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Sunday, June 30, 2002
A thousand miles
Copyright © 2002 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc. | ||||||||||
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CLARKSTON, Ga. — The apartment is airless and dark, brightened only by the colorful hijab that covers Ayni Mohamed's head, and the burst of evening sunlight that fills the living room each time one of her children opens the front door and runs outside to play. Mohamed stands at the edge of the room and gently sways. Her 10-month-old son, Joe, is asleep on her shoulder. Her visitors sit on low, foam sofas wrapped in tapestry, a style of furniture common to her native Somalia. She eyes the strangers warily. They come seeking answers. Why do you want to move to Lewiston, Maine? "I want to go to school and I want to work, but the lifestyle here is expensive and difficult," Mohamed, 36, said through an interpreter. "I heard housing is cheaper in Lewiston and people are getting help there, and people are getting an education there." A single mother of three, Mohamed lost her job at an Avon cosmetics plant after the Sept. 11 attacks. She plans to leave Clarkston this summer and move to Lewiston, sight unseen. She worries about leaving Georgia's mild climate for Maine's sometimes frigid temperatures, but she has endured much greater hardships. She saw two brothers killed in the clan warfare that has divided her homeland for a decade. She spent six years in a refugee camp in Kenya before coming to Clarkston in 1998. Mohamed is inspired to move to Lewiston by glowing reports from some of the estimated 1,000 Somalis who have moved to the once-bustling mill town since February 2001. They have opened an Islamic mosque and three community centers and are planning several businesses in a city of 36,000 that is largely white, Roman Catholic and Franco-American. Lewiston's reputation as a Somali boom town has spread so fast that Somalis who have resettled elsewhere around the world have heard about it. News stories and online chat about Lewiston are posted on several Somali Web sites. Somalis waiting in refugee camps in Kenya and Ethiopia have heard about Lewiston from family and friends. "We are faster than the Internet," said Mohammed Maye, a Somali who is president of the African Community & Refugee Center in Clarkston. Ayni Mohamed is one of 500 to 1,000 Somalis who are expected to relocate to Lewiston during the next six months. Some say fewer will move there because Somali elders have attempted to stop the flow, but others say any effort to control Somali migration is futile. Many will come from this fast-growing Atlanta suburb of 7,200 people, a former whistle-stop on the Georgia Central Railroad that is now home to immigrants from more than 50 countries, including Bosnia, Afghanistan, Sudan, Liberia, Russia and Vietnam. Somalis make up the largest group. Locals call Clarkston "Ellis Island South," which it has become over the last two decades because several of Atlanta's refugee resettlement agencies are located in the area. Many of the middle-class whites who once lived here have moved away or died, and the newcomers have begun to purchase their homes. An indication of the community's changed demographics came last March, when Clarkston voters elected Abdul Akbar, an Egyptian-American born in New Jersey, as Georgia's first Muslim city councilor. Akbar won the at-large seat with 66 percent of the vote. The trend of Somalis leaving Clarkston for Lewiston has piqued the curiosity and concern of federal, state and local officials in both states, who are dealing with the impact of this unusual secondary migration. Not since Hmong refugees from the mountains of Laos were resettled in Central Valley, Calif., and Eau Claire, Wis., in the late 1970s has a small city like Lewiston dealt with such a large, rapid and unexpected influx of newcomers as culturally dissimilar as Somalis. Federal refugee resettlement officials were in Clarkston in late May and in Lewiston earlier this month to find out why Somalis want to move, and to make a case for additional federal funding to help them wherever they decide to live. Indeed, some Somalis are happy in Clarkston, where they make up more than half of the local population and where every shopping plaza boasts a few Somali businesses, including halal, or Muslim-blessed, meat shops and stores that sell the clothing, music, movies and other items Somalis seek. Other Somalis say they don't feel welcomed by Clarkston's police force and shrinking white establishment. In particular, they complain that police badger them with costly tickets for traffic violations. Police officials say they simply expect all residents of Clarkston to follow the law, no matter where they're from. Some Somalis see Lewiston as a place where they can establish a tightly knit community and more easily maintain their Muslim faith and Somali culture. They also hope to filter out what they see as negative aspects of American culture. Some Somali parents find it especially difficult to shield their children from the lure