Daily Archives: November 11, 2015

This is why we survive; this is why humanity will endure whatever evil has to throw at it.

11 Wednesday Nov 2015

Posted by in Economics, Politics, Refugees

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Nationality is not something you think about that much when you have a ‘good one’. The whole concept of being a refugee revolves around a lack of protection from the state, something that people in the west generally don’t have to worry about. Nationality can be a source of pride and a source of shame, for me it has definitely been both. The only other Australian I met on Lesbos was a woman who emigrated there twenty years ago. And volunteers and aid workers alike were all very surprised to learn where I was from. We really do have the most atrocious international reputation concerning this issue, and I would like to see Dutton or Turnbull try and justify it to the mayor of Sykemia or Molyvos, or the mayor of Lesbos who has consistently reiterated that it makes no difference where these people come from, we are all human. These people haven’t done anything wrong, and one day, that could be us.

IMG_2134Nationality also plays a role amongst the refugees. I was ignorant of the tension between Syrians and those who come from further east. Because they are more likely to be wealthy, the Syrians can pay for private taxis and buses rather than wait for the state supplied transport, thus they reach the processing centres and eventually their final destination more quickly. The Afghans have capitalised on this and sell Syrians who arrive after them their fingerprint documentation. I was surprised to learn of such entrepreneurship. Being in less of a rush allows people from Afghanistan the time to go through the processing, and after they no longer need the paper work (to board ferries), they sell it to Syrians who want to speed up crossing the orders. This gives the Afghans money and buys the Syrians time. The Afghans then have to line up at the next border while the Syrians pass through. Every time the authorities think they have come up with a full proof way to control the situation, within days the refugees have outsmarted them and found a way around it. You just can’t control population movements on this scale.

I speak to an aid worker from Swiss organisation Medecine du Monde who tells me about his PHD in post-2011 migration from Libya. When the conflict began tens of thousands of Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan and Pakistani workers, mostly domestic and labour, were left stranded with no help from their governments. On the contrary, China hired a Greek ferry, a Malta airport and evacuated 32 000 of its citizens within a week. The difference between a government that cares and a government that doesn’t is a matter of life and death.

From the Greek Islands and Athens the refugees head north by bus to the border with the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM). The camp on the Greek side where I am now is north of Thessaloniki and called Idomeni. Depending on numbers refugees can spend anywhere from 20 minutes to 6 hours waiting to cross. It is a separate border to the official crossing, and I have been told I won’t be allowed to cross over with them tomorrow but will have to travel further along to the regulated border. So determined are the authorities to distinguish between ‘us’ and ‘them’ that we can’t even cross the same frontier in the same place. Police ensure that people cross in groups of 50, and the refugees walk along the rail line into FYROM. Here the authorities are pragmatic and everything is very regulated. As far as FYROM is concerned, these people do not really exist and it is just about creating a corridor to get them out as quickly as possible. After crossing they are charged 25 EU for a train to the Serbian border. There is one train every 3 hours and the largest holds 1500 people. As long as the borders further north stay open everything is calm. But aid workers fear what will happen if Austria, Slovenia, Croatia or Serbia decide to close their borders. Earlier this year Hungary made just that decision and panic made the system unmanageable. Another factor out of everyone’s control is the weather. The last week has seen temperatures above 20C and sunny days, but when it rains and the temperature drops people get sick. They may have to walk in the cold for hours and will often present with hypothermia and other health problems that make an otherwise composed situation tense.

IMG_2135The overall atmosphere is always one of onward movement. Stopping is not an option- these people do not want to stop, and nobody wants them to stop ‘here’. Its fine if they decide to stop in Serbia or Germany or Sweden, or if they had stopped in Turkey. But no one wants them to be their problem. My Medecine du Monde guide is another open border advocate; I’ve been surprised by how many I’ve met. He makes a lot of sense. Whenever there is an announcement about one of the countries along the route closing the borders, panic is rampant and there is a spike in numbers. It is this sense of urgency induced by governments flexing their muscles that potentially renders the situation out of control. He maintains that this is not a humanitarian crisis, it’s a political crisis. A statement validated by EU paralysis in coming to an agreement on how to deal with the situation. The humanitarian disaster could be solved by very quick decisions; more permanent infrastructure, better facilities, correct information on processing and procedures. But governments don’t want that. Governments want to maintain the allure and facade of border protection and a temporary problem, which is rubbish given the fact that many of these people are running from protracted situations. Above all people here advocate for a ‘ferry first’ approach. A large boat crosses from Turkey to Lesbos every day, but the refugees cannot get on it despite the fact that it is almost empty. There is no understanding such a prohibition when people then chose to get on rickety boats and risk their lives anyway. Until the government and the EU do something about that it is hard to imagine anyone taking their attempts at compassionate rhetoric seriously.

