WORLD BRIDGE BLOG

All people are born free and equal in dignity and rights.  At least that’s what the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights says.  And while the concept itself is somewhat philosophical in nature and today may not seem to be particularly well defined to some people, everyone knows what it feels like when it’s missing.  Denial of human dignity is hurtful – it is an ‘affront to human dignity’, after all. 

Stateless persons, some of the 12 million individuals around the world who are denied their right to a nationality, are often eloquent in expressing what this feels like and the effect it has on one’s life and the lives of one’s loved ones. The denial of basic human dignity -- of the recognition of one’s right to live and have a legal connection to a place on earth – leads to tragedy that is often passed from generation to generation.

Giving expression to what it means to be ‘Bidoon’ (Arabic for ‘without’) is sometimes the only relief a stateless person can gain from the indignity of his or her predicament. No wonder stateless persons often cultivate their skills as poets, orators, writers, journalists, and artists.  With expressing oneself there comes a hope of achieving positive change.

In June, we returned to Kuwait to again encourage resolution of the on-going problem of statelessness in an oil-rich country where some 90,000-130,000 Bidoon live without the benefit and dignity of a recognized nationality.  We learned of the empty promises to sort it all out that have remained just that – empty promises.  That emptiness bears ugly fruit in the everyday lives of affected individuals who live without promise of relief from the indignity of being scorned everywhere or at best effectively invisible.  Lives soured by the unremitting awareness that people you regard as fellow countrymen and women do not see you, do not hear you, and do not care for you..

On the outskirts of Kuwait City, in the tentative ‘home’ of one the stateless families – many stateless persons feel they may be cast out of their temporary residences at any time by ‘more entitled’ citizens and government officials – family members patiently explained their situation. In the 16-member household, only one adult male is employed.  “We must rely on the generosity of others for our housing and utilities,” the head of the household said. 

Despite having been present in the country years before one of the historical benchmarks for statelessness in Kuwait –  the 1965 census – the family name prevented them from acquiring citizenship since it is one shared by a number of families in the whole northern Arabian Gulf region. “It’s very hard to get this situation changed,” the father concluded, “so we remain stateless.”

This cycle of statelessness with its inherent indignity and insecurity is already taking its toll on the next generation – and with each succeeding generation of stateless households, the ability to cope and adapt to the situation has diminished, we were often told. The children of school age in this family only have access to education through zakat (Islamic Alms).  Just one child has a birth certificate.  Without clear proof of identity, none of the children will be able to go to college or seek formal employment, much less citizenship.  They, too, will be invisible people. But whereas their fathers and grandfathers before them could cultivate personal relationships with employers and Kuwaiti benefactors to negotiate the still-flexible structures of the newly-emergent Kuwaiti state, they are living in an increasingly rigid – and often Kafakaesque – bureaucracy.

Throughout our conversation, this man did not venture to say anything about what it is like to be denied one’s human right to a nationality, as if this was something too painful to go into.  But when we asked him whether any Bidoon had been able to solve their problem, he said he knew one such person.  “That friend has his own house now.  He has a sense of belonging.  He can realize self-respect.  He has his dignity.” The distance between their situations appeared stark and barren, like the expanse of desert lying beyond the stateless settlement on the fringe of the city and its built-up network of highways, shopping malls, luxury hotels, markets, and mosques. Suddenly the marked comparison to this man’s own life was very clear. 

This post was written by senior advocate on stateless initiatives Maureen Lynch and consultant Michael Scott.