Gasparetto (not his real name)[1] was a young Turkish medical student when he was arrested and imprisoned for eight months by Turkey’s government, merely for his connection to the Hizmet, a social movement inspired by Fethullah Gülen and Sufi thought, which Turkey’s President Erdoğan blamed for the July 15, 2016 coup attempt. While incarcerated, Gasparetto experienced a range of feelings—heightened spirituality and camaraderie with others, but also devastating emotional torture at the hands of prison guards. In prison, they had crammed 57 people into a room meant for 12, and so the inmates took turns sleeping and sharing beds. He was only given permission to leave his cell on four occasions over an eight-month period. He asked his family to bring National Geographic magazines to him so that he could see color photographs of the outside world. The worst part was that his mother, who suffers from bipolar disorder, was unable to manage her own medications at home because of the stress, and rapidly deteriorated during his absence. Sadly, as soon as Gasparetto was released, he knew he would soon likely be rearrested, and so he planned his escape from Turkey via the dangerous Evros River, known as the “refugee cemetery.”[2] Crossing the river on a flimsy inflatable boat, he was terrified he would drown in the rushing currents, as far too many had before him, or be thrown back into prison again by Turkish soldiers, before his boat reached Greece.

I met him in Greece during the summer of 2018, where I had travelled to interview other refugees of Erdoğan’s ongoing purge. According to Mehmet, a Hizmet representative there, approximately 800 Turkish refugee families are temporarily residing in Greece (the number fluctuates), hoping to gain asylum somewhere, anywhere, in Europe. At least 41,500 Turks have already reached Europe to seek refuge after the attempted coup, and many more are still desperately trying to reach safety and gain asylum there.[3]

Firdevs, a former teacher who crossed the river with her three children, told me that after arriving in Greece, she kissed the first tree she saw. She felt her burdens lifting, and that at that moment she could breathe for the first time in two years. “All Turkish refugees are thankful to the people of Greece,” Mehmet explained to me.

Due to its strategic location and (relative) hospitality as of June 2018, Greece houses approximately 60,000 refugees.[4] From January to September 2018 alone, over 23,000 refugees, most of them (72%) from Syria, Iraq (including Syrian and Iraqi Yazidis and Kurds), and Afghanistan, came to Greece by sea.[5] Others risked the treacherous Evros River—from January to May, 2018, 7,200 refugees survived the crossing to Greece.[6] When asylum seekers arrive, often exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, unfortunately many find conditions in the refugee camps less than ideal. Crowded, squalid, and dirty, the camps nonetheless offer refuge for those awaiting their asylum decisions. Residents have complained that living in the camps can be dangerous: there have been reports of physical and sexual assault, threats of violence, and a rise in mental health problems.[7]

One of the worst examples is the Moria Camp, on the island of Lesbos. It is supposed to house 2,000 refugees, but as of August, 2018, it houses four times that many, and sexual harassment and assault are commonplace.[8] It also reeks—there is one toilet for every seventy people. Some have lived there for over two years. Many, including children, are suicidal.[9] The same camp recently witnessed violence against Kurdish refugees by Arabs, in which over seventy Kurds were injured, at least ten left in critical condition, mirroring sectarian violence against Kurds in Syria and Iraq, at the hands of religious extremists.[10]

My 9-day trip was marred by several tragedies. The day before I arrived, fires in the region of East Attica, near Rafina, horrifyingly killed 99 people,[11] with 200 more being injured.[12] In two separate incidents around the duration of my stay seven Turkish refugees, including children, lost their lives drowning in the Evros trying to reach safety in Greece. For days one Turkish father, Murat Akcabay,[13] who had survived the trip while the rest of his family fell into the water after the boat hit a rock, prayed that one of his three sons, five year-old Mesut, who had been wearing a life vest when he fell off the boat, would still be alive. The bodies of his wife and two sons had already been recovered.[14] Sadly, during my trip, Mesut’s body was also found.

Despite the problems faced by the Turkish refugee community in Greece, which include trauma, financial difficulties, displacement, grief, depression, and an uncertain future, those I spoke with were deeply concerned with how to best help the Greek fire survivors and their families, in their new host country.

