked the doctor to release him. The authorities brought him back to the center. He told us that he didn’t want to die in prison, he wanted to take his last breath in freedom. We helped him all the way. We flew from Manado to Makasar, where we put Ishak in his bed, but his health was worsening. He was taken to a hospital, but news of his death the next day was devastating, and not being able to send his body to his parents was agonising. He was stateless, so we couldn’t send his body to Myanmar. His father asked for help from Malaysian and Indonesian authorities to bury Ishak in Malaysia. We sought help from other organisations, but nothing worked. His parents were not allowed to travel to Indonesia, and we couldn’t send his body to Malaysia either. He was stateless and, as such, his dead body could go nowhere. We had to bury him in Indonesia, and the fact that no one would be there to put a flower on his grave traumatised his parents.

I was so desperate to escape this life – all I wanted was to rid myself of the label of statelessness – that I took a boat journey to Australia with the hope of a future, in 2013. Unfortunately, I ended up on Manus Island, in one of Australia’s offshore detention camps, where my UNHCR-issued refugee status wasn’t accepted and I had to start my case from the beginning. I was there with almost 2,000 refugees from around the world. I was frightened and accepted any torture that was in place. I didn’t see anyone from our Rohingya community stand up for their rights; none of us knew what our fundament human rights were. But other refugees from other countries were fighting for their rights. 

I started to learn about the world while in Australia’s torturous camp. I realised that the best way to fight for our rights was with knowledge. I taught myself English and wrote about our lives there. However, there was no peace in my heart, as there was no choice but to accept the conditions. Other refugees had the option of going back to their countries despite knowing their lives would be in danger. Being stateless was like serving an indefinite prison sentence; there was no way to go back or move forward.

I have continued my work to show the world how we suffer from being stateless and how we have become part of the refugee family around the globe. While millions of stateless Rohingya are facing difficulties from multiple directions, my stateless life had a happy ending. I was accepted to the US as a refugee, in June 2018.

I never thought I would ever live in this part of the world, but this land has provided me the means to find a permanent solution in my life. Although it will take me years to heal from my experiences, I have begun to feel like a human being, because here, now, I can receive and share love. I can study, work, and be a part of the diverse community. Being called by my name was the first step to a healthy recovery, as during the times of incarceration I almost lost my identity. Here I am Imran, a college student like thousands of others, and from now on I will continue to serve with my life to educate people about human tragedies. 

Whatever name the world gives us at different times, we are ordinary human beings like everyone else on this planet. We deserve freedom, safety, and a chance to contribute to this world. Our wishes are the same as yours. My hope is I will continue to earn respect and grow in strength. My wish for our shared humanity is we all become passionate and feel someone else’s pain the way we feel our own.