Host: Dan Kennedy

Dan: [00:00:01] Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy. 

This week, we have two stories for you on the podcast. The first one is in honor of Pride Weekend here in New York. We bring you a story from Catherine Smyka that was told live at a show we did in Seattle in 2013. The theme of that night was Detours. 

[cheers and applause] 

Here's Catherine. 

Catherine: [00:00:28] So, my father is a man of very few words, but there are three topics that really get him: construction zones, traffic jams and the Detroit Red Wings. So, up until a few years ago, my relationship with my dad was not very interactive. When we talked, he would ask how things are going, and then I just list off everything in my life: my roommates, my friendships, my internships. He'd listen quietly until he thought I was probably done and then he'd say, “Okay, that sounds good.” Those were our conversations. [chuckles] Like, wasn't a lot of conversing that happened. 

Mostly, I would present him with information. He would take it in, acknowledge that he'd heard that information and then pass the phone to my mom. I didn't mind that. I actually found it kind of endearing. We loved each other, and that was enough. I knew that both of my parents supported me, even if they didn't have a whole lot to say to me. My whole life, I felt very at home with my mom and my dad. But I didn't always know how they'd react. 

Like, when I decided it was time to tell them I didn't like boys, and so-- Just completely lost my train of thought. I didn't like boys. And so, coming out to your parents is going to be really challenging and scary for anybody. But coming out to a parent who doesn't say many things is terrifying. So, it was the day that I moved home from college, and my dad drove the two hours to come pick me up. We put everything in the car, we get on the road and we drive for the first 90 minutes in a very peaceful silence. 

We listened to Journey's Greatest Hits. [audience laughter] I opened up a big bag of lay's potato chips, those are his favorite, and I prepared to tell him my big news. Because I had a very sneaky plan. I was planning to wait until we were 10 minutes from the house, and then I was going to tell him all about being gay. I never shut up. So, that would take at least 10 minutes. By that time, we'd already be in the driveway and we completely avoid talking about feelings, or emotions, or genders or anything that would make him uncomfortable. This seemed like a really foolproof plan, because it just involved me talking a lot. Very few things go wrong there. 

So I'm sitting in the car and I'm like, “Okay, Dad, I like girls.” And for the first time in my entire life, I couldn't think of another thing to say. Like, there were no more things. [audience laughter] I hadn't prepared a speech or anything, because I thought it would just come to me in the moment, like word vomit, like it normally does. But the things that I was planning to tell my mom about love and relationships and cute girls from my playwriting class, I knew my dad wouldn't want to hear about any of those things, so there was nothing else to say. And so, I started panicking. 

He didn't say anything, probably because he didn't know whether or not I was done, because that's an awkward way to break any silence. His typical like, “Okay, that sounds good” didn't really work in this situation. [audience laughter] So, he's panicking. And so, the logical thing that I thought was like, I'll just repeat myself. And so, I said, “I like girls.” [audience laughter] And so, he's gripping the steering wheel. I'm so nervous, I think I'm going to throw up. And so, in a true state of pure terror, I said, “Did the Red Wings play last night?” [audience laughter] It's a true story. 

And so, he launched one of the most elaborate descriptions of a hockey game I have ever experienced. [audience laughter] I'm sitting there thinking like, everything's cool. Like, I'm fine, he's fine, we're cool. I just outed myself to my dad like, “That's great.” But before I could congratulate myself, I looked up and saw the one thing that every person in the Midwest associates with summertime. Orange construction cones. 

The highway ahead of us was closed for no reason at all. [audience laughter] He's already out of things to say about the Red Wings, and we're about to take a very, very long detour. And I was like, “Fuck, now what do I do?” And so, I'm trying to think of like, what else is there to say? And he said, “Catherine, check out all this traffic.” And I was like, “Yeah, tell me about all the traffic and the construction.” [audience laughter] And I was like, “Tell me about the cars, and the gravel, and the dirt and the road.”

So, he starts talking and talking and talking. We get off the highway on these long, windy roads. In my mind, I'm thinking like, this is crazy. In this conversation, we have successfully detoured from Gay stuff, right over to hockey stuff and right into construction stuff and traffic stuff. We never, ever have to talk about me being a lesbian, because why would we talk about that? We could talk about all these cars. [audience laughter] It's like, we're talking and talking and talking. And now, we're actually pretty close to the house. 

It's still really congested, which is weird, because we're miles past the construction and lots of car talking. Because all the cars around us, and he's like, “I've never seen so many cars over here at this hour.” I was about to be like, “Yeah. Well, tell me about the cars.” And he said, “I think everybody heard that my baby was coming home today.” And I was like, “Oh.” I was thinking like, are we about to have a real conversation? [audience laughter] I looked over at him, and he's just got this big smile on his face. 

Everything about him, I could tell he just really wanted me to be happy, and he didn't quite know how to say that. So, he just gave me the dad nod [audience chuckles] and turned back towards the road. In the backseat, I could hear all of my moving boxes. Everything important. Everything in the car just settle into place. And I said, “Yeah, Dad, it's really, really good to be home. Thank you. 