On a more positive note, six other Turkish refugees, one a 5-months pregnant woman, were rescued and brought to Greece after being stranded for four days without food or water on a tiny island between Turkey and Greece. Their boat sank and they made it to the island, where they slept on the muddy ground and survived by drinking river water. Another success story involved a young Turkish refugee who arrived on a boat, but his boat was pushed back towards Turkey by Greek officials (which happens on occasion). In an act of sheer desperation, he leapt off that boat into Greek waters, and to the cheers of spectators he too was rescued and brought into Greece by representatives of the UN High Committee for Refugees.

Despite the problems faced by the Turkish refugee community in Greece, which include trauma, financial difficulties, displacement, grief, depression, and an uncertain future, those I spoke with were deeply concerned with how to best help the Greek fire survivors and their families, in their new host country. They, along with the world, mourned with Greece. Another refugee, and former government official from Ankara, Çetin, explained: “The pain doesn’t differ. Language, ethnicity, religion, none of these are different. We suffered the same. When we see the pictures of the Greek babies [fire victims], we suffer just as we do when we see Turkish babies who sank in the Evros River.”

Humanitarian groups quickly began to raise funds for the survivors of the devastating fire. Help also came from an unlikely source: the Turkish refugee community. Historically, Greece and Turkey have been at odds. This has been fueled, in part, by Greek independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1832, a series of military conflicts including the Greco-Turkish war of 1912-1922, the Cyprus issue, and the current tensions between Turkey and Greece. Turkish jets have invaded Greek airspace on dozens of occasions this year alone, and the Turkish government has implied it might seek jurisdiction over islands in the Aegean occupied by Greeks.[15]

Despite that history, those refugees I interviewed were deeply grateful for the friendly welcome they received in Greece which, combined with Erdoğan’s brutal two-year purge, completely quashed any previously held feelings of Turkish superiority and/or xenophobia. Firdevs, a former teacher who crossed the river with her three children, told me that after arriving in Greece, she kissed the first tree she saw. She felt her burdens lifting, and that at that moment she could breathe for the first time in two years. “All Turkish refugees are thankful to the people of Greece,” Mehmet explained to me.

Zeynep, a divorced mother and former cook, confirmed that her refugee experience created greater empathy for others outside of those groups of people with whom she used to most identify. She said, “Before this [purge in Turkey], when we heard a refugee ship had sunk in the Aegean Sea, of course we were sorry. But we never thought that each person died had a family, children; we never humanized them, one by one. We used to just think about Turkey, what we could do for Turkey, but after this experience, we see what we can do for humanity.”

My 9-day trip was marred by several tragedies. The day before I arrived, fires in the region of East Attica, near Rafina, horrifyingly killed 99 people, with 200 more being injured. Seven Turkish refugees, including children, lost their lives drowning in the Evros trying to reach safety in Greece.

Similarly, Yesma, a former teacher, argued that being a refugee also made her more empathetic towards other refugees. She stated, “In our country we had Syrian refugees and we should have done more for them. We didn’t help them enough.” She also crossed the Evros with her family, and told me that eerily, she was able to feel the spirits of those who had drowned in it, but were never found.

Accompanying Mehmet, Gasparetto, and several other refugees with medical backgrounds, I toured the neighborhoods affected by the fire. They wanted to offer aid through their Hizmet-affiliated organization, Time to Help. In one of over at least 1,000 homes gutted by the fire, a burnt television sat askance on the living room floor, surrounded by charred furniture and debris. A brass teapot sat unscathed on a charred, round antique table. I was told that thankfully, the elderly resident of that home survived, carried out by her son.

