Transcriber: Alya Alhakimi Reviewer: Gabriella Patricola
I was born in Ukraine and moved to the US when I was 18.
The peaceful beauty of my land and the powerful grace of my people
formed the core of who I am as a human being.
Just days before Russia’s brutal attack, I was begging my dad to leave Ukraine.
He did not believe that in the 21st century, in the heart of Europe,
a sovereign nation could be bombed by its neighbor.
Reluctantly, he boarded one of the last planes that were able to leave Ukraine.
While millions of Ukrainian refugees were filling Poland
and other European countries, none were being admitted to the US.
My dad was one of them, so I began
a difficult struggle trying to reunite with him.
He did not have a US visa,
and it would take many months for him to apply for one.
Through exhaustive research, I found a narrow exemption.
A possibility to apply for Humanitarian Parole
directly at the US border with Mexico,
a path not widely available to Ukrainians at the time.
My dad made it, one of the first ones, but there were so many more.
Our stories brought on the change,
in order to allow Ukrainians who appear at the southern border
to be able to enter the US for humanitarian reasons.
Little did I know that trying to save my dad I would become
an accidental humanitarian warrior.
My efforts, eventually helping over 20,000 Ukrainian refugees,
entered the US through Mexico.
(Applause)
Thank you.
Once I got my dad to safety,
I began helping other families escape war-torn Ukraine
and reunite with their loved ones in the US by guiding them
through the process of obtaining Humanitarian Parole at the border.
At first, there are only a handful of families each day
and I celebrated each successful application as a win.
Imagine my surprise when, one day,
I heard that over 800 Ukrainians were headed to Tijuana,
escaping the war and hoping to be admitted to the US.
There is absolutely no infrastructure on either side of the border
to handle this many people and no resettlement agencies in sight.
This was another humanitarian disaster waiting to happen.
And I knew that the exhausted,
traumatized people we’re about to encounter,
deserved better.
I started calling local organizations,
churches and friends to please come to the border and help.
We needed food, water, blankets, shelter, and transportation.
The response I received was overwhelming. So many volunteers showed up.
They organized shifts, making sandwiches,
bringing coffee, cookies, toys for the kids.
People opened their homes to Ukrainian families,
providing the much needed temporary shelter.
Volunteer drivers waited for new arrivals,
ready to give them a lift to the airport or a shelter or a train station.
Tech savvy friends developed online signup sheets,
attracting volunteers from all over the country.
We had whole teams of volunteers showing up from other cities and states.
Americans, Ukrainians, Poles, Russians who oppose Putin,
all worked side by side.
And the infrastructure we’re able to build
in a short period of time, was nothing short of remarkable.
When we felt exhausted, we found strength in the stories of the families we helped.
Most were arriving with nothing,
having escaped their burning homes
and spending weeks in massive refugee shelters in Europe.
We looked into the eyes of mothers who just a few short weeks prior,
had successful careers, ran their businesses,
took their kids to piano and swim lessons,
and now found themselves half a world away,
terrified and traumatized.
Our interactions with most families were brief,
but there are a few stories that are etched into my mind forever.
I remember checking on a little six year old girl,
a few days after she arrived in California with her mother.
I asked her how she liked San Diego,
thinking she would excitedly talk about seeing the ocean for the first time,
or the palm trees or all the toys that the neighbors brought her.
She said, I like it here because there are no explosions.
And every time a plane flew overhead, she looked for shelter.
We as volunteers felt that if we could not be in Ukraine fighting
in the front lines, the least we could do
was to protect the wives and children of those who were fighting,
and to keep them safe until peace is restored.
This was our small part in the fight against true evil.
Nobody should try to sit this one out.
The course of global security and stability will be determined
by the outcome of this war. Ukrainians are not just fighting for their country,
they’re fighting for the future of the free world as we know it.
Unexpectedly, becoming a humanitarian warrior taught me that by elevating
our efforts, we amplify our impact and that by helping one,
we can help thousands.
Slava, Ukraine. Glory to Ukraine. Thank you.
(Cheers)