German villagers now call Muslim refugees ‘family’ Yardena Schwartz
After 2 years, fears and concerns melt away in community
Bettina Schoettmer admits she was apprehensive when she first heard that 70 refugees from Muslim countries would move to this village at the edge of the Black Forest. But she never questioned the need to help those fleeing wartorn countries.
“They had nothing,” said Schoettmer, 49. “They had fled war and persecution, risking their lives to seek asylum. I remember one family, with 10 people, all they had were two plastic bags.”
Other residents here felt the same way, wanting to help but worrying about their safety and the culture clash of absorbing people with such different backgrounds from this traditional German hamlet.
Two years later, those fears have melted away as the refugees have become endeared — and valued — members of the community.
“Now when a refugee has to leave Gechingen and move to another town, I get calls from the whole village. ‘Why does he have to leave? He’s such a nice person,’ ” Schoettmer laughs. “These same people who were worried at first started to take care of their refugees.”
Such positive attitudes about refugees explain why many Germans were baffled when President Trump imposed a temporary ban on admitting citizens of seven majority-Muslim countries. Their experience has shown them that the fears behind the ban — the possibility of allowing terrorists in — are overwrought.
More than 1 million refugees and other migrants have been admitted into Germany since 2015, and Gechingen isn’t the only small village that opened its arms to them. In fact, refugees can be found in nearly every German town.
The country has recently been plagued by several terrorist attacks, as well as mass assaults allegedly by migrants on New Year’s Eve 2015. Those incidents spawned a backlash against the new arrivals. In 2015, the anti-immigration Alternative for Deutschland (AfD) political party made the influx of refugees its primary issue, which helped it make strong showings in state elections.
Many in Gechingen, pop. 3,800, were suspicious of the 70 refugees when they first arrived in February 2015. As the unofficial representative of the refugees, Schoettmer said she received complaints: “These people are going to bring crime to our village. How will our wives and children walk through the streets at night?”
Schoettmer, a classical dancer, piano teacher and mother of three, volunteered to lead 30 residents who assisted the new residents.
Refugee centers were estab- lished in abandoned buildings, and the volunteers helped the newcomers with paperwork and bureaucratic obstacles to obtaining asylum in Germany.
In the nearby town of Calw, Mayor Ralf Eggert decided to absorb more refugees than required despite the steep cost — nearly $25 million in 2015.
Eggert said the refugees are worth the public expense because they have created a need for new jobs — such as teachers, housing personnel and other service providers — and helped solve a labor shortage.
“We have so many companies looking for workers — not just engineers and doctors but also home-care workers and other jobs,” Eggert said. “Now we have the opportunity where we have these people who can do the jobs we badly need, and we can help them have a better life.”
Most of Calw’s refugees are Syrian, half of them families with children. The kids attend school with Germans, while the adults take mandatory German courses to learn the language. Once they’ve become fluent, they can get jobs, but until then, many serve as unpaid workers or trainees.
Some residents consider refugees members of their own families.
Schoettmer said she feels that way about Samir, 32, a Syrian refugee who knocked on her door unannounced. She welcomed him inside with a hug. He greeted her three cats by name.
“He is part of our family now, there’s no question,” Schoettmer said.