Family Displacement Quotes

We arrived the way most emigrant families did. My father came first, and the rest of us - my mother, my sister and me - followed a year later.

I moved to Humble under really unfortunate circumstances obviously, Hurricane Katrina, so our family was displaced here for four months. Humble was a home for us.

My family had to live in Vienna for three months, then in Italy for another nine, while we waited for refugee status.

Children didn't shield families from eviction: They exposed them to it.

Mother had to support herself at age 18 because it was during the depression and when my grandfather lost the farm and there was no place for her; she worked as an assistant to a maid.

We got evicted from our house in Guildford. We were chucked out and had nowhere to go. We ended up in social housing. And it was very hard for my mum. My brothers were five and three.

American families be warned, if the White House doesn't send your jobs overseas, they'll send your kids.

My father came by himself across the North Korean border when he was seventeen. And hasn't seen his brothers or sisters or parents since then. And he died some time ago, but never saw any of his relatives. My mother was a refugee in war-torn Korea.

Everyone should be forcibly transplanted to another continent from their family at the age of three.

My father lost his business. Our house was locked up, and we had to leave.

When I was 5, 6 - so you know, memories aren't that great - I remember coming home and I remember seeing all of our belongings on the street and a Salvation Army truck picking them up. We got taken to a shelter. And then we moved around a lot, finding places to stay.

In the summer of 1988, my father took me up to look at the remains of our home, the dream house that he'd built. It was my first time since our family left four years earlier. Political and obscene graffiti covered the half-torn walls. There was no ceiling and surprisingly no floor: the parquet, the stone, the marble, all looted.

Towns and cities throughout the United States have opened their hearts and homes to thousands of families displaced from their homes as a result of this horrific storm.

Taxes and fees in Chicago and Cook County are forcing low-income families like the one I grew up in out of this city. It's clear we can't keep treating low-income and middle-class families like an ATM machine with no limit.

In 1989, when I was just a baby, we moved to France because of some conflicts that were brewing in Armenia.

Trapped in the bureaucracy nightmare, real families suffer when the big banks and their servicers force foreclosures. The emotional toll on children packing up their rooms and on parents struggling to find a temporary roof is a deep one.

Losing a home sends families to shelters, abandoned houses, and the street.

In 1979, when I was toddler, the Russians invaded Afghanistan, and my whole family fled to Vienna, Virginia. Far from home, my parents were determined to raise my two sisters and me according to Afghan traditions.

My dad had been born in Mexico and his family had to leave during the Mexican revolution.