of hip-hop music, clothes and attitudes that are so popular among African-American youth. Clarkston's diversity — 80 percent of its population is nonwhite — makes it more difficult to control these outside influences. Lewiston's relatively homogenous population — 5 percent of its residents are nonwhite — offers some measure of control. Other Somalis say they are willing to leave Clarkston and move 1,000 miles north, as the crow flies, because they've heard Lewiston provides better access to social services, job training, housing and education. Somalis aren't the only ones who've heard this. Catholic Charities Maine, the state's primary refugee resettlement agency, has started receiving calls for information and assistance from other refugee groups in Atlanta, who say they've heard Maine resettlement workers are more accessible. Refugee resettlement workers in Clarkston are taking the criticism to heart. They say programs are available to address the needs of new immigrants, from English classes and child care to transportation and job training. They say they must find new ways to make these services more accessible in the Clarkston area. Still, Barbara Cocchi, director of World Relief Corp., a refugee resettlement agency in nearby Stone Mountain, says it may be impossible to satisfy the nomadic spirit and the cultural demands of Somali refugees. "This is not Utopia," Cocchi said, "and I think some Somalis are looking for Utopia." Local officials say Somalis have had difficulty resettling This part of Georgia is known for its rust-colored dirt. It spills over the edges of lawns that grow lush in the near-constant heat and humidity. It pushes up through cracks in the pavement that surrounds the several shopping plazas and 20 apartment complexes that are the substance of this square-mile town. The sprawling complexes with their mazelike roads have pleasant-sounding names like Kristopher Woods, Wyncrest and Olde Plantation. Some are well-kept, others are rundown. Driving through several town house-style complexes on a steamy morning, Sgt. Alan White knows who lives where and what country they come from. As a beat officer and detective in the Clarkston Police Department, it has been his job to know for six years. He is familiar with Clarkston's immigrant community, in part because he is married to a Vietnamese woman he met when he was called to the scene of a car accident a few years ago. White, who is 40, says most of Clarkston's apartment dwellers come from somewhere else. Bumper stickers back him up. There's a Bosnian coat of arms. Another coat of arms from Panama. Many cars have stickers that say "I love Allah" or support the local fund-raising effort to build a new mosque. While the 2000 U.S. Census found Atlanta to be the second most-segregated city in the nation, after Chicago, some of Clarkston's apartment complexes are fairly integrated. White marvels that people who were enemies overseas can live next door to each other here in relative peace. Iranians and Iraqis. Somalis and Ethiopians. Indians and Pakistanis. DeKalb County, where Clarkston is located, is Georgia's leader in refugee resettlement. More than 2,500 of the 4,100 refugees who came to Atlanta in 1999 were resettled in DeKalb County. Most of the estimated 4,000 Somali refugees who have been resettled in DeKalb County since 1992 live in Clarkston, Decatur and Stone Mountain. About 60 percent of Atlanta's Somalis live in Clarkston. But there is disagreement on exactly how many people live in Clarkston. According to the 2000 census, Clarkston's population increased from 4,500 in 1980 to 7,200 today. And while Clarkston was mostly white in the 1970s, the census counted only 1,400 white residents in 2000. Local officials believe the actual population of Clarkston may be closer to 15,000 because census workers often miscalculate the number of people living in immigrant households. "These are two- and three-bedroom apartments," White said, "and you can have 10 to 12 people living in each one." White has heard that many of Clarkston's Somali residents are moving to Lewiston. His reaction is tinged with humor, Southern pride and disbelief. "I just cannot imagine moving that far north for nothing," he said. "I can't figure out what the attraction is." Somalis are also moving to Portland, a city of 65,000, where later this year another 1,000 are expected to join the 2,200 Somalis already there. Larger Somali communities also have developed in recent years in Columbus, Ohio; Minneapolis; and St. Louis, Mo. White isn't surprised that, of all the immigrant groups living in Clarkston, it is Somalis who say they are unhappy. He and other local officials say Somalis have been the most difficult group to resettle and help assimilate into the community. Most Somalis have refused help from Christian church groups. They often see themselves as distinct from the established African-American community, even though black churches are among the first to volunteer to help immigrants. Some Somalis also maintain clan affiliations that isolate them from other ethnic groups and can lead to confrontations