Mehmet, who had organized the small group composed of two refugee doctors and one nurse, purchased water and paper goods to donate to Rafina’s city hall. We met with Ms. Vasiliki Beka, the Mayor’s Advisor, and Mehmet began by telling her that they were there simply to help, and that on behalf of Time to Help they could bring more doctors or whatever else was needed. He offered to organize a blood drive, paint homes, bring medicines, or provide victims’ families with financial aid. Ms. Beka graciously responded that they did not need more basic items such as clothes, food, or medicine, but rather volunteers to help clear the area of burnt wood, and of course, funds. Seemingly touched by the offers of assistance, she said that receiving global offers of support restored her faith in humanity. Exhausted, but smiling, she added: “There is more that brings us together than that which separates us.” Afterwards, the group visited a young woman in the hospital, who was badly burned on her arms and legs, and gave her mother funds to help her daughter with her medical bills.

Refugees commonly suffer from feelings of humiliation and societal uselessness because of their dependence on aid organizations, especially when they are unemployed.[16] I noticed that being able to provide help to fire victims raised the spirits of the Turkish refugees I met in Greece; indeed, Mehmet much preferred to think about ways to help the Greek victims rather than about his own refugee status, or the fact that the rest of his family still remained in Turkey. Thankfully, Gasparetto was able to reach Germany, where he hopes to continue his medical studies after learning German. While he still struggles with depression and his traumatic memories, he is one of the more fortunate. While those that fled the brutal purge in Turkey have a long road in front of them, their horrible experiences have not yet caused them to lose their humanity. In fact, being able to perform even small acts of kindness helps them move forward.

The pain doesn’t differ. Language, ethnicity, religion, none of these are different. We suffered the same. When we see the pictures of the Greek babies [fire victims], we suffer just as we do when we see Turkish babies who sank in the Evros River.

Let’s conclude this story with the words of a refugee. Ahsen, a 33-year-old psychological consultant and mother of two, listened to the stories of purge victims in Turkey before becoming a refugee herself. Her hair turned white from the stress of listening to the painful stories of others. Her Kurdish husband, a psychiatrist, cried when I interviewed him, telling me he heard stories that were so terrible he couldn’t tell them to anyone. Before fleeing Turkey via the Evros, Ahsen told her seven-year-old daughter that they were playing a game of “Survivor.” Surprised with her daughter’s adult-like demeanor during the voyage, Ahsen recalled that after reaching Greece the girl calmly asked her who had won the game. Ahsen conveyed what she had learned from the harrowing ordeal: “Passing through the Evros taught us about other people. We had heard about the refugee experiences from Afghans and Syrians, but we hadn’t experienced it [ourselves]. Also, when we came here we found that Greek people are very kind, polite, believe in humanity, and offer us respect and understanding. They also help us, which is very important. [If granted asylum], we will go and carry out more service (Hizmet) in the countries we visit. I’m sorry I left my friends in Turkey, but I learned there is a great need here as well. A new life is beginning for all of us.”

[1] All names of Turkish refugees have been changed, for their safety.

[2] Deniz Zengin, “Turkish Refugees Crossing Evros River,” Politurco, August 2, 2018.

[3] Ibid.

[4] “Greece,” UNHCR, June, 2018.

[5] “Sea Arrivals Dashboard: Greece,” UNHCR, September, 2018.

[6] Leo Dobbs, “Fewer refugees arriving in Greece’s Evros region, but problems remain,” UNHCR, June 12, 2018.

[7] “UNHCR urges action to ease conditions on Greek islands,” UNHCR, September 8, 2017.

[8] Catrin Nye and Leo Sands, “UN urges Greece to act as Moria refugee camp reaches ‘boiling point,’” BBC Victoria Derbyshire Program, August 31, 2018.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Helbast Shekhani, “Ten Syrian Kurds in critical condition after attack at refugee camp in Greece,” Kurdistan 24, May 26, 2018.

[11] “Attica’s Devastating Wildfire Death Toll Rises to 99,” Greek News, September 12, 2018.

[12] Bill Hutchinson, “Death toll from fires in Greece climbs to 91 as investigation points toward arson,” ABC News, July 29, 2018.

[13] His real name.

[14] Tasos Kokkinidis, “Turkish Father Makes Emotional Plea for Family Missing in Greek River,” Greek Reporter, July 20, 2018.

[15] Yannis Babaoulias, “Greece and Turkey Are Inching Toward War,” Foreign Policy, April 18, 2018.

