'When giving birth, refugee mothers' wishes are not being honoured'
Sarah Shemery on refugee maternal rights, loneliness, why she loves Arabic, and the feminist theorists you need to read
Hello lovely readers,
In what continues to be a deeply painful time, I hope the below conversation with the wonderful Sarah Shemery offers at least a little light.
We deal with difficult topics like refugee and asylum seeker maternal rights, racialisation and loneliness but Sarah’s bright energy shines through and her work offers a brilliant source of both inspiration and education. I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoyed asking her about it.
Sarah Shemery is a PhD candidate in Social Work studying the experience of loneliness among single refugee and asylum seeking women with children in the United Kingdom. Beyond her PhD, Sarah leads research work examining the challenges faced by racialised students in higher education and exploring the attainment gap, as well as studying safe infant sleep practices in UK asylum accommodation. Outside her academic work, Sarah volunteers in birth advocacy. She is first generation Iraqi and the proud daughter of parents who came to the US as refugees. She has a kitten, named Slump, and has realised the best part of being a grown-up was that she realised she wanted a cat, so she got herself a cat.
Keep going out on the streets, keep writing to your MP, keep donating to Medical Aid Palestine, keep boycotting. And if you like the below conversation, let us know, and share it with a friend.
Sarah: I’m just going to wash the fish off my fingers.
Parisa: What did you say, you’re going to… ohh from the kitten's food!
Wow, I'm covered in salmon.
[Sarah disappears off camera, coming back a few seconds later, smiling]
Let’s talk about your research, it’s so interesting. According to LinkedIn, you also did your masters in maternal care, right? And you looked at Iraq.
Yeah, yeah, back in the day.
So how did you come to this topic in the first place?
It was so unintentional. I'm Iraqi, and I knew I wanted to write about Iraq. It was something I wanted to understand more and I was intrigued by the Iraqi political economy after the invasion and how dramatically it changed. Especially with regard to health services, specifically maternal services. The more I started looking, it became so clear just how much it had transformed in the last 20 to 30 years. Iraq had one of the best health systems in the world. People from all over the world would travel to Iraq for their healthcare. It was a brilliant health system, so comprehensive, one of the best in the world. But after the invasion, and the complete restructuring of the economy, it became extremely difficult for people outside urban areas to access maternal healthcare. I gained a really a good understanding of just how dramatically the constitution changed Iraqi society, and how this altered the economy, and how Iraq was forced to make this shift into a marketized, very neoliberal economy. My thesis focused on neoliberal ideas and theories and how they were implemented into the constitution, which becomes really complicated, because historically, Iraq has always been a socialist country. There are a lot of critiques and criticisms of the new constitution and how it didn’t really consider the complex history of what the system used to look like and how people engage with it. How could no Iraqis take part in the implementation of a new constitution, and how could that constitution not even consider the historical and political backdrop of Iraqi society?
How does this compare with what you are researching now?
My work is a bit different now. I've made a shift into researching refugees and maternal care in the UK. Specifically, I'm focusing on the experiences of loneliness in mothers and birthing people who have given birth in the last three years in Scotland. It’s different because obviously, the NHS is a public service. It's free for people to use. But not for all people. There are restrictions on who can use it, people who don’t have a certain status. There have been many instances of people having their documentation checked and being forced to pay for NHS care when many of us can access it for free. So I'm really interested in exploring the impacts of a lack of overall support for mums who are refugees and asylum seekers and who are single parents giving birth alone.
It’s such important work and incredible you are focusing on loneliness. Have you read The Lonely City by Olivia Laing?
No, I haven’t!
It’s good, I’m reading it at the moment. It’s pretty different from your research, so I’m going slightly off-topic with this. But she talks about loneliness and the shame around it. I find the study of emotions and how these things become quantifiable so interesting. So how do you actually study something like loneliness?