between Somali elders. And a fair number of Somalis have had conflicts with local police, usually over things as minor as speeding tickets and stop-sign violations. "They fuss that we don't give them breaks," White said. "They don't feel they should be held as accountable as everyone else." White recalls the day he pulled over a Somali taxi driver for a traffic violation. As the man stopped by the roadside, he radioed other Somali taxi drivers to back him up. Soon, several other taxis were parked along the road. White says the driver argued that he had done nothing wrong. Other drivers joined in the argument or stood by glaring. White eventually issued the ticket and moved on, but he never forgot what he saw as the Somalis' efforts to intimidate him. "Somalis are difficult for people to get along with," he said. Mohammed Maye explains aspects of cultural behavior Mohammed Maye sees White's confrontation with the taxi drivers in a different light. Maye, who recently opened a satellite office of the African Community & Refugee Center in Lewiston, says Somalis are often on the defensive with police because they don't expect to be treated fairly. Police are often corrupt in their homeland. And Somalis are used to speaking up for themselves, something Maye says still isn't expected from blacks who live in the South. "Some Somalis may not have enough English and they have a network of people to help them," said Maye, 40, who came to Clarkston in 1996. "If someone gets pulled over or taken to jail, the community will respond very quickly so the person doesn't get taken advantage of." Maye says Somalis will argue over a traffic ticket because fighting it in court often means missing work and losing a day's pay — something few immigrants can afford. Maye understands that others may be intimidated or confused by Somalis' group ties and conflicts. He admits that many Somalis older than age 30 cling to their culture's clan organization. But he says many younger Somalis are leaving tribal ties behind and adopting an individualistic approach more common in the United States. Maye and Clarkston officials say immigrants have made no substantiated charges of harassment or brutality against the city's police officers. Even so, some effort is being made to increase understanding between the two groups. The nonprofit Bridging the Gap Project has held community orientation sessions for various ethnic groups on topics such as child abuse, traffic laws, domestic violence, gun laws and gang activity. It recently set up a 24-hour, statewide interpreter and translator service for public safety agencies. And it is developing a public safety orientation center in Clarkston where refugees can get information about various state, local and federal laws and police officers can get diversity training. Still, as much as longtime Americans must respect the cultural differences of new arrivals, immigrants must understand how their cultural behavior and habits appear to Americans, said Gail Hoffman, director of the Bridging the Gap Project. "Many refugees are coming from cultures that are collectivistic in nature, where the needs of the group outweigh the needs of the individual," Hoffman said. "They believe in arranged marriages, sharing the wealth, family networks and protecting their own. Sometimes that even means covering up a crime. They must understand how threatening that can be." Clarkston mayor says communication is key Some longtime Clarkston residents have been overwhelmed by the changes brought by such a large and varied influx of newcomers. Others appreciate the growing diversity and the texture it brings to the community, but they regret the population growth and the gradual loss of Clarkston's small-town lifestyle. While Clarkston has developed into a multiracial community in recent years, the history of its race relations is fairly distinct. Located 12 miles northeast of downtown Atlanta, Clarkston was founded as a residential subdivision in 1882 by a railroad executive, William W. Clark. Clarkston is part of a land tract that was ceded to the United States by the Creek Indians in 1821. Parcels of land were then doled out by lottery to white settlers, 202 acres at a time. The "fortunate drawers" paid $19 for each claim. Widows and children of fallen soldiers got the land free of charge. DeKalb County archives include a list of these recipients, as well as lists of local Confederate soldiers who fought in the Civil War and freed slaves who were living in the area prior to the war. When DeKalb County was forced to integrate in the mid-1960s, many whites sent their children to private schools, according to county historian Walter McCurdy. Today whites are a minority in DeKalb County, representing about 35 percent of the population, compared to 86 percent in 1970. Various racial and ethnic groups work and attend school together, but generally live in segregated neighborhoods and attend segregated churches by choice. Cultural and economic divisions persist as well. Clarkston is still more of a town than a city. Its municipal center lies along a short stretch of