I admire those who will offer refuge, but I can’t

OUR big-hearted response to the war in Ukraine has impressed Joe Biden and, some would say, shamed our nearest neighbour into hastily devising a resettlement scheme for the war-torn nation. So where does that leave me, one of the thousands of Irish people who are lucky enough to have a spare room but baulking at the idea of giving it over indefinitely to a desperate mother and her children?

Drowning in guilt, that’s where, and a grappling with a mini-crisis of confidence in my moral fibre.

I partly blame Covid and the upheaval of the past two years for my reluctance to embody the adage about charity beginning at home. It’s not that I suffered horribly during the crisis, nor that I was forced to make a significant sacrifice or show extraordinary courage like a nurse or doctor on the front line.

Indeed, given the numbers of people who lost a loved one, or who have long Covid, or who even temporarily lost their livelihoods, I got away lightly by any measure.

But it was a mammoth endurance test all the same. And it drained me of the mental resources I’d need to plunge so soon again into the unknown.

Of course, I recognise that standing aside while I replenish the metaphorical tank is a luxury the Ukrainian people can’t afford. And it’s luxury that 26,000 of my countrymen and women – unless they own a property portfolio or a holiday house that allows them to accommodate refugees without disturbing their family home – don’t feel they are owed.

But there are also non-Covid reasons that explain my failure to do my duty to the citizens of a beleaguered country and put my name on the waiting list.

Making a bedroom cosy for refugees, buying their favourite food and taking them to the nearest hub for information about healthcare and education – that’s the easy part, for me. It calls for the kind of time, energy and commitment you’d put into any new project.

But the emotional pressure is different. I don’t mean just the toll on those who have lost everything but also – and I’m ashamed to admit it when so many are doing so much for Ukraine – the toll on me.

Taking in a refugee is not like being an Airbnb host, which must be a fairly straightforward exercise given the number of Irish households that do it. Taking in a refugee means being strong and compassionate enough to provide sanctuary to desperate families who might be suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder.

THERE may be traumatised children screaming in the night for their fathers, heartbroken adults pining for their homes and husbands, their fear and anguish hanging heavy in the air. I’m not sure that I or the members of my household are equipped to comfort people in that kind of distress, let alone buoy them up with hope for the future. My fear is that we’d be counting down the days until the grey cloud of their despair passed out of our lives and we could relax once more into our slovenly habits.

I admire those who are not daunted by the hazards of living with complete strangers, whose lives are open books – those virtuous people who refuse to let potential personality clashes, loss of privacy, the language barrier and so forth get in the way of doing the right thing. But that’s not me.

I hope, as more Ukrainians arrive, that all the other ways we might be able to help out, short of sharing our homes, become quickly apparent.

We could ferry Ukrainians to and from the airport, offer strictly short-term stays in our homes, give language classes or tuition to schoolchildren, or organise outings in our communities to help them make the most of the good weather.

There must be a variety of ways we can extend the hand of friendship towards Ukrainians and make them feel at home, albeit in someone else’s home.

Back-up supports might not be as selfless or worthy as giving shelter but it is valuable work too, in its own way.

And it’s all that many of us, either due to circumstances or disposition, are able for.