It's really difficult. And you can get kind of lost in it sometimes because so many people have different ways of discussing and understanding loneliness. A lot of research also conflates the experience of social isolation with loneliness. The experience of social isolation and loneliness are different things, but they’re often pretty easily conflated and used interchangeably. Social isolation is a bit more quantifiable. It refers to the amount of connections you have, or the access you have to social connections and social networks. So while someone may be socially isolated, it doesn't mean they necessarily experience loneliness, even though the experience of social isolation may potentially lead to an experience of loneliness. Someone could be socially isolated and feel just fine about that. Though, they do tend to go hand in hand, but I find it more helpful to view them as separate from each other. Loneliness, though, is an emotional experience. For me, it’s a subjective experience, and it's one that can only be explained and defined by the person living it themselves. Some of us may have loads of friends and social connections, but may still experience high levels of loneliness. I think that's where it gets more complicated, especially when you're looking at loneliness in really complex populations, and at people with complex and intersecting identities, who are experiencing intersecting marginalities. As I move through my research, I am looking for ways I can really capture that experience in a way that does it justice. Because these are people who have experienced a lot of complex trauma, people who have experienced war, forced migration, domestic abuse, FGM, and human trafficking; these are complex experiences. This requires a lot of consideration of how to do research in trauma-informed ways so as to not re-traumatise or trigger our participants. Also, for me, it brings about a lot of questions as to whether the Western frameworks and methodologies we are expected to use are able to adequately capture the lived experiences of loneliness within the population I am researching. I am constantly grappling with this in my own research, and I don’t have the answer just yet. But for my research, I’m using qualitative methods and semi-structured interviews, giving people as much space as they need to talk about their experiences in a way that allows me to capture the complex ways that they articulate it for themselves. When we undertake social science research, specifically qualitative research, we are expected to capture lived experience in a very scientific way. Our responsibility as social scientists is to find ethical ways of understanding and learning about lived experience. In my case, it’s using these methods to really pay attention to the complexities and nuances of experiences of loneliness, especially in populations that are racialised and have experience complex trauma.
It’s very cool you are working on this, and I'm so excited to see what comes out of it. Sorry for another, very brief, detour to Olivia Laing, but this metaphor she used really stuck with me. She talked about loneliness as being like a hunger. I was like, whoa. It really resonated. It’s just this gnawing, hungry need for social connection. But yeah, thinking about those very specific subjective ways of living with loneliness sounds really important when thinking about marginalised experiences.
I think as human beings, we need those social connections. My social connections and my friendships are what make me feel tied to my community, they make me feel human. When you’re looking at loneliness in a population that experiences so many barriers and forms of exclusion, it becomes really important to understand what it is about being a lone parent who is also a refugee or asylum seeker that might make you more susceptible to the experience of loneliness or social isolation. Do our existing structures and systems provide an adequate enough environment for these people to build meaningful connections? What is it about this specific experience that might result in greater levels of social isolation or loneliness? In asking these questions, it becomes really important to unpick the systems that might make people lonely, or that can result in loneliness. These are systems that really isolate people, keep them struggling, and keep people from being able to build social networks and community, and build long-lasting friendships that are important to alleviating that sense of loneliness.
And you have been volunteering with Amma, right? Can you tell me about what Amma does and what your experience has been like so far?
So they are a charity based in Glasgow that offers birthing support and advocacy to anyone experiencing barriers during birth and pregnancy. Not just refugees and asylum seekers, it's a service open to anyone who needs support, though a majority of the client group are refugees and asylum seekers. Amma attempts to create a system of support for people who need it. So, for example, they offer birth and postnatal companionship for those who might be going through birth alone. My focus with Amma has been mostly research based, and I’ve been helping do some qualitative research for their annual maternal and birthing outcomes report, which was amazing. I helped look through and analyze the data for 101 clients. I helped explore and analyse a lot of data related to inductions, c-sections, experiences of discrimination and racism, and interpreting. I helped look for significant issues and patterns, especially between hospitals, and people’s countries of origin. My work was presented to various NHS leaders, and the report will be published before the new year hopefully, which I am really proud of.