Church Street, running parallel to the railroad tracks that bisect Clarkston. It consists of Clarkston City Hall, Clarkston Methodist Church, the defunct Clarkston Women's Club, now rented out for special occasions, and Clarkston Baptist Church, which now shares its space with several ethnic Christian denominations from around the world. The railroad station is long gone. Locals say the train stops in Clarkston now only when there's an accident. The mayor of Clarkston is Lee Swaney, a 62-year-old retired heating and ventilation contractor. Sitting in his office at City Hall, he initially dodges questions about Clarkston's growing immigrant population. Then he opens up. "Communication is one of the biggest hurdles," Swaney said, speaking of immigrants in general. "We try to convince them that we're here to help them, but some remain distrustful and fearful of city officials." Another problem Clarkston faces is the cost of providing public services — especially law enforcement — for a culturally diverse community. "It really puts a strain on everything," Swaney said. "The resettlement agencies get them here and then we're left with the aftermath. I think the agencies do as good a job as they can with the money they have, but most of the refugees are on their own and they don't know what to do." Charles Nelson, Clarkston's police chief, has a more direct assessment. He bristles at the expectation that he should provide diversity training for his police officers without getting financial help from the federal agencies that bring refugees to Clarkston. Nelson also resents being asked to learn about the cultural difference of each ethnic group when some immigrants seem to disregard the need to learn about American culture and laws. He says many refugees fail to get car insurance, maintain active driver's licenses and follow the traffic laws. The expectation that he should cut them some slack angers him. ''If I go to Portland, Maine, I'm going to do what the Portlandese do," said Nelson, 61. "So if they come here from another country, I'm going to expect them to follow our laws. I tell them, 'We'll learn about your culture, but you learn about our culture, too.' '' Crime, costs, schools: How Maine, Georgia compare Many Somalis have learned about American culture, and some don't like everything they see. That's why Mohammed Maye has sent his wife and four youngest children, ages 8 to 14, to live in Yemen, a small, Middle Eastern country where they attend the best Islamic schools, are immersed in Islamic culture and live among the privileged class for just $500 a month. Maye says he loves the freedom, humanity and opportunity of American democracy, but he wants to give his children an Islamic foundation that will help them avoid the less attractive aspects of American culture — premarital sex, drug use, drinking, divorce and a lack of regard for family ties — when they return to the United States in a few years. While few Somalis in Clarkston can afford to send their families abroad, some can afford to move someplace they perceive is better. It reflects a national trend of refugees and other immigrants to leave congested metropolitan areas and seek quieter, safer, less expensive cities and towns in places like Maine. Maye says the schools and the lifestyle in Georgia pale in comparison to Maine. In fact, Maine schools score above the national average on national math and science assessment tests, while Georgia schools score below average. Maine's graduation rate is 94.5 percent — the highest in the country — while Georgia's graduation rate is 83.5 percent — below the national average and among the bottom 10 states in the nation. The Georgia Public Policy Foundation rated Clarkston High School at 258 out of the 323 public high schools in Georgia, and some Somalis take that rating very seriously. Looking at lifestyle indicators, Georgia was ranked 36th in the nation last year by the United Health Foundation, which assesses each state based on violent crime, graduation rates, unemployment, heart disease, cancer cases, infectious disease, mortality rates, motor vehicle deaths, prenatal care and health insurance coverage. Maine was ranked the eighth healthiest state in the nation. Maine also ranks 46th on the FBI crime index, while Georgia has the 13th highest crime rate in the nation. Some lifestyle factors are similar. Atlanta's unemployment rate was 4.4 percent in April, compared to 4.1 percent in Lewiston-Auburn. The apartment vacancy rates in both cities are about 5 percent; Lewiston's rate has dropped since so many Somalis moved there. But Clarkston's available apartments are generally smaller and more expensive. Somali families are often large and require at least three bedrooms, which can cost more than $1,000 a month in Clarkston, compared to $600 a month in Lewiston. Some social services are more readily available in Maine, where cities and towns offer public assistance along with state and federal agencies. Temporary Assistance for Needy Families, which provides about $125 per month per family member, is available for five years in Maine, but