[cheers and applause] 

Dan: [00:06:16] Catherine Smyka is a freelance writer living in Chicago. She thinks The Moth should run for President in 2016. Aww. Thank you, Catherine. That means a lot to us. But I think we like our jobs too much. 

Our second story is from a show that we did with theme Coming Home. Here's a story from Sasha Chanoff. 

[applause] 

Sasha: [00:06:40] I'm looking out a hotel suite window in the capital of Congo in the middle of Africa. There are bullet marks on the buildings out there, because war is raging. But it's nighttime and quiet. 

There's a nasty cockroach infestation in the kitchen and a putrid smell in the air. I've turned the TV volume up loudly, because the Congolese government has bugged our room. I turn and face Sheikha. She's a woman from Kenya with the brown skin of the coastal people, and thick black hair and intense dark eyes. Tears are welling in her eyes. And she's pleading with me, “Sasha, we have to take these people along with the rest. If we don't, they'll die here, and their blood will be on our hands. Please, you have to trust me.” I'm facing a terrible decision, and I'm afraid no matter what I do, people are going to be killed. 

A month earlier in Kenya, my boss, David, at the International Organization for Migration where we worked, called me into his office. He handed me a list with 112 names on it and told me he was sending me into the Congo on a rescue mission. The job was to evacuate 112 massacre survivors. He warned me really explicitly that under no circumstances could I include anybody else on that list. If I did, we would fail to get anyone out and they would all die. 

David knew, because he'd spent the past six months in the Congo evacuating people. I'd met one teenage girl that he pulled out. She had these nervous eyes, and she told me that the killing started when the President of Congo went on TV and said that all people of the Tutsi tribe are the enemy, and need to be hunted down and exterminated. This was an extension of the Rwandan genocide in ways. This teenage girl went into hiding that day, but had to eventually come out to look for food. 

As she was sneaking around town, she saw a mob chase down and catch another woman. They put a tire over her body, pinning her arms to her side, and doused her in gasoline and set her on fire. They were killing people in terrible ways, because Tutsis were seen as the scapegoats for the Congo's problems. 

This teenage girl had lost her own parents, but she had four brothers who were still alive and they were on the list that David handed me. David also warned me about Sheikha. She'd been on every previous mission with him, but he told me that I couldn't trust her, that she always tried to include additional people and I had to stop her from doing that. 

Sheikha and I flew into the Congo, and we rented a car, and a driver and went to the safe compound where the 112 were gathered. These big black gates swung open as our car drove into this two-acre compound with 10-foot walls and jagged shards of glass topping the walls. There were guards with AK47s slung at their sides standing around. A one story building was in the middle, and a large tent off to the side and latrines on another side. 

Somebody saw Sheikha, and all of a sudden, there was a mob around our car and they were pushing it up and down and chanting her name. I remember David telling me that people are going to go crazy with relief when they see you, because they think they're going to die there. When they see you, they'll know there's another flight. But it felt really scary and out of control for me, because there were way more people than the 112 on our list. 

We set a table up on the top of a little hill and the crowd gathered below. I called people up one at a time, and I took their name and their birth date and their photo, and I told them, “We'd be flying them out in a few days’ time.” I had to give this information to the Congolese immigration officials. I got really excited when I saw the four brothers of that teenage girl come up. When we were done and trying to leave, a guy who was working in the compound said, “Before you leave, you have to go into that tent over there and look at the people who just came in.” And I thought, I don't want to see anybody else. We can't take them, so why even look? 

But my feet were walking towards the tent, as I was thinking that. I stepped inside and it was like time stopped. It was really hot in that tent. I remember the sweat trickling down the small of my back. But what struck me was how completely quiet it was, which seemed impossible, because there were 32 widows and orphans standing and sitting in that tent. The guy who brought us in leaned into me and said, “They were in a prison camp for 16 months, where most of their family members were executed. We don't know how they survived.”

They all looked traumatized and emaciated, and they had these hollow stares, like, there was nothing behind their eyes. Sheikha leaned down to a little girl holding a doll and said, “Let me see your doll.” And all of a sudden, the doll's eyes popped open and its tongue lolled out of its mouth. We realized it was an infant child that looked more dead than alive. 

I went over to a 13-year-old boy and said, “What's your name?” And another smaller boy grabbed his hand and said, “He doesn't talk anymore. I talk for him.” That 13-year-old had been brutalized so badly, he just stopped speaking. Sheikha and I left. And that night in the hotel room, she was holding the list of widows and orphans, and begging me to take them. I held the list of 112 and I said, “We can't.” 

But I wondered, can I live with myself if we leave these widows and orphans here and they're killed? No, I didn't think so. But could I live with myself if we tried to take them and we failed to get everybody out and they all died? No. And then, I thought about who Sheikha was. She had this clear moral orientation. She did what was right in her heart and wasn't concerned about personal gain or recognition. And then, I wondered, who am I? 