At Amma, each quarter, a new cohort of volunteers are really carefully selected to come in and be trained as companions, where over the course of several months, they’re trained in trauma-informed care, understanding the refugee and asylum system, how to support people during active births and the postpartum period, and how to appropriately be an advocate. They train people to become these companions, and then you are paired up with people who are in need of support, who are going through birth alone. You become this system of support for people who really need it. A lot of our referrals come from the NHS, from midwives from different refugee-assisting organisations in the local area. It’s usually people who are really going through it and who are pretty isolated. We also help people build their birth plans so they can feel they have more control over their birth and how they want it to go. A lot of people come from [places with] different health systems, so there is a lot of unfamiliarity with understanding what they're entitled to, what their birth can look like. As a companion, you would then attend their birth if they are giving birth alone and they are in need of support. You would be there during the birth, offering support, emotional help, even some practical support. We learn lots about different breathing exercises, massages we can give to offer some comfort. We also learn about how to be an advocate in really difficult situations, which was really interesting to learn about when to step up, but also when to step back. And just when… oh, my God! You're driving me crazy! Sorry! She's climbing up everything.
[Sarah moves out of frame to move her kitten, Slump, and returns]
… in terms of giving birth, when people’s wishes aren’t really respected, when they’re not being honoured and when there’s a lack of understanding about their care and what's happening. And then post-natal companionship, or post-birth support. That can be a range of practical and emotional support. So going to people’s houses, doing some cleaning, some washing up, holding the baby so that the mom or the birthing person can go have a rest or a bath. We bring supplies as well when they need them.
That is so amazing. This will be, I think for some people reading this, perhaps the first time they’ve given much thought to this topic. What kinds of barriers would you like people to know about when it comes to refugees' and asylum seekers’ encounters with maternal care in the UK?
Language barriers, a lack of financial support, and lack of community support. Also, navigating unfamiliar health systems — that’s a big one. If you have someone who doesn't speak the native language to fluency, then it's really difficult, obviously, to communicate. In the NHS, from what I’ve seen, there’s a big problem with interpreting services. Sometimes people will go through their birth, and they won't have an appropriate interpreter there, which means there will be a lot of important information, specifically relating to one’s care, can get lost in translation and will not be appropriately communicated. I’ve heard stories of people using Google Translate to communicate with their patients. A big thing I’m noticing is that because some people are socially isolated and don’t have these networks to support them through the birthing experience, a lot of people don’t understand what they’re entitled to. A lot of people are destitute, a lot of people are living on £37.50 a week in the UK and a lot are living in inappropriate asylum accommodation which is just not suitable or sustainable at all. It’s not a place where mothers and babies should be.
“I’ve heard stories of people using Google Translate to communicate with their patients”
You speak Arabic — you must use that a lot as a volunteer?
I do here and there, and it’s been great!
I’m really interested in understanding what your relationship is like with Arabic, and also with English. How do you feel about each of those languages and speaking them?
Arabic was my first language. I was born and raised in the US, born in New York, and that was the language I spoke with my parents up until I started school and started making friends. Then English became my dominant language. Arabic, for me, is something I desperately try to hold onto as I get older because it’s so easy to lose it. It really depends on the communities you live in, the friends you have, the people you interact with. It’s a language I’m really privileged to be able to use in my work sometimes. But it is this thing I hold so near and dear to my heart and that I hope to continue passing down through my own family. Living in Scotland, I get so excited when I see someone who speaks Arabic. I will immediately jump in, and I’ll be like, hey, let’s talk! I’ve got family members who don't speak any English, and it's one of those things where it's like, Oh, my gosh, this is our connection. This is the way that we can express we love each other, through this language. So I feel really passionate about holding onto it for sure. I think it was something that, as a kid, probably caused a lot of embarrassment because I definitely grew up in really white communities where, oftentimes I was the only Arab, the only Iraqi. I’m sure all kids from our background will experience a bit of embarrassment about being different at a young age. But it’s definitely a difference I’ve grown to appreciate and value.
