What does a refuge look like now?

Major changes are occurring in the US around immigration and refugee resettlement. How do we continue to care as the landscape for care changes so much?

Millions of lives around the world will be turned upside down as the United States undergoes an intensive shift in immigration enforcement and halts some refugee support services. The social fabric of many Latter-day Saint wards and stakes will be ruptured. Our resilient social fabric, however, will also allow us to witness the impact and secure new refuges for the vulnerable as old ones may become unsustainable.

Needless to say, immigration and refugee resettlement can be contentious issues (they are also distinct issues, easy to mix up— see here.) Leaders may worry that responding sensitively to those in crisis will amplify partisan divides in congregations.

Can we thread the needle? Can we hold on to all parts of the body of Christ? Research indicates Latter-day Saints are uniquely equipped to do so. Sister Linda Burton asked us to ask ourselves about refugees, “What if their story were my story?” Elder Kearon has asked that we separate our views on immigration from our duty to care for people.

Today, we’re sharing two recent sources of inspiration to guide..

1. The president of the Los Angeles California Stake sent the following message to the stake on Sunday, proactively supporting those who may be impacted by immigration enforcement. (Source: Jaxon Washburn.)

2. Amy Dott Harmer shared an essay on her work with Utah refugees.

Invitation: do you care, but feel at a loss as to what to do? Start by asking leaders and others how your ward may be affected by these changes, and just listening.

Inspiration from Los Angeles

Reflections on Peacemaking and my work with refugees in Utah

By Amy Dott Harmer

Amy Dott Harmer is the Executive Director at Utah Refugee Connection. If you want to know more about Utah Refugee Connection you can follow them on Facebook and Instagram under Utah Refugee Connection or ServeRefugees.org.

A few years into my role as Director of Utah Refugee Connection, I received a phone call that left a lasting impression. A woman I knew asked me directly, “Do you help the good refugees or the bad ones?” Over the years, I had fielded many questions, but this one struck differently.

Our nonprofit had recently held a back-to-school event where hundreds of refugee families waited in line for over two hours to receive backpacks, school supplies, and resources to help their children succeed academically. These families came from the Congo, Iraq, Somalia, Burma, and other war-torn countries. Some were new arrivals; others had been in Utah for years. But they all had one thing in common: the desire to provide their children with the tools they needed to thrive.

To me, these families were “all good.” Their hope mirrored what most of us want—to feel safe, seen, supported, and cherished in our communities. As I considered the woman’s question, the answer felt obvious: “Aren’t they all good?”

Over the years, I have witnessed the creativity, ingenuity, and intelligence of refugees. These traits are universal; what differs is the access to opportunities. When a country is no longer safe and basic opportunities for survival and growth are stripped away, where can one turn?

My initial response to her question was to counter her assumption with forceful words. But instead, I paused and chose to listen. Her misconceptions stemmed from fear—shaped by

loud, one-sided narratives she had seen and heard in the media and her friends. She didn’t know any refugees personally and had never engaged with them.

That conversation, while difficult, was pivotal. It made me realize that Utah Refugee Connection had a larger role to play: not just supporting refugees but also fostering understanding within the broader community. We needed to create meaningful ways for people to learn, serve, and give to local refugees. True change happens when people come into proximity with those they don’t understand.

For the past eight years, we have worked tirelessly to close that gap. Through initiatives like quarterly cultural nights, refugees share their personal journeys—leaving their beloved homelands, enduring unimaginable trials, and finding their way in the United States. These evenings are filled with honesty, as refugees share their unique cultures, religions, and insights into what has been helpful—and what has not—as they resettle.

There is nothing like seeing the audience’s reaction to their personal stories of resilience. Hearing about an 8-year-old boy who watched his uncle be murdered in front of him or a girl discarded as trash because she was deemed unsalvageable cracks open hearts in ways few other experiences can. The magic lies in seeing refugees, who have endured so much, thriving and contributing meaningfully to our community. It changes the narrative.

When we sit “knee to knee” with someone and listen to their personal story, we learn not only about them but also about ourselves. My goal is to continue amplifying the voices of my refugee friends, despite the pushback I occasionally sense from others. Peacekeeping is more than passively enduring a difficult phone call from a neighbor. It’s about listening to understand, creating opportunities for growth, and fostering genuine change. I have discovered that meaningful peacemaking can be done when people sit close to one another and learn about each other’s perspectives and life experiences.

I have learned and continue to learn that I am a peacemaker when I provide an antagonist the chance to better understand an enemy and their situation. I am a peacemaker when I facilitate personal, proximate experiences that spark a personal change of heart. This work, while not always easy, is always worth it. As a peacemaker, I am daily pushed to improve in my abilities to help all of God’s children to feel SAFE, SEEN and SUPPORTED and ultimately cherished in our world.

Have something to share about peacemaking?