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Rift erupts over agency's care of refugees
Ex-workers plan to file complaints
By Raja Mishra, Globe Staff | August 26, 2005

Asha Mohamed's life began on a Somalian corn farm. It ended, improbably, in Everett.

There, the mother of seven descended into dementia, living months in a urine-soaked apartment without medical care, caretakers and family members said. She died quietly last December in her late 50s or 60s -- her family is unsure exactly how old she was -- of stroke-related complications in a nursing home bed. Family members said they were barely able to visit her or even understand what ailed their matriarch.

Former employees of the organization that resettled Mohamed in Everett, the International Rescue Committee, said the nonprofit failed her and dozens of other Somali Bantu refugees in the Boston area, saving them from squalid African refugee camps only to deliver them into an isolating and impoverished existence here.

''She was a hard worker; she was kind," said Asha Mohamed's son, Abdi Sabtow, who lives with his family in Everett. ''IRC is the worst. They never helped like they promised."

A bitter rift among local caregivers has erupted over the Somali Bantu here, exposing the considerable complications and tensions involved in resettling uneducated Somali peasants in 21st century urban America.

Next week, former rescue committee workers say they plan to submit formal complaints to state human services officials and Attorney General Thomas F. Reilly's office, which regulates charities, alleging that the committee's Boston office failed to live up to its legal commitment to help Somali Bantu refugees. The complaints will assert there has been an avoidable pattern of joblessness, isolation, and neglect among many Boston-area Somali Bantu. Supporting memos and other documents were provided to the Globe by former committee workers.

Under the federal resettlement program, the committee receives $800 per refugee from federal grants, as well as state and private donations. Half the money goes to direct aid; the other half pays administrative costs and overhead.

In return, the nonprofit signs contracts promising assistance to the refugees. The US State Department requires resettlement charities to make their best effort to provide refugees with sanitary housing, clothing, and healthcare and to help them get jobs, register their children for school, and apply for benefits such as welfare and food stamps.

''It's discouraging to have worked for an agency that is neglecting the very people they're mandated to serve," said Eliza Castaneda, 37, a former program director for the committee in Boston, who said she quit last November after becoming alarmed by the treatment of the Somali Bantu.

''People say, 'At least they're not stuck in the refugee camp,' " she said. ''I say we can do better. It's our moral obligation."

Committee officials rejected the charges, saying the agency has served the Bantu well. The agency has successfully resettled refugees in the Boston area for more than two decades.

''Our experience shows that generally refugees, over a period of time, will succeed," said Bob Carey, IRC's New York-based vice president for resettlement. ''It takes time, but many of the Bantu are succeeding. But that does not mean that challenges are not very significant. We do have to push refugees into independence. . . . It's tough. I'm not going to pretend its easy for the Bantu."

Thousands of Somali Bantu have been resettled throughout the United States in the last two years, with more than 800 ending up in Massachusetts. Of those in the Commonwealth, the committee resettled about one-fifth.

Among more than a dozen Somali Bantu refugees interviewed through a translator over the last month, many said they were unemployed and living in squalid conditions. One family said it faced eviction. A single mother said she constantly struggled to care for her sick children. All said they felt deeply isolated in their new nation and uncertain about the future.

''Five kids, no father, they get sick. My life is all problems," said Halima Abdulle, 34, who receives $900 monthly welfare payments in Chelsea.

''When I heard I was coming to America, I was very happy," said Abdulle. But, now, 18 months later, she said, ''I am not happy."

During Somalia's 1991 civil war, the Bantu were frequent targets for militias and bandits. Many fled to refugee camps in Kenya.

In 1999, the US government decided to accept 12,000 refugees, contracting with 10 charities, including the committee, to resettle them in more than 40 US cities.

The committee operates in 25 countries, with an annual budget of more than $80 million assisting poor and war-torn nations with healthcare, orphans of war, sanitation, education, and numerous other services, as well as resettling refugees.

Beginning in January 2004, the committee brought Bantu families to Chelsea, Lynn, Everett, Revere, and Boston, nearly 140 people to date.

After a year here, many of the families were struggling, and the committee's Boston unit was not keeping its promises to help, said Castaneda and another former employee, Andie Trotter, 28, who worked for more than two years with the Bantu for the committee in Boston.

The workers said that after they encountered resistance in the agency's Boston office, they sent a list of problems to its headquarters in New York. The Bantu, they asserted, were not getting adequate English or job training, were living in unsanitary apartments, lacked proper healthcare, and were isolated from their communities.

Agency officials from New York investigated and concluded that the complaints had merit, according to a May 5 memo from its president, George Rupp. to the complaining IRC workers.

''[W]e are working towards a stronger, more effective operation that will better support all refugees resettled by the IRC in Boston," Rupp wrote, adding that fewer refugees would be sent to Boston, giving the office ''a more manageable caseload."

''Headquarters staff are working closely with staff in Boston to ensure that these Somali Bantu refugees receive high quality services," wrote Rupp.

But many local Bantu families said in interviews with the Globe this month that they are still struggling.

Anis Heri, 58, is unemployed after a brief stint in a bakery. Unable to pay the $925 monthly rent for the Chelsea apartment the committee placed him in, Heri, his wife, and two young children faced eviction this month until local social workers negotiated an extension. ''I don't know where to go," Heri said.

His wife, Sadia Abdi, 28, chimed in: ''My kids can't sleep in the street. How can I be happy?"

Abdi Sabtow, the son of Asha Mohamed, said that the committee failed to provide him resources to care for his mother when she was ailing and that he has since lost his dishwashing job and struggled to pay his rent. ''I feel very bad toward IRC," he said.

Rita Kantarowski, the committee's Boston-based regional resettlement director, said those complaining about the refugees' care misunderstand the agency's role.

''We look like we do social work, but we're not social workers," she said. ''We're not nurses. We do resettlement." The agency often provided help beyond its mandate to help the refugees assimilate into American society, she said. ''Our perspective is not, 'Oh, the poor refugees.' Our job is to provide them with tools to survive," Kantarowski said.

However, one of the former workers said that the problems in caring for the Somali Bantu stem from the failure of the Boston staff to adequately prepare for their arrival, despite numerous workshops in advance.

''If IRC-Boston had heeded any of those meetings, then the Bantu families that were resettled in Boston would be making much greater strides toward self-sufficiency than they are," Trotter said.

Despite their difficulties and disappointments, all of the Somali Bantu interviewed were grateful to be in the United States.

''As a Bantu, I could not go back," said Abdalla Kerow, 43, who lives in Lynn. ''People there call me bad names, like slave. No one here calls me slave."