Was there a specific time when that shifted for you?
Oh my gosh, yeah. I think when I was in middle school, maybe 13 to 14 years old. I grew up in such a white, conservative community in the valley of Southern California. I don’t think I knew another Arab for the several years I lived there. Suddenly I realised how cool it was to be different from the people who were around me. I realised I have this cool thing, this cool background that a lot of other people don’t have. Then I became much more proud of it.
I love that image of you jumping in and joining conversations with strangers. Mostly because I can 100% see it so clearly, you’re such a warm, bubbly person. You said you grew up in this super white area, so I’m wondering how you now relate to other Iraqi people, or even other Arab people in the diaspora? And has that changed over time at all?
The diaspora is a really beautiful thing. It's a really magical thing to meet people who come from the same background as you. When you're talking to someone, and then you suddenly realise, you're from the same region as me, you get me. I love that. But I will say, Iraq has had such a difficult history. Many of us who left Iraq, left Iraq at different times. So, many of us are actually quite different from each other culturally. I definitely sometimes feel a bit starved. I’m always looking for Iraqis, Arabs, and when I do find them I try really hard to hold onto them. I’m always so keen to meet Iraqi people. It becomes this really exciting thing. But at the same time, it can be difficult because we are quite different, and I have that added element of growing up in the States and not really having spent any time in the Middle East at all. So I think it can feel a bit complex, but it’s something I’m learning. I have my own beautiful relationship with being a part of the diaspora, and I think everyone does.
I guess that’s why I’m quite interested in everyone’s experiences, and how people have these very different relationships with their identity. Being Iraqi, Iranian, it has a very different connotation for different people. Not only because of when you migrated, but also depending on where you grew up, who your parents are.
Sometimes I can definitely feel a bit different, or even inadequate. Especially when I've got friends who were able to go [to Iraq], and who are still able to go. I've never been. And I'm definitely trying to go this year, which would be really good because I keep in touch with so much of my family that lives in Iraq, who I have never met. But these are people I speak to all the time, and who love me and who really want me to come. I do think sometimes there is a bit of an adequacy feeling because I grew up in the States. It was a privilege to grow up there, I grew up really differently. But again, it is just a unique experience. And it's just as valid and just as important.
What’s your relationship like with the US now, especially as someone who lives abroad in Scotland?
I guess I never really go back. It was an interesting one, when I moved abroad I think I was just ready to try something new and experience a new place. Then I moved to Scotland and I kind of fell in love. I felt more at home than I've ever felt. In terms of my relationship to the US, so many of my loved ones still live there so I miss them a lot. But I do think I may be better suited to living in the UK.
What is it about Scotland that makes you feel so at home?
I think it's the work-life balance for sure. America, especially California, has a real hustle culture. That really does work for some people, and that's great. But that's not who I am as a person. My personal relationships are really important to me. My social life, my partner, my friends. Those are the things that are most important. Work is such an important part of my life, but it can’t be the most important thing. I think Scotland gives me the space to build the social world I really wanted and that I couldn’t have when I lived in the US.
One thing I ask about in this newsletter is what words people use to make sense of their own identity. What kinds of words do you choose when you think about your racial or ethnic identity?
Gosh! So I studied gender and sexuality studies and I focused on critical race studies and social justice activist studies, so I think the way I learned to think about myself was definitely honed within this system of race and racism. I definitely think of myself as racialised. It’s something I think about in many of the spaces I enter. How I’m looked at, how I’m treated, how I may be perceived. But at the same time, I have so many privileges. Just in terms of being fairly light-skinned as an Arab woman. I’m also educated. I had the privilege of going through higher education. I had the privilege of having parents who supported me and being, quote-unquote, ‘well-spoken’, as a brown person. Racialisation is very context-specific as well. It changes depending on where I am, what space I'm in, who's around me and who I'm interacting with for sure. Does that answer the question?