[16] Constanze Quosh, Liyam Eloul, and Rawan Ajlani, “Mental health of refugees and displaced persons in Syria and surrounding countries: a systematic review,” Intervention Volume 11 (3) (November 2013).

Despite the extraordinary details, my story is quite ordinary. It is a story as quintessentially American as Henry Kissinger’s tale of arriving in New York after fleeing Nazi persecution or Madeleine Albright’s experience of seeking political asylum from the Czechoslovakian Communist Party. I was born in a Chicago hospital in the immediate days after my family fled Communist Vietnam on a 35-foot fishing boat. My mom gave me the nick-name “Nam-My,” literally “Vietnam-America” for being her first-American born child. Thus, I was different from the rest of the kids-simply by virtue of being born here. Unlike my siblings, whose early childhood memories consisted of eating plain rice with salt and hiding in underground shelters during bombings, I watched Rainbow Brite and Transformers before going to school every morning, ate Fruit Loops for breakfast, and had a regular supply of FDA-approved whole milk at my disposal- a luxury from the standpoint of my siblings who fled Vietnam with my parents in the early 1980s. My care-free childhood was like any other American kid – roller-skating madly up and down the two blocks outside of my house that made up my entire universe of a playground, playing Slip n’ Slide in my Latino neighborhood, fluent in Spanish slang phrases I did not know the equivalent to in English or Vietnamese, and catching fireflies at night on my porch. My childhood was bright and sunny and I had no idea at that time how different life would have been if it had not been for the heroic but excruciatingly difficult choice of one man out at sea nearly 30 years before: Captain Bell.

Captain Bell was a U.S. Navy captain aboard the USS Morton DD 948, an anti-submarine weapons destroyer ship deployed during the Vietnam War. His life intersected with mine on a warm day 100 miles into the South China Sea on June 9, 1982- the day he decided to defy the Navy’s orders not to pick up Vietnamese refugees. The orders he received to not pick up Vietnamese boat people made perfect sense: such practices would encourage people to continue risking their lives at sea to escape Vietnam. Yet, Captain Bell chose to defy these orders that day and through his single decision, I was born. After Captain Bell brought my family along with the other seventy other boat people to a Filipino refugee camp, my parents spent 8-9 months awaiting relocation to the United States. In the meantime, I must have been conceived because just days after leaving the refugee camp and arriving in the United States, I was born in Chicago without a single glimpse of this stormy chapter in my family’s history.

For as long as I can remember, mom went door-to-door in the freezing Chicago snow to clean homes and dad fixed bikes. Despite growing up in what later became a single parent household of four children with barely enough funds to rent someone’s basement to live in, I had always felt lucky to inherit all of the anecdotal stories my mother recounted of her life back in Vietnam. But just like many first-generation kids from an immigrant family, I struggled to figure out how to truly live up to my family’s expectations. Was I supposed to grow up and open a nail salon as 99% of the Vietnamese did in the United States? Was I supposed to do something more interesting with my life, something that would make my mother’s tumultuous journey here worth it? Should I spend my life fulfilling my filial duties to my family or go off on my own, become a self-made [wo]man and pull myself up by my own bootstraps? The burden of the past weighed heavily on my shoulders and I was desperate to find answers to my questions.

I searched far and near for answers, insight, and clues to unravel the past that I barely understood as a child. At 15 years old, I traveled and lived in Beijing hiking up the Great Wall of China and back down to the Yangtze River in search of any clues that would solve the mysteries of my past. In college, I lived in South Korea and stood at the edge of the demilitarized zone peering into North Korea to catch a glimpse of Communism at its best. Throughout my adventures, my family’s story motivated me to overcome poverty and racial discrimination in Chicago’s inner city, graduate cum laude from Northwestern University, and become the first in my family to attend law school. The stark contrast between my privileged life and that of my relatives left behind in Vietnam motivated me to later work with Vietnamese sex trafficking victims in Taiwan and to attend law school to continuing helping the most vulnerable segments of our society. From conception in a Filipino refugee tent to becoming the first attorney in my entire family lineage, I realize now that I would not be here at all had it not been for Captain Bell’s decision, a decision which altered the trajectory of many lives out at sea that day.

