By M Rafique
I came to this country as a Rohingya refugee. I fled Myanmar with my family as a child, spending 17 years in refugee camps in Bangladesh. Life in the camps meant living under constant uncertainty, with scarce food, no freedom of movement, and little access to healthcare or education. In 2009, with the support of UNHCR and the Irish government, my family and I were resettled in Carlow, Ireland. I became a citizen, built a life, and even wrote about my experiences in my 2015 blog post “I Was a Refugee Too” (https://rafiquerohingya.blogspot.com/2015/06/i-was-refugee-too-m-rafique.html?m=1) — a story of survival, resilience, and hope.
In 2016, I reflected further on my journey in “A Boundless Journey” (https://rafiquerohingya.blogspot.com/2016/05/a-boundless-journey.html), describing the joy of finally having freedom — freedom to walk without fear, to access education, to raise children in safety. Later, in 2020, I spoke with UNHCR about how profoundly resettlement changed our lives and the importance of safety for our children (https://www.unhcr.org/asia/news/stories/every-parent-wants-their-child-be-safe). These experiences are why the recent death of Nurul Amin Shah Alam, a 56-year-old Rohingya refugee in Buffalo, New York, hits so close to home (https://edition.cnn.com/2026/02/26/us/shah-alam-blind-refugee-border-patrol-hnk).
Shah Alam arrived in the U.S. in December 2024 with his family, seeking protection. He was nearly blind, could not speak English, and relied on others for navigation and communication. Yet in 2025, while walking in his neighborhood, he became disoriented. Using a curtain rod as a walking stick, he accidentally wandered onto someone’s porch. Police were called. Because he could not follow English commands, he was tased and beaten before being arrested. He spent nearly a year in custody, complicated by an immigration detainer that transferred him to federal authorities.
On February 19, 2026, after a plea deal preventing further detention, he was released — not to his family, but at a coffee shop miles from home, in freezing winter weather, without notice to anyone who could help him. Days later, his body was found. Authorities listed health-related causes, but this death is a tragic example of systemic failure: vulnerable people left unsupported, isolated, and exposed to danger.
I know what it is like to arrive in a new country without language, resources, or guidance. I also know what it is like to survive and thrive when communities and institutions act with humanity. In Carlow, I rebuilt my life, but I never forgot the struggles of those still displaced. I turned that memory into action — photographing Rohingya camps, documenting stories, and organizing an exhibition at VISUAL Centre for Contemporary Art called “The Stateless” (https://rohingya.ie/visual-carlow-a-centre-for-visualisation-of-rohingya-plight/), where I shared images of life in refugee camps and resettled communities. My work aims to give visibility to people whose suffering often remains invisible.
Shah Alam’s story reveals patterns that are far too common:
- Disabled and non-English-speaking refugees are treated with disregard.
- Family and legal notification is often overlooked.
- Bureaucratic procedures can outweigh human care.
- Systems designed to protect can instead endanger lives.
This is not about politics; it is about human responsibility. Justice for Shah Alam must mean more than investigation. It requires reform: protocols for protecting vulnerable people during arrests and custody transfers, mandatory notification of family and lawyers, language and disability accommodations at every stage, and humane treatment that prioritizes life over paperwork.
Refugees are not statistics. They are human beings who survived persecution, displacement, and trauma. When governments fail them at the moment they need protection most, that failure can be fatal.
My life demonstrates the difference compassion can make. Teachers who helped me navigate forms, neighbors who translated, and local support networks enabled my survival. Shah Alam had none of that. That absence cost him his life.
If we claim to value human rights, dignity, and refuge, we cannot let his death pass silently. We must demand transparency, accountability, and reforms that ensure no refugee — no disabled person, no non-English speaker — is abandoned when they are most vulnerable.
Let Shah Alam’s story be a turning point. Let it remind us that humanity must come before procedure — that every refugee deserves protection, not neglect; dignity, not abandonment.
I know what refuge can mean. Now we must make sure it works for everyone.