Yes! You couldn’t have more completely and brilliantly answered the question. Oh dear, that sounded sarcastic. I have this problem where some things I say are a bit gushy and then people think I’m being sarcastic — but I meant that wholeheartedly…
No, I haven’t once thought of you as sarcastic. I actually think of you as really earnest. You’re kind and supportive, and that’s an amazing trait to have.
[Parisa tries to take the compliment] So my last two questions! The first one, who is someone from a SWANA diaspora who is inspiring you right now?
A lot of people might say this but, Sara Ahmed. It’s funny because as I move through my PhD journey, I realise how long Sara Ahmed has been there for me. From being an undergrad studying critical race theory and gender studies, I’ve always been assigned readings from her. And her work always really struck me, I really connected with her. The concept of intersectionality was also really important to me. Intersectionality was coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw as a way of making sense of black women's experiences and understanding identity and power dynamics. Sara Ahmed did a lot of really good work that built on that and this work inspired me. Her engagement with critical race theory was so important to me and provided a lot of valuable insights into the experiences of people of colour and racialised individuals. Her work on building resilience was really important to me as well. She highlighted the ways individuals and communities have to navigate and really resist oppressive systems. For me, that provided a lot of really valuable insights into how we can understand refugee mothers’ experiences and how they might cope with loneliness and adversity. Sara Ahmed is my number one gal.
She is iconic. But I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never read her!
That’s okay!
Where should I start?
Sara Ahmed’s Living a Feminist Life was really good.
Amazing! Straight on the never-ending reading list. I was thinking of getting The Feminist Killjoy Handbook.
It just came out, right?
Yes!
You should do it. I think she's just a real raddy. She’s really, really radical. If she’s going to be talking about feminism, I think it's going to be a perspective you might like. The way that she engages with these issues is very social justice-oriented, which is something I really identified with and appreciated when I first discovered her.
My last question is, what is a book, or a cultural text or artefact of any description, that has changed the way you see the world?
A book that has been really helpful for articulating the ideas of systems of power and how they can be harmful is Audre Lorde’s The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle The Master’s House. She talks about how the tools we have for understanding the world around us and our experiences are not the ones that are going to save us or liberate us. We have to create new tools for understanding the world and new systems in order to achieve liberation. It is the one that has always stayed with me. I use it in my anti-racist trainings in Glasgow, it’s great for teaching. The first time I ever read it, I'll never forget the reflections of my friend Porter, who is also doing a PhD in the US, and the reflections of my other coursemates. I think it also inspired me to enter academia.
Amazing! I tutored on the Understanding Gender in the Contemporary World course [at Edinburgh University where Sarah also studies] last year, and it was very much this — 18 and 17-year-olds having their first interactions with gender and race theory. It was one of those cool environments where you see people have little lightbulb moments.
Wow! I just think that's such a beautiful space to be. As I move further in my teaching journey, both at the university level and through my anti-racism education work, I’m realising some of the people who I’m teaching have never really had the time, opportunity, or the resources to engage with these topics. They are engaging with this stuff for the first time and I think some people might think that’s stressful, or some might feel ashamed about their lack of knowledge, but I actually just think it’s a beautiful place to be. To be meeting someone who’s never had that opportunity to engage and just seeing them leave the session with the wheels turning, or feeling a bit differently than when they walked in. It’s really interesting. It’s so great. I’ve had people walk into my sessions, and when we do introductions and I ask people who are you and what they want to get out of today and they aren’t sure. Sometimes they start the session feeling very set on their existing politics and ideas, and then having them walk out and think, Oh maybe not. That was beautiful for me. That’s everything I could ever want out of being an academic and being a teacher.