for only four years in Georgia. And Maine provides medical care for children of needy families, while Georgia does not. Many of the Somalis moving to Lewiston are single mothers with children. Some officials wonder if some Somalis are moving to Maine so they can collect another year of family assistance. Other officials worry that some Somali men are sending their wives and children to Maine to collect welfare, claiming they are separated or divorced, while their husbands continue to live and work in Clarkston. The concern is great enough that Ronald Munia, a program specialist with the federal Office of Refugee Resettlement, recently warned Somalis when he was a guest on a Clarkston radio show that welfare fraud is a crime that could cause them to be deported from the country. During a visit to Lewiston last month, Munia saw no evidence that Somalis are moving there to access welfare illegally, but he says it is an issue that will be monitored. Many Somalis who are moving to Lewiston will need English classes and employment training before they can get jobs and become self-sufficient. Munia says he is confident that will happen. "Refugees are just trying to put their lives back together," Munia said, "and our job is to get them there." For one, Clarkston's home; another 'likes the snow' It is Friday afternoon during the weekly Congress of Prayer at the Clarkston mosque. It is one of more than a dozen in greater Atlanta. About 100 men and boys kneel on prayer rugs spread on the lawn outside the men's mosque, and 200 more are inside the white clapboard house set far back from North Indian Creek Drive. Somalis pray next to Afghans, Pakistanis, Bosnians and other Muslims. About 100 women and girls pray in the brick ranch-style house next door. The local Muslim community plans to build a traditional mosque on the site. They've already collected $200,000 in donations for the project's first phase, which will cost about $3 million. The men hear the prayer leader's song over a loudspeaker. They bend to the ground and the hum of their response fills the sweltering air. Cars and minivans of last-minute arrivals fly down the dirt driveway, sending a cloud of dust over the faithful, as they try to find parking spaces among the cars strewn across the front and back yards. A police officer blows his whistle when one tries to park in the driveway. The praying ends. The believers spill out of the mosque, jump in their cars and join an aggressive bumper-to-bumper campaign back to their daily lives. For Mukhtar Mohamed, daily life consists of fashioning traditional Somali clothing for men and women, and Western-style suits for men. Now 23, the experienced tailor learned his trade while living in a refugee camp for nine years. He opened his international tailor shop in Clarkston last June, a year after he arrived in America. He worked at a manufacturing plant until he saved enough money to open his own business. He lives with his mother, two brothers and their families in nearby Decatur and hopes to bring his wife and child to the United States soon. Fabrics of every hue hang from dowels along the walls of his shop, one of several small commercial spaces he has built inside a larger store in a shopping plaza. Mohamed rents the spaces to other Somali businessmen, including an Italian shoe importer and a fragrance boutique. The idea is to share the cost so that each business has a better chance to succeed. So far so good. Mohamed has no intention of leaving Georgia for the time being. "I am working for myself and it is good," Mohamed said, wire-rimmed glasses sitting low on his nose. "I have a lot of customers. For now, I don't want to move." At Medina, a Somali restaurant in Decatur, several Somalis gather to chat with Mohamed Diriye. He moved to Lewiston last September and is back in town to visit family members. Diriye, 52, is one of the Somalis who is spreading the word about how good life is in Lewiston. He talks excitedly with his friends, motioning with his left hand. Its thumb is missing. His body is marked by the scars of five bullets he received before fleeing Somalia, where he was a police officer and a farmer, to Kenya in 1990. "Because of my tribe," Diriye explained. "They left me to die." His voice trails off and he looks away. Diriye came to San Diego in 1995 and moved to Clarkston in 1996. He worked in a factory for several years, until open-heart surgery left him disabled. He says he moved to Lewiston for health reasons, and because he no longer liked living in Clarkston. Now he studies computer science at Central Maine Technical College in Auburn, Lewiston's sister city. Although refugee resettlement workers expect that some of the Somalis who have moved to Lewiston will eventually move on to another city, Diriye says he has found his home. He doesn't even mind the winter weather. "I like the snow," Diriye said. "Lewiston is my last stop." Staff Writer Kelley Bouchard can be contacted at 791-6328 or at: kbouchard@pressherald.com Susan Butler, staff researcher, contributed to this story.
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