This idea of thinking beyond the nation state challenges usual perceptions of refugees vs economic migrants, though the line between these two is often so blurred it is hard to make judgments that one is more deserving than the other. Economic migrants by definition have something to offer our societies. Although they may be seen as less worthy, in practice they are less of a drain on countries’ economies, particularly countries within the EU, Australia, Japan, Korea, which all have aging populations and will depend upon migration for their future survival. The 1951 Convention that determines status and who is entitled to refugee protection was drafted in response to a very particular context after WW2, that resembles nothing like the current global situation. The drafters had in mind Jewish elite academics forced to flee the holocaust, not Syrian families running from war. But valid fears exist that any attempts at redrafting the Convention will result in more rather than less restrictions on who is offered protection. Categorising people who need to flee just seems so pointless. The world is shaking just as much as it was in 1945, it’s just that it’s not shaking in our backyard anymore.

IMG_2117While nationality may divide us still, it is heart-warming to see the number of refugees who have formed groups in their travels, showing the natural human desire to always be part of a collective. No man is an island, and none of us want to journey alone. And the biggest collective of all is humanity. Jamal, the man who quit his job to live a life of volunteering told me how he was walking up to a camp one day when he was called into the bushes by three cheeky young unaccompanied Afghan boys who were eating food distributed by emergency staff around a fire they had lit to keep warm. They motioned for him to join them and shared their sandwiches, without knowing when their next meal would be. They also then tried to give him their lighter as a present. The gift of food and the gift of warmth, from three boys who had consistently not had access to either. I’m going to use Jamal’s words because I can’t put it any better. “This is why we survive; this is why humanity will endure whatever evil has to throw at it. It’s because of our capacity to share in the most extreme of circumstances.” Regardless of what symbol we have on the front of our passports.

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Some of them are in Turkey, some in Europe, some are still in Syria, and some are dead

11 Wednesday Nov 2015

Posted by in Politics, Refugees

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IMG_2251I meet 16 year old Akilah in one of the transit camps with her friend and three siblings. They arrived this morning from Syria and are waiting for the bus to the processing centre. Three years ago a bomb was dropped on their family home in Damascus and the house burnt to the ground. None of the children were inside, but Akilah tells me, ‘my father and my mother, they are dead’. She says this so casually that for an instant I think I must have misheard her. But she goes on to explain that the fire truck showed up too late and she came home to find both her parents had been burned alive. The shock on my face is clearly visible and she elaborates for my benefit, ‘plane war- you understand, the government drops bombs and now all the houses are in the ground’. I dumbly nod that of course I understand, because my early teenage years were obviously characterised by having a bomb dropped on my house and losing my parents rather than thinking about who would drive me to netball training.

Following her parents’ death the family moved to Douma, a town outside of Damascus which fell to rebels, lost all government protection and is basically a never ending battleground. She describes the daily bombings and explosions, the curfews and barricading of neighborhoods, and the men with guns. But the less violent details are just as shocking. A government blockade on supplies meant almost no fresh food got through, so for weeks her family ate only pet food. When food did get through it was so expensive that they couldn’t afford vegetables, rice or bread. They could not attend school or leave the house, and when they heard the planes they had to run down to the building’s basement. She acts out how her younger sister would cover her ears and rock back and forth crying as the bombs were dropped. She looks too small for an 11 year old, possibly because she hasn’t had a proper meal in 3 years.

They left Syria 5 days ago and paid a smuggler 800 Euro per person. They have an aunt in Sweden who is waiting for them, but Akilah tells me she would prefer Germany because the weather is better. It’s all relative I suppose. It was fear of conscription that finally forced them to flee Syria. The government ‘maybe take my brother to fight’ she says. Her brother is five years older than her, but seems withdrawn and lacking in the confidence of his younger sister. He smiles hello, but Akilah does all the talking. I ask her who they were afraid of, she tells me Assad, Daesh, the rebels, everyone. This is a common thing I’m hearing from Syrians, they almost can’t identify what was the final threat that made them run, so many forces they’ve been targeted by. One refugee told me that he had been detained by everyone except the Kurds.

