What a refugee child can teach us about empathy

I was 10 years old when I arrived in Iowa on a cold night in February 1997, a refugee from a war I didn’t yet have the words to explain. Deep down, I was just like any other kid: curious, playful, full of dreams. But I had already lived through something even most adults couldn’t imagine. I had run from gunshots at age seven. I had said goodbye to my home, my school, and even my dog, Bobi. Everything I knew was gone in a flash, and I was left trying to understand a world that no longer made sense.

In school, I desperately wanted to connect with the other kids. But how could I tell them that I had once had a life just like theirs, filled with birthdays, cartoons, and a new puppy, until the war turned everything upside down? I’ll never forget the first time a classmate asked me, “Did you even have a TV?” I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t yet have the language, not in English and not even in my own heart, to explain what had happened. That silence stayed with me. Years later, it became the reason I wrote “Anesa, No Škola Today“ to give children like me a voice, and to help others better understand their neighbors, classmates, and future coworkers. Because this isn’t just my story, it’s the story of millions. And it’s a story that carries a message of compassion, peace, and freedom.

Seeing the division and political violence ravaging the country is something I never imagined I would witness in America. For the first time in my life, I understand how regimes like the Nazis were able to manipulate minds by stoking fear, erasing truth, and turning neighbors into enemies. That realization is deeply personal to me. My grandfather, who bravely fought the Nazis, taught me from a young age: “You should defend the faith and freedom of others as much as your own.” That lesson shaped my worldview, and today, I hear his words more clearly than ever.

Across the country, we are witnessing the erasure of voices, as books sharing refugee stories and immigrant narratives disappear from library shelves in public schools. This isn't merely censorship; it's a dangerous step toward forgetting our collective history. Have we forgotten why we teach history in the first place? Stories that challenge us most deeply are often the very ones that teach us who we are, and caution us against who we must never become.

Now more than ever, refugee stories are essential. In a time marked by cultural fear, rising anti-immigrant rhetoric, and even brutality toward immigrants and refugees, we must lean into our shared humanity. These stories offer more than lessons. They offer connection. And if we let them, they remind us who we are and who we aspire to be.

If we want to change the future, we must begin with those who will shape it. Children are naturally curious, asking big questions as they try to make sense of the world. By exposing them to refugee stories, we nurture their innate empathy, resilience, and cultural awareness. These narratives teach young people critical thinking and help them ask essential questions about fairness, safety, and how they can help others, shaping them into compassionate classmates, thoughtful neighbors, and engaged citizens.

Refugee stories matter because they are human stories. They remind us that behind every label is a person with a name, a family, and a dream. When we give children access to these stories, we don’t burden them. We empower them. We help them see that hope, courage, and joy can exist even in the face of unimaginable hardship, and that character is built not only in comfort but in understanding.

In addition, refugee and immigrant children deserve to see themselves in the stories we tell. Stories that reflect their truth, not just their pain. Stories that share their joy, courage, and humanity. When children see characters who share their lived experiences, it tells them they matter. That they’re not invisible. That their story belongs on the shelf too.

There is real power in understanding oneself and those around us, whether in a classroom, a community, or a country. That understanding begins with recognizing our shared humanity. Refugees are people who have dreams, who love their families, and who are simply trying to find safety and hope.

Our stories are how we come to understand each other and the world around us. This is part of why I wrote “Anesa, No Škola Today.” It is more than just a children’s book. It’s an invitation to see the world through the eyes of a child whose life was turned upside down by war. I hope it sparks meaningful conversations about compassion, and the fragile nature of a peaceful society – something we often take for granted as 'normal' here in America. One day, a child might have a birthday party and a new puppy. The next, they may be fleeing their home. That reality is hard, but it’s real for millions.

I urge educators, parents, and community leaders to make space for refugee stories in our classrooms, homes, and public spaces. By doing so, we give children the tools to understand classmates who may have faced unthinkable adversity, future coworkers who carry invisible scars, or neighbors with histories unlike their own. Teaching young people about resilience, loss, and hope doesn’t harden them. It prepares them to lead with empathy and strength. Stories like mine can help shape a more compassionate, inclusive future. Let’s give our children the gift of awareness so they grow not just in knowledge, but into compassionate adults who choose empathy over fear.

Join me on Friday, June 20, at the Grout Museum in Waterloo for our World Refugee Day event—a gathering dedicated to fostering understanding, celebrating resilience, and recognizing the strength of refugee communities. Doors open at 4 p.m. Together, we can build a future defined by empathy and unity.

Anesa Kajtazovic is a Bosnian-born refugee, former Iowa legislator, and passionate advocate for democracy, education, and refugee and immigrant communities. Elected at 24, she became the first Bosnian-American to hold public office in the U.S. She is the author of “Anesa, No Škola Today, ” a children’s book inspired by her refugee experience.