• About

cheztopflight

~ Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not. Dr. Seuss

cheztopflight

Tag Archives: discrimination

This is why you’re not supposed to get into cars with strangers

17 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Politics, Refugees

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

asylum, calais, discrimination, EU, followtherefugees, France, frontnational, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, Jungle, middle east, openeuborders, poverty, refugees, refugeeswelcome, war

Someone does pick me up, a Belgian couple obsessed with street art who have driven down to photograph Banksy. I feel a bit guilty getting into their posh car with the mud caked all up my legs, but they don’t seem to mind. We chat a bit about the artwork, and then, revealing that he didn’t quite get Banksy’s message, the man says, ‘I just don’t understand why they have to come here’.

Oh no.

This is why you’re not supposed to get into cars with strangers.

‘Why don’t they stay in Turkey? Or go to India? Where they are safe?’ I relay some of the stories I’ve heard about how refugees are treated in Turkey, how some have spent years in a camp there, how India hasn’t signed the Refugee Convention so they have no rights, not even recognition as a person before the law. He nods thoughtfully and then goes on to agree that some people need help, but doesn’t understand why a doctor and his family in Kabul or Damascus would leave. I say that I think the Taliban, ISIS and co don’t distinguish between middle class professionals and otherwise. That often in these situations it’s the educated who are most targeted. The woman agrees with me and says that we must help them, though she doesn’t particularly want more in Belgium because the government gives them money and some of them don’t have jobs after ten years.

I really don’t know why the universe is doing this to me when I voluntarily returned to the jungle. Surely it should have been Angelina Jolie or Justin Trudeu who stopped to give me a lift.

‘I just don’t think that’s true’ I say. Every refugee I met is so eager to study and work and expresses disdain at the idea of charity. They were all willing to do anything to start an independent life. Not like so many Europeans I meet who would rather live off their parents than work in a restaurant because they believe they’re above that. And considering so many people here think such labor is beneath them, I’m not sure who else they’d get to serve them if they kick out immigrants.

The guy admits he doesn’t know much about it, and contends that Syria is obviously at war, but questions why people in Afghanistan are coming now. I can hear the resignation in my voice when I talk about the Taliban strengthening since 2014 and relay the stories of how many Afghan’s told me they would rather be shot than sent back. That the war in Afghanistan has stretched well beyond a decade.

The woman, who I had concluded was the smart one, then says that she hasn’t made up her mind yet whether she is ‘pro’ or ‘anti’ refugee, as if it were an issue like raising the VAT. The guy then adds that we shouldn’t help the ‘economic migrants’. I’m having flashbacks to painful moments in South Africa when I accepted rides from people who turned out to be raging racists and then ended up with a choice between being stuck or abandoned alone on a hwy. Thankfully, we are almost in Calais and if I’m thrown out now and have to walk I’ll still probably make my train.

‘You don’t need to be ‘pro’ or ‘anti’ refugee’ I say, ‘…they’re just people’.

This couple is not mean. They express real regret that Le Pen has gathered so much support in France and bemoan the right wing in Belgium. They feel bad that there are people living in the Jungle. And they do think we should do something to help. But the ignorance is astounding. The suggestion of sending people to the rich Gulf States is brought up. I can’t hide my disdain when I say I don’t think it would be fair to send an educated professional woman from Damascus to Saudi Arabia. Or a secular young man from Iraq for that matter. I can hear the condescension in my voice when I point out that all Muslims are not the same, but I just don’t care anymore.

They cheerily drop me off, wish me well and joke about how nice it will be to go back to their warm apartment after seeing the Jungle. Even though all they did was stand at the entrance and photograph Banksy.

banksy_calais__01_2015

50.951290 1.858686
Advertisement

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

A place to call their own

14 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Politics, Refugees

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

asylum, britain, calais, discrimination, england, EU, followtherefugees, France, frontnational, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, Jungle, middle east, openeuborders, poverty, refugees, refugeeswelcome, syria, uk, war

There are teenage boys everywhere. I’m told a story of 13 and 14 yr old brothers who travelled from Kurdistan. They were with their 21 year old brother who managed to get to England two months ago. Now they have no one and have attached themselves to a male volunteer who doesn’t look much older than 21 himself. A child’s right to education is in the International Bill of Human Rights, the Refugee Convention and the Convention on the Rights of the Child. It’s also French and British national law. But the children here do not go to school.  Instead they sit here every day in the dirt, sometimes kicking a football around, dreaming of England. If they weren’t traumatised and destroyed before they got here, they certainly will be once they leave.

