Guest blog by William Gomes 

Who am I? This question haunts me every day. Some call me a refugee, others an asylum seeker or a sanctuary seeker. But I prefer to identify myself as someone who has left a home behind, searching for a lost home in a newfound home in the UK. I have a British passport, but for them, I am not British enough, will never be English, will never be local enough or human enough or an equal human being. Not like them. Brown. I may always remain the other for them, a political football to play with, and for all societal and political failures, I am needed to be blamed. They do not like my mother tongue, my culture, the food, the cultural dress; it’s my whole being they object to. Some who see themselves as politically better somehow tolerate my skin colour, but they cannot tolerate my cultural and traditional norms and traditions. Their superiority comes out of the bucket and makes me the other, showing me my place, which is on the outside, in the margin. I stay on the margin like many refugees. Sometimes I am heard, and then I go back to the margin again. I can speak, but when I speak, I am not heard. There is a whole structure and process in place to keep making us the other. The system suffocates me. I scream that I cannot breathe, but it’s not heard; space is not given. When they call me or people like me scroungers, cockroaches, they are heard and on the front page of newspapers. They have power, and they want to treat us as less than human beings and get rid of us. But here I am, speaking, screaming, making noise.

Why can’t society see me and others like me through this lens? It is within the concept of home where I find my identity.

Home is the foundation of who I am, who I was, and who I am becoming. It all began with my birth at home, and from there, my existence blossomed. However, my involvement in human rights activism forced me to leave my home in Bangladesh. I found temporary refuge in Nepal and Hong Kong before finally settling in York, North Yorkshire, where I now reside. For the past decade, I’ve grappled with the question: Where is my home? Is it the one I left behind in Bangladesh or the one I now inhabit?

The home I left in Bangladesh is no longer the same. Some of its former inhabitants have passed away, and I am no longer a part of that family or connected to that home. As someone who sought asylum in the UK, my challenge is to grieve the loss of my previous home while making York my new home. I know I’m not alone in this struggle; countless refugees are haunted by thoughts of the homes they left behind.

I yearn for the connection and togetherness I shared with my parents and brother over dinner and hours of conversation throughout the weekends. The last people I embraced before being forced to leave Bangladesh were my father, brother, mother, and grandmother, and I mourn that hug deeply. I will never be able to hug my mother or grandmother again, as they have both passed away. The uncertainty of ever seeing my brother or father again weighs heavily on my heart.

Supporting refugees is crucial because no one would willingly leave their home if it were safe. They were compelled to abandon their homes and seek safety due to the violation of their human rights. As human beings, we have the power to restore hope through acts of solidarity and hospitality, making the world a better place for everyone.

In many countries today, the terms “refugee” and “asylum seeker” have become so politicised that some individuals hesitate to identify themselves as such due to the associated stigma. They often worry about who will welcome them or judge them, telling them to go back to their country of origin. Regardless of what they are fleeing from, why they are seeking refuge, where they come from, or what language they speak, they all share one thing in common: the loss of their homes.

We all possess the power to be kind and compassionate, and that power starts with recognising that these are individuals who have lost their homes. By viewing refugees and asylum seekers through the lens of their shared experience of losing a home, we can begin to build a society that embraces them with empathy and understanding. It is only by acknowledging their humanity and their fundamental right to a safe and stable home that we can truly make a difference in their lives and, in turn, enrich our own.

As we reflect on the plight of refugees and asylum seekers, let us remember the words of my poem:

Whispers of Home

In every heart lies a yearning for home,

Not just a shelter of bricks, but where love has roamed.

A sanctuary where seeds of hope are sown,

A haven where we, in peace, are known.

Yet, when home turns its back, becomes a fearsome tide,

We tread paths unknown with eyes wide.

Leaving not out of whimsy or untried pride,

But from a desperation that swells deep inside.

Home, they say, is where the heart finds its song,

But what when the heart’s verses belong

To lands where silence grips the tongue,

And the mere act of breathing feels wrong?

No soul willingly faces the night’s cold embrace,

Or treads the perilous paths that many have faced,

Unless the threat at home is too grave to face,

And the unknown a lesser maze to trace.

Consider the child, whose dreams once soared high,

Now crossing deserts under a merciless sky.

Or the mother, in whose arms her infant does lie,

Praying for safety as bullets fly by.

The quest for a home is a journey of the soul,

A search for a place where we can be whole.

Yet, when the world turns its back, cold and droll,

Where does one find the strength to roll?

In whispers of hope, in acts of kindness, unspoken,

In the solidarity of hearts, once broken.

For every word of love and peace is a token,

A light in the dark, a sign unbroken.

So let us pray for a dawn where no one flees,

From a home that suffocates, that on knees,

Begs for mercy, for a moment’s peace,

For a world where love does not cease.

For home is more than a place, it’s where the heart freely sings,

Where joy is found in the simplest of things.

Let us be the keepers of home’s true meaning,

A world united, in love, ever dreaming.

Let us see those who are seeking a home, embarking on a journey to restore their human rights and dignity that have been robbed from them. Too often, they face further violations in the very places they seek respect and restoration. It is our responsibility to stand with them, to be their advocates, and to ensure that their voices are heard. Only then can we truly build a world where everyone has a place to call home, a place where they can find peace, love, and belonging.

William Gomes, a British-Bangladeshi based in York, North Yorkshire, UK, is a dedicated anti-racism campaigner and advocate for the rights of displaced people in the United Kingdom. He actively engages in anti-racism initiatives both locally and nationally. William is not only an author and freelance journalist but also a human rights defender, poet, researcher, and a person from a refugee background. He is currently pursuing his doctorate at the University of Essex. His academic credentials include a Bachelor of Arts in Counselling, Coaching, and Mentoring from York St. John University, and a Master’s degree in Refugee Care from the University of Essex in collaboration with The Tavistock and Portman NHS Foundation Trust.