Most recently, this investigative process of piecing together my family history has helped me uncover the most valuable treasure I ever expected to find: Captain Bell himself. A casual internet search led me to discover that Captain Bell is still alive and living in sunny California. I recently emailed him to introduce myself as the product of his heroic decision in 1982. Nearly 28 years later through finding Captain Bell and uncovering more facts about what happened that day out at sea, I am discovering how much of a difference one person can make with even just one decision. My mother took a leap of faith by risking her life and fleeing Vietnam so that she would not have to live in a society without choices. Captain Bell defied orders to save a group of complete strangers in need. Suddenly, I realized that Captain Bell’s rescue story was not just another one of my mother’s Vietnam War stories of the past. Captain Bell was alive and by taking my own leap of faith, I could meet this man who caused my life be possible and now make his story a part of my own.

With only 72 hours left to live, the only conceivable way to spend my time would be with the two superheroes who literally and figuratively opened me the doors of life: my mom and Captain Bell. As a single mother of four-children and a hard-working nurse now in her fifties, my mom spends all day and night taking care of sick people. She deserves the world and has dreamed of visiting the hometown she left behind in North Vietnam in the 1970s. I would book First-class tickets to Vietnam to tour the town she left more than 40 years ago and has not had the time nor funds to return. The best part of this trip would be that it could allow me to spend meaningful time with my mom, writing down the tremendous war stories she’s lived through, using my art skills to draw a life-size portrait of the survivors aboard the USS Morton DD 948 on that day of their rescue, and passing my family history down to the next generation of Vietnamese-Americans. Next, I would give Captain Bell a ring and invite him to travel with me to see Vietnam, which has changed completely from the dark memories he likely remembers from fighting the Viet Cong during the war. I would organize a worldwide reunion for all of the ship-mates, refugees, and families connected to the USS Morton. The seventy Vietnamese boat people Captain Bell saved in 1982 and their children, grandchildren, maybe even great-grandchildren would all be in attendance. Aboard a beautiful ship docked near Vietnam, we would share our war stories, our sea stories, and our dreams for the future as Captain Bell’s rescue story is really simply a variation of the same stories many Americans have been telling for the past two hundred years. Yes, despite all the extraordinary details, my story is simply ordinary. And through my 72-hour trip to Vietnam with my mom and Captain Bell, it would all end the same way it began: complete strangers out at sea connected together by the fragile threads of history.

One recent example of such phenomena is the Schrödinger equation that explains the behavior of matter at the atomic level. This relation just happens to work, and its derivation is intuitive rather than rational. It also has the simplest mathematical form among its possible competitors in terms of expressing nature.

We will now look at another example of such axiom-like relations that we usually ignore, although it is frequently encountered in our everyday life. Before revealing it as fully as we can, let us relate one situation where this effect is very apparent.

We usually move objects by pushing or pulling them. Suppose now we are on a motorboat and we have run out of gas in a place very close to the shore. We (the strong crew members) surely do not want to be carried away from the shore by the backwash from the waves. One of us has the brilliant idea to push on the sides of the boat until we reach harbor. What would you suggest? Some of us think that it is not a good idea because the boat is very heavy and our pushing will be negligible. It is true that the boat will not move. However, the failure has nothing to do with the weight of the boat. On the other hand, some other crew members suggest using oars, which will obviously work, but why? (Personally, with all my respect to other opinions, I would suggest using the phone to call the beach police to get some help; but this would distract us from our subject matter.)

Impulse, direction, and momentum

If you think about the “why” question above, you will guess that we are talking about impulse in the loose meaning of the word. In physics, impulse has a more precise definition. This definition arose from the need to describe an object’s ability to have an impact on other objects, but the idea is still vague: How do we quantify this ability in order to put some flesh on this notion? Let us try to figure out an answer to this question.

