Last night I sat down to watch something that would help me barbecue meat better: a two hour-long movie called Barbecue. Simply that, by Australians. I figured it would be about making succulent shrimp or game meats. Something... Australian.

The work showcased people who cook with flame from around the world. Different countries, native tongue, and subtitles, even in places with folk who regularly speak English. Maori, South African, Zulu, and Afrikaans punctuating the rift between understanding, with the words spoken yearning for it.

But the most poignant part for me was a guy in a refugee camp in the middle of the desert. A Syrian guy who was just about to open his own restaurant when bombs fell, people were killed, and they were forced to flee their homes. They were forced to move from trees and water and beautiful views to the middle of sand and dust. From homes with amenities to tents.

Now, in the refugee camp, they were surrounded by fences, they are not allowed to leave. Victimized again, imprisoned by the organizations sent to help them.

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