calaisTo counter this, l’auberge des migrants has set up a women’s centre and safe space for kids and their mums to come. Because the teenage boys kept drifting in they also set up a caravan across the road for adolescent males where they can hang out, talk to other guys, and when I see them, breakdance. I meet one British woman called Alice who has started a community centre with her own money and serves 400 hot meals a day. She recently burned through her savings and had to start a crowd funding page. I can’t hide my horror when she tells me she sleeps here. I would not be in this place alone after dark. Every week she allows a Narcotics Anonymous meeting to take place in what is essentially her bedroom. She tells me that opium and heroin are big problems here, and they are trying to give people some support. I guess it’s no surprise that in such a place people turn to drugs, but it’s incredible the amount that is smuggled in here. I’m told that most of it comes from England. More people profiting from refugees misery.

photo 2There are several pregnant women. Mimi from Eritrea is 8.5 months along. She lives in one of the huts built by l’auberge des migrants, a small shack where thin wooden boards are nailed together, but better than a flimsy tent. It’s amazing how tidy she keeps it, all shoes are left outside and inside feels very comfortable, kind of like a blanket fort you’d make as a kid. Thanks to l’auberge des migrants there are no longer any women with kids living in tents, they have all been built one of these makeshift cabins that have pitiful looking padlocks on the door. It’s not much, but it’s a space to call their own. Mimi invites us in and offers us tea and food, and tells me how two and a half months ago her husband left and is now in England. She is desperate to get there. I cannot hide the outrage on my face as she tells us they don’t talk on the phone because it is too hard for him to hear about the Jungle. We sit in her tiny room in the dark and the helplessness in her face as she pleads with us to find her a way to Britain is painful. I try and convince her to stay in France and claim asylum here, but she is not interested. Many refugees tell me they fear the French will be unwelcoming and are more likely to be racist than the British. I am not so sure about this. They also worry about how long it will take to learn the language, though considering some have been in the Jungle for a year this seems misguided. Mimi tells me she is expecting to give birth here. On the floor of her shack, unless of course she goes into labour outside in the mud. I open my mouth to reassure her that there’s no way the authorities would let her have a baby here and someone will get her to a hospital, but I stop. I’m not so sure about anything anymore.

I meet two more of Mimi’s friends, also alone and from Eritrea, one of them is also 7.5 months pregnant. I am so surprised by how strongly they are opposed to seeking asylum in France. They treat me with suspicion for even suggesting it and one of them shuts down and just doesn’t want to talk anymore. It’s amazing to me that they have such a rose coloured view of how life will be in England. I don’t get how they can think that having to learn French or go through the asylum process here would be worse than living in this breeding ground of misery. Another thing I’m noticing is that people are less open. In Greece and the Balkans everyone wanted to talk, but in the Jungle residents are so used to journalists coming and asking about their history. At first people were hopeful that telling their stories would result in governments actually doing something, but it has been so long now that they see no point in sharing their pain. They’ve lost all faith that anyone will help.

IMG_2400I say goodbye to Mimi and her friends. Though her little home did offer some shelter from the hideous weather outside, it was beginning to get a bit awkward with me sitting there and no one talking. Almost immediately I regret the decision. There is depression and horror everywhere. Anytime a car pulls up refugees crowd around asking for food or clothes or blankets and are yelled at to keep in line. It resembles cattle being herded. Sometimes the nervousness becomes aggressive, though I don’t see anyone get physical. People are much more desperate here than further south. It’s also a lot colder and no one seems to be looking forward to the future. One man pulls me over and asks where I’m from. He then gets excited and pulls out his phone to tell me his nephew is in Melbourne, and have I met him? And can I help him to get there? I wouldn’t have thought I’d be telling anyone the better option to anything was to stay in the Jungle, but if Manus is anything like this and people are locked in…. Maybe there’s always a worse place, I just wish it wasn’t run by my government.

photo 5There is a huge police presence. Saturday was pretty calm, but I’m told that the cops regularly come in here with tear gas, even using it on women and children. Police brutality seems to be a big problem and adds to everyone’s anxiety; the refugees, workers and volunteers. I know it’s naive to think of police as protectors, but here they are regarded by everyone as the aggressors. Complaints have been made to the local station but are dismissed; one guy tells me he was laughed out when he went in to protest about them using tear gas on children. Around the corner from the jungle are a dozen vans full of riot police, just in case. Just in case of what I’m not sure. Certainly not what police are supposed to do. I hear of three different murders that have taken place, and a few cases of sexual assault, none of which have been thoroughly investigated by the police. Why bother, these people aren’t really human and resources are obviously better spent gassing them into submissive terror.

