October 6  - 7,  2004

Your Excellency, Distinguished members of the committee, and honored guests.  Thank you for allowing me to speak to you today.

My name is Janet Lenz.  I have been involved with the Saharawi in the refugee camps of western Algeria since 1999. Over the past six summers, we have hosted 170 Saharawi children in the homes of American families in six states.  I have also lead nearly 200 Americans to the camps where we've conducted programs for roughly 10,000 children. This year, we also included a medical team that saw more than 200 patients and gave 1,700 pounds of medicine to the refugees.

I do not come to you on a political level.  I come as a woman, a wife, a mother, and a daughter &emdash; a simple member of the human race. Someone whose life has been deeply affected by the people of Western Sahara now living in refugee camps in the Sahara Desert of Algeria.  I am one small voice speaking for those tens of thousands who have no voice.

I have spent a great deal of time in the refugee camps &emdash; living with the people in their tents and muddy houses, playing with their children, attending weddings, and listening to stories of their former lives in Western Sahara.  I have spent time with their handicapped children, with their talented artists, and watched families surround the bedside of the sick for whom they had nothing to offer except love and prayers.  

I have seen young mothers hold their tiny babies at arm's length because the 130-degree heat makes it too unbearable to hold their children close.  I have seen tears well up in the eyes of middle-aged women remembering the youthful dreams they had of being writers, teachers, and doctors. Dreams that died with the invasion.  Now they dream for their children, that someday soon their sons and daughters will be able to pursue the futures of which they were robbed.

Every Saharawi family has lost a beloved member to this war.  Little boys enjoying a summertime holiday with relatives on the beaches of their homeland were abruptly taken by car to a safer place in the desert, never to see their mothers and fathers again &emdash; mothers and fathers who stayed behind to protect their homes.  I've heard grandmothers remembering how they searched the scattered refugee encampments, desperately seeking the rest of their family, not knowing who had fled or who had stayed behind … who had survived or who was dead. After all, no one had expected to be forced to run for their lives on that fateful day in 1975. 

I have worked side by side with Saharawi youth workers who have dedicated their lives to nurturing the hopes and dreams of the children.  I have sat with many leaders of this Arab Democracy and seen their commitment to the people they lead.  I have seen a nation of people choosing to forego their individual pursuits, to remain living in exile in a hostile, cruel desert in order to remain a Nation &emdash; at incredible  personal sacrifice.

Those I have brought with me to the camps, as well as those who hear of our experiences with the refugees of Western Sahara have the same response:  "Why don't we know about this? Why has this been allowed to go on so long?"  And then, always, "What can we do to help?" 

There is a deep desire in the heart of every human for justice.  There is a longing in every heart to see justice prevail, and to be able to play a part in bringing justice to our own lives and in our world.  Justice is in our hands.  And here today, justice is in your hands. 

There was a horrific violation of human rights committed against almost 200,000 innocent people one tragic day in 1975.  That violation has continued on, day by day, month by month, year by year.  It has been repeated against each baby born to the families of the people of Western Sahara since that time.  And the world has stood by and allowed it to happen.

The first time I came to the camps, I spoke with a bright, charming Saharawi woman, fluent in English.  I asked if she had any memories of her life before becoming a refugee.  She quickly recounted a day when her father had come, taken her little hand in his, and with quiet urgency in his voice, told her, "We must go, Salka.  We will come back soon, but we must go now … quickly!"  And as he led her out of their house, through the door, and out onto the road, she looked back at her home &emdash; the only one she'd ever known &emdash; locking it into her memory.  She looked at the blue door her family had just passed through to leave.  Then she looked into my eyes and said with quiet determination, "Some day I will go back, and I will look and look until I find my blue door.  And then I will be home."

This is the hope that the Saharawi cling to, against all odds, as the injustice continues.  They wait.  They wait … unwilling to return to their homeland under the rule of a King who has demonstrated no concern or compassion for their plight. He has shown little regard for the Saharawi who remained, suffering under his rule, or for those who fled from his violent invasion.  They wait for justice, unwilling to resort to actions of terrorism which could bring attention to their cause.  Unwilling to give in to the pressure to use violence to create a false sense of justice.  The emerging generation, the youth who have known no life other than that of a refugee, is being targeted by terrorist cells forming on the border of Morocco, in Mauritania, Algeria as well as from within Spain, trying to draw them into their activities, appealing to their desire to gain some sense of control or power or revenge.  Yet the Saharawi youth resist, continuing to hold on to the long-awaited hope of a peaceable, true and lasting justice.  But that weakening hope struggles to survive in the face of the on-going injustice under which they suffer.

One day I was speaking with the former Saharawi Minister of Health, getting answers to a full page of questions that American doctors had concerning medical needs in the camps.  After at least an hour of recording the answers from this very knowledgeable, highly educated leader, I came to my  final question.  I asked, "After hearing all these medical needs you've presented today, what is it that you need the most?"   Without hesitation,  with that humble dignity that characterizes so many Saharawi refugees, he answered, "Freedom."

I believe that is the answer to the question of Western Sahara. 

Freedom. 

A second generation of children now await your answer.  Children who have only experienced the life of a refugee. 

May this injustice stop before a third generation is born to life in the camps.  May we all be mindful of the One Who holds the Highest Authority throughout the ages, the One to Whom we will all, individually, someday give an answer to the justice or injustice in which we have participated.  May we each be able to say that we searched our hearts and chose the path of justice.