3 CITIES OPEN ARMS TO VARYING DEGREES

When Mohamed Shogar, 14, arrived in New York after fleeing Sudan's civil war, he thought he had found a safe place. But there, he faced a new kind of violence -- shootings in his neighborhood. To find a safer home, his family moved to Lincoln, Neb.

When his father decided to buy a house there, he ignored the advice of local Sudanese. "(They) told us to not live in the neighborhood because it's not a safe neighborhood. There's like a lot of white people, and white people (are) like not very good.

"My mom didn't believe them," he added, explaining that the family had been befriended by a white neighbor in their first Lincoln neighborhood.

The neighbor signed him up for sports and tutored him at home, he said. "So we didn't believe, and we came to the neighborhood. It was a very good neighborhood."

This summer, Y-Press traveled to Lincoln, Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minn., and Vancouver, British Columbia, to learn about the experiences of refugee youth like Mohamed.

Lincoln, a city of 225,000, has only recently seen an influx of refugees. Until the early 1990s, when the U.S. Office of Refugee Resettlement designated Nebraska's capital a preferred community for refugee resettlement, its minority population was 5.5 percent. Lincoln was chosen for its low cost of living, low crime and low unemployment rates.

Vancouver, population 1,891,400, has Canada's second-largest refugee population. Historically, it has been known for a large Asian population. But recent arrivals have come from many countries.

Minneapolis and St. Paul, with a combined population of 670,000, have a welcoming reputation. In the 1970s, St. Paul became home for many Hmong refugees, who fled the mountains of Thailand and Laos after the Vietnam War. More recently, Minneapolis has attracted Somalis; the state has one of the largest Somali populations in the Western Hemisphere, with more than 15,000, according to the Minnesota Department of Human Services.

When families like Mohamed's arrive in the United States or Canada, their basic needs are usually met by government agencies, nonprofit organizations and community groups.

Fitim Hajritaj, 21, who fled Kosovo, Yugoslavia, and now lives in Vancouver, said the help was more financial than emotional. "There was nobody to tell us . . . about the school system and what are our opportunities to educate ourselves."

Since Hajritaj was younger than 18 when he arrived, he was guaranteed an education under Canadian law.

Government agencies in the United States and Canada are in charge of admitting refugees. Once this process is complete, though, the responsibility is transferred to a resettlement agency, such as a religious or community organization or lower-level government agency.

Lincoln Mayor Don Wesley said the U.S. government brings in refugees but does little to help the resettlement cities after the first month. Refugees, meanwhile, continue to struggle to adjust to a new language and culture, he said.

Wesley said local government plays a supporting role for local resettlement agencies. "The different entities that provide the services, they're the front line. They're doing the heavy lifting. Our job is to try and be helpful to them."

In British Columbia, government plays a different role. Baldwin Wong, a social planner in the mayor's office of Vancouver, said the provincial government provides services for refugees, while "local government actually does not have a strict mandate to provide specific services for immigrants or refugees."

Refugee-serving organizations in Vancouver develop and organize largely independently of each other, usually with government funding. Lincoln, on the other hand, uses a network of 35 public and private organizations called the New Americans Task Force to help refugees and immigrants.

The Twin Cities have historically dealt with waves of refugees. The Hmong are one example.

"Most people had never heard of Hmong," said Dan Detzner, a University of Minnesota professor in the Department of Family Social Science. "But they came, and they came, and they came, and they came."

This adjustment to the 42,000 Hmong now living in Minnesota is evident in parent-teacher conferences. Detz ner said that Hmong parents often had to bring their children to the conferences to translate.

The school districts realized the problems that this could create and hired translators to facilitate discussions that do not use the child as a translator.

Although the cities have had to accommodate and adjust to refugees, there have been benefits. Detzner, who has studied the Hmong for 25 years, has noticed their positive impact.

"If you drove up and down University Avenue 15 years ago, there would be no Asian businesses. . . . Now there're 100 of them," he said.

While the Hmong have been integrated into the Twin Cities, the process has only recently begun for the 15,000 Somalis in the area, Detzner said.

"We just don't have very many Muslim people. Nobody is very familiar with them," he said.

Loudi Rivamonte, executive director at the Center for Cross Cultural Health, said the difficulties Somalis have in adjusting to their new home include their perception of immunizations and regular check-ups. She said refugees often ask why they should come in for something they don't have.

"Even stigma of diseases is huge. For example, the stigma of having TB in your own country is so horrible because you were outcast and put somewhere else," she said.

While Minnesotans have worked to adjust to and teach refugees, a number of high-profile incidents have increased tension within the community. In one, police officers shot a mentally ill Somali man 16 times after he wandered near crowds with a machete.

Yaquis Husein, 18, a Somali refugee in Minneapolis, described a youth forum where the mayor, the police chief and other community leaders addressed issues related to the police and race.

"We organized the youth forum. We were asking them questions. . . . The guy who got (shot) 16 times, is that gonna happen again? How they gonna train the police? How they gonna handle the case?"

To date, Lincoln has avoided high-profile cases. Police Chief Tom Casady requires yearly cultural sensitivity training for all officers. But most Lincoln residents don't receive formal training. Wesley says the media helps educate them.

"I remember going to the airport to welcome Bosnian refugees. . . . There was lots of TV coverage, and it kind of brought the conflict from halfway around the world closer to you. I just think it opens your eyes tremendously. It's a benefit to the community."

Although there have been fewer refugee arrivals since Sept. 11, 2001, many refugees are moving from their U.S. resettlement city but staying in the country, a trend called secondary migration.

Many Hmong moved to Minnesota after first being placed in other states, Detzner said.

"The first ones who came started telling their brothers and sisters and other relatives, and they moved from other states to come here," he said.

Of the three sites, secondary migration is most pronounced in Lincoln and the Twin Cities.

"First we came to California," said Mohamud Dhinbil, 25, a Somali refugee now living in Minneapolis. "But there was no jobs. We couldn't support our family, so our family here in Minneapolis said, 'Just come on to Minneapolis, there's good work, good money here. You'll like it here.' So we all moved to Minneapolis."

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About this project

This summer, Y-Press traveled to Lincoln, Neb., Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minn., and Vancouver, British Columbia, to learn about refugee youth. Y-Press interviewed 95 young people about their experiences and the challenges they have faced adapting to life in their new homes.

The cities were chosen for their demographic differences.

Lincoln has been designated a preferred community for refugee resettlement.

The Twin Cities have a welcoming reputation, and the state has one of the largest Somali populations in the Western Hemisphere.

Vancouver has Canada's second-largest refugee population.

ASSISTANT EDITORS: Melissa Tuckman, 16; Zach Tuchman, 14.

REPORTERS: Chris Reissaus, 13; Andrea Phillips, 14.