IMG_2249-0I ask her why they didn’t stay in Turkey where they were no longer being bombed; she says they were afraid of the Turkish government ‘catching them’. They do not speak Turkish and have heard that they could have no life in Turkey without the language. She acts out the rocking in the boat and says they all had to be very still because the water came up to their waist. When I ask Akilah about her friends she is again oblivious to the power of her words. ‘Some are in Europe, some are in Turkey, some are still in Syria, and some are dead’ she says. She is hoping to get wifi so they can call the 94 year old grandma they left behind. ‘When we said goodbye, it was so sad, we cry, because she will die and we will never see her again’. I think of the scenes on the beach. When a boat lands and people get out, the first thing you see them do is grab the people they know in a giant bear hug, the kind you get from whoever’s picked you up from the airport after a long trip. The second thing they do is pull out their phones and call whoever they’ve left behind. I don’t know the words they use, but it’s easy to understand what they’re saying from the emotion on their faces.

Akilah breaks into a huge smile and tells me she wants to go back to school. Her English is remarkable for someone who hasn’t been in a classroom for years and she often corrects herself. ‘I like study so much’ she says, ‘I want to be a doctor’. Her 24 year old sister is shyer but tells me she was in the middle of studying surgical dentistry when they lost their parents. She too wants to pick up her studies. ‘I just want to be happy she says, I want to go back to life’. They are all grinning from ear to ear because they believe they will get an education and food and work in Sweden or Germany, but also because they are outside. For three years they have been under a blockade and afraid to leave their home. She tells me how amazing it was to come from the boat to the camp because they could walk without worrying about bombs.

IMG_2254Like any 16 year old, Akilah is obsessed with her mobile. She takes a selfie of the two of us and then proceeds to show me the other photos in her phone. The content is a bit different from the average 16 year old Australians. First I see a short clip of their house after the fire. It is charred, but you can make out a kitchen that looks like any other, a washing machine that looks like mine at home, blackened picture frames, a melted clothes rack. Her sister shows me photos of their mum and dad, they are eager to tell me what wonderful parents they were and how beautiful their mum was. And then they show me photos of Damascus. Both of them are bragging the way I do about Sydney, almost conceitedly about its beauty; at night the light is amazing they tell me, and the mosque is magic. ‘I wish the war is finished so we could go back to our country’. While they are ecstatic to be in a place where they can walk on the street without fear, there is still no place like home. ‘We liked it because we have always lived there’

IMG_2267-0This evening several boats arrived in the space of an hour. On the walk back from a fishing village I see a group of teenage boys dripping wet stop to help a Greek local and his son carry their boat into their garage. These young men stopped, possibly losing a spot on an earlier bus out, put down their sad-looking belongings and picked up the other end of the raft as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. As if they hadn’t just got off a rubber dingy and didn’t have weeks of arduous travel ahead of them. As if they had all the time in the world to help a stranger.

IMG_2257-0Before I head back to town another boat comes in. It is very dark now, I am on the side of the road doing what has become my usual contribution, taking off life jackets and trying to get people to remember to breath. A woman who must be younger than me is shaking in a very strange way, but physically seems to be alright. After I get her out of the vest a medic appears by her side holding what looks like a bundle and turns out to be a screaming 10 month old baby. It is so, so small, and if this is what a ten month old baby looks like I can’t image how tiny the several day old ones were that have arrived. The baby’s clothes are wet and we can’t find any dry ones so it is wrapped in someone’s jacket while the medic tries to calm it. The woman is still shaking and a camera man who I could throttle actually sticks a microphone in her face until the doctor tells him to piss off. Eventually the baby stops screaming and they get them into a car and drive them to the camp. The medic then gives an interview where she does her best not to break down and slams governments for allowing this to happen and tries to appeal to a common humanity. ‘People don’t risk their children unless they have to’ she says. She is crying, I am crying, the arsehole camera man is crying. Everyone here is crying but it seems that no one who can stop it is listening.

Tonight I met with representatives from UNHCR who told me that 93% of people who have passed through Greece come from the top ten refugee-producing countries. Yet some people will still label them economic migrants. UNHCR has begun a brilliant initiative where children are put through a simulated asylum journey. From playing with their friends on the beach, to having to flee, crossing a border and being separated from their buddy. Although Greece is not a paradise for asylum seekers, genuine effort is being made to improve the situation and increase peoples understanding, starting with children. So that when kids see and meet refugees, they have an idea of what they’ve been through. So that when kids grow up they become more compassionate individuals than the governments running the show today. I can think of several adults I’d like to put through the same passages program.