My great grandmother had come to the US as a refugee fleeing antisemitism in Russia, and she was a widow who raised four orphans or four children on her own. I'd been working with refugees since graduating from college six years earlier, but nothing had prepared me for this. And then, Sheikha said, words that changed me, “Sasha, we're humanitarians. We're here on the ground now. If we don't do this, these people will be forgotten and they'll die here. This is up to us. It's our decision.”

And in that moment, I trusted her. So, I called David. He got really angry when we told him what we wanted to do. He said, “Listen, I'll tell you exactly what's going to happen. You have to tell the Congolese immigration authorities, and then they're going to include their own people on your list. And then, at the last minute, maybe even on the plane, they'll pull your people off and you won't get anybody out. You can't do this.” And I said, “David, I get it, but we have to try.” And he was quiet. And then, I heard him say, “Okay. Then here's what you have to do. This is a US rescue mission, so get the US ambassador's approval and try it.”

We got the US ambassador's approval. And then, on the last night, as the sun was setting, we went to see the head of Congolese immigration. A stocky man with beady eyes who already told us how much he hated Tutsis. When we told him we were taking the widows and orphans, he said that he had seven additional people we had to take. And we said, “That's fine.” And then, he pulled out this whole new list and said, he also wanted to take all these other people. And we said, “We can't.” We argued with him and we even tried to bribe him. But as we were leaving, all he said was, “I'm in charge here. I say who leaves and who stays. We'll just see what happens tomorrow.” Those words terrified me. 

Back in the hotel, we realized we had another big problem. We had too many people for our flight. But then, we thought that the children all looked so emaciated that we could change the birth dates and make all the four- and three-year-olds less than two. And in that way, we'd free up enough seats. So, I spent the night doing that. And at 03:00 AM as I tried to close my eyes, I couldn't sleep. I was so wired with exhaustion and fear and the uncertainty of it all. I thought, have we just condemned everyone to death with this decision? 

A few hours later, I went and got four buses. I had four armed guards per bus and I went to the safe compound. We started loading everybody on. And the people who weren't coming started yelling. And one man grabbed me, and he pulled my face close to his and he said, “Sasha, you have to take me with you. Look at my face. I'm a Tutsi. I'll be killed here.” But we couldn't take him or so many others. Their cries faded into the distance as our buses pulled out. And now, my heart jumped in my throat, because this was the most dangerous part of the entire mission. The Congolese government had told us that they would let us do this, but unofficially, they didn't want us to succeed. I worried that maybe a mob would attack our bus or maybe gunmen would start shooting from around a corner. Hundreds of thousands of people had lost their lives already, and no one would notice a few more. 

An hour later, we finally pulled into the airport, and we stopped 50ft away from the plane and I thought, there's the plane. Let's just get everybody on that plane. Congolese immigration police hustled me and Sheikha off the buses, and then they started checking people using the documentation we had given. As the widows and orphans came down, they stopped them. And I had this terrible thought, oh, my God, these people are witnesses to terrible atrocities. And the Congolese immigration police aren't going to let them leave because they don't want them talking about what they've seen. 

I thought, everything that David said is coming true right now. And I felt so helpless. I looked around for Sheikha. She was talking to the head of Congolese immigration and waving her arms. The seconds ticked by, and then they let them off the bus and they boarded the plane. We all boarded the plane. I stepped on last. The cabin had turned into a furnace, because the plane had been sitting on the tarmac for a couple of hours. It was so packed with people. There were so many children sitting on laps of adults. The door shut behind me, and I felt the plane engines rumble to life and cool air came into the cabin, and we started down the runway, and we lifted off the ground. 

I'd imagined that in that moment, people would erupt into cheers of joy, because they were finally safe. But when I looked, everyone was crying for the people we had left behind. It was at once that the most joyous and heartbreaking moment. And in that moment, I thought about Sheikha pleading with me in the hotel. I was so thankful. We couldn't get everyone out, but we got those on our list out, and those widows and orphans and they were the worst off. I looked at the tiny infant, and there was a 13-year-old boy and there were the four brothers who are going to be reuniting with their teenage sister soon. And as their eyes met mine, I felt this incredible sense of connection and shared humanity sink into the deepest core of who I am. And that feeling has motivated and inspired me ever since. 

[cheers and applause] 

Dan: [00:19:29] Sasha Chanoff is the founder and executive director of RefugePoint, a humanitarian organization that finds lasting solutions for refugees and life-threatening situations. He's also the recent author of From Crisis to Calling, which is out now. You can find it at your local bookstore or on Amazon. 

That's it for this week. Thank you, guys,, for listening. And we hope you have a story-worthy week. 

Mooj: [00:19:55] Dan Kennedy is the author of the books, Loser Goes First, Rock On and American Spirit. He's also a regular host and performer with The Moth.

Dan: [00:20:04] Podcast production by Mooj Zadie. Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City, supervised by Paul Ruest. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.