Now, let us consider a few possible ways of defining impulse that look reasonable. We may decide intuitively that an impact should be related to an object’s speed: the higher the speed the greater the impact. If you ever played marbles in your childhood, you will recall that the easiest way to dislodge the marbles in the targeted row is to cast your own marble as fast as you can. Impulse should also have a relation to mass. Certainly, the impact of as many as a thousand bullets aimed at a train will not move the train even a meter. These are some simple observations anyone can experience or have a feeling of from their daily life.

We also expect that this strange quantity should somehow be transferred by the interaction of two objects. One object colliding with another stationary object transfers something that causes the latter to travel in a direction. With this example, another important feature of our impulse idea emerges: direction. Those who like to play the game of American pool or billiards know this very well. (I am sure everyone does it for the noble reason to experiment the laws of physics.) It makes a significant difference in a collision of two masses if they hit each other at an angle.

Wait a minute! We have been talking about the effect of an object’s impact, but the object has something that it is carrying even before the impact, and this “something” is the reason why we have an impact in the first place. So, what is this “something”? Let us call it momentum so as not to violate the traditions of physics.

All this stuff so far is good, but we are not done yet: how should these ideas appear in our equations? Now, let us bring together all our findings. We know momentum manifests itself as the impact (P) of one object on another. From its effect (impulse), we understand that momentum is related to the mass (M) of the object and its velocity (V). We also know that momentum has a directionality, which is termed vectorial. Then, perhaps momentum is something like:

P = a x M + b x V

where a and b are constants. This seems acceptable since it satisfies our observation: the more the mass, the more the momentum. But for a stationary object (V=0), there is no point in talking about impulse; so the axM terms looks unnecessary. If there is no good reason for a physical quantity to appear in a physical equation, then the simplicity principle says it should be removed. Therefore, we look for a simpler alternative relation with only one term like below:

P = c x M2 x V5

where c is a constant. But this one is a highly non-linear relation with exponential terms, so it is really not looking good. Another problem with this equation is that it does not fit our daily experience very well. If we reconsider our train example, with a high velocity power term like this, even the very small bullets can have a considerable effect on a train, enough to move it in fact. As a simple example, let c be equal to 1, take 0.1 kg as the mass of a bullet and 105 kg (100 tons) as the mass of the train, and give 400 m/s velocity to the bullet. Assuming that the impulse of the bullet is transferred to the train (conservation of momentum), we roughly get:

Pbullet = c x m2 x Vb5 = 1011

Ptrain = c x M2 x Vt5 = 1010 Vt5

By equating both sides we roughly get, 1.6 m/s (5.7 km/h) for the train velocity.

A single bullet moving a big train at such speed? This is a very counter-intuitive result. However, we will not give up easily. How about if we try an expression which is more familiar?

P = d x MV2

where d is a constant. This relation also agrees with our intuition (i.e. it has mass and velocity terms proportional to P.) I can already hear some objections from those who are acquainted with physics saying “No! This is the energy formula of a body with mass M and velocity V.” Indeed, this equation is reserved for energy which is a non-vectorial quantity. As a matter of fact, none of the above is a correct description for momentum. The actual expression is, interestingly, the simplest of all possibilities:

P = MxV

So, why not the more complex ones but this, the simplest one? The rigorous answer is subtle and requires a thorough analysis of linearity and homogeneity of space, which could be the subject of another essay. But we repeat the remark that we made in the beginning: if there is a simpler and more beautiful way of describing a natural law, then that description often turns out to be the correct one in the end. In fact, for some giants of physics like Paul Dirac, the beauty of a theory is more important than its results and is a better indication of the theory’s correctness. There is more to it than that. There are whole theories like Dimensional Analysis which are implicitly based on the idea of writing down the equations in the simplest (and most beautiful) form.

So, the final point is that, like other fundamental relations in physics, the idea of impact or momentum is best described in the simplest and most intuitive way: P= MxV. And behold! This gives us exactly the relation that has passed all the scientific tests in the range of classical physics. This result implies that the beauties we see in nature can be explained in terms of the simplest possible physical relation. Pondering all these, one cannot help but ask how in the world a mindless, blind natural law could exhibit beauty based on simplicity.