IMG_2378When I got back into town I was in a bit of a daze. I went and got a hot chocolate to fix everything and the very cheery woman who made me the most amazing one ever asked me if I was ok. But I didn’t want to tell her what was wrong in case she turned out to be a racist Front National loon and I’d be obligated to hate her and couldn’t come back for another chocolat tomorrow. There are posters everywhere of the candidates for the Sunday election, and I am pleased to see that most of the Le Pen ones have been defaced. Calais has a weird feel to it. When you’re in the centre you would have no idea that the Jungle was only 4kms away. There are Christmas decorations and music everywhere, and I wonder how many locals have actually visited the camp and know what it’s really like. When you mention the place to anyone you get a mixture of sympathetic tuts and distasteful expressions. The owner of my hotel was not impressed when I asked him for directions. Certainly people did not on the whole react in a similar manner to what I heard in Greece or the Balkans, though given the sheer scope of the Jungle situation perhaps that’s an unfair comparison.

50.951290 1.858686

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

‘Do you think they will open the border and let us in?’

12 Saturday Dec 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Politics, Refugees

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

asylum, calais, crisis, discrimination, EU, followtherefugees, France, frontnational, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, Jungle, lesbos, middle east, openeuborders, palestine, poverty, refugees, refugeeswelcome, syria, war

I don’t think I’m going to write very well tonight because I am in a bit of shock. It’s very rare that I’m lost for words, but the Jungle is the worst place I’ve ever been. I thought long and hard before committing to that statement, because it’s a big call- and it seems sensationalist. I thought about Soweto and Kibera townships in South Africa and Kenya, the slums I saw in Cambodia, the poor village where I lived in Tanzania, the dire conditions in some of the camps on Lesbos, the chaos in Presevo, the poverty in Addis Ababa, the desperation in Palestine. But I can’t think of anywhere I’ve seen that is worse for the human spirit than the Jungle in Calais. I can’t think of anywhere else I’ve been that was so on edge and sad and without any joy. It is a home you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy. A place devoid of hope.

calais9

And it’s in France. An hour and a half train ride from where I live. A G7 country, one of the richest in the world, one that prides itself on its observance of human rights, it’s amazing health care and social system, one whose motto is liberte, egalite, fraternite. This makes the place seem even more brutal. It’s more shocking to see babies living in tents in the mud when you know that the resources are there to fix the problem, there’s just not the political will. Civil action forced the government to put in some portable toilets and fund the Jules Ferry Centre where women and children are able to sleep and everyone gets at least one hot meal a day. There are showers, but the queue is 4 hours long, and after nightfall men are locked out. This means that several women and children sleep in the Jungle because they don’t want to leave their husbands and fathers.

calais8Unquestionably, one of the reasons this place is so dreadful is the fact that people here are stuck. While 10 000 could pass through Macedonia in a day, everyone was on the move, heading to somewhere better, a new life and brighter horizons.  People were tired and hungry and stressed and dirty and anxious, but they were hopeful, they believed that in a few days or weeks things would be better. In the Jungle, everyone is in a limbo that resembles hell. Each night men still try and jump vehicles to the UK, even though it has become virtually impossible. As long as one person occasionally makes it, people here will not stop trying. The odds are so stacked against them it’s incredible they don’t give up and try to find another path, but the majority of them have friends and family in Britain, communities where they will feel like they belong to something again. So they keep waiting and trying while the months and the years go by and they languish.

calais5And the numbers continue to rise and the sense of misery increases. There are people here from Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Somalia, Libya, Palestine, Sudan, Kurdistan, Nigeria and others. Putting that many different languages, cultures, religions and nationalities on top of each other in such a small space, with no infrastructure or resources is bound to be problematic. Violence between and within groups often occurs, there is competition over handouts, and tent cities are segregated. All things considered it’s actually amazing that there aren’t more problems. When you walk down the Jungle’s ‘main street’ there is an abundance of pop up restaurants, such as Cafe Kabul which appears to be the best stocked establishment. There are churches and mosques. There are grocery shops and businesses. There is a book store. One thing that would make a huge difference to everyone is internet access, but organising that seems to be difficult. This seems incredulous to me. If Greece, Macedonia and Serbia can arrange for refugees to charge their phones and go online surely France can.

IMG_2375A few days ago the Daily Mail, Britain’s answer to the Tele, published an article that made it look like refugees were living it up and quite comfortable in this ‘tent city’. I really doubt that any regular reader of the Mail would walk in here. The first thing that struck me about the camp was its sheer size, in space and numbers. At the moment estimates have the population at around 4500, but a few months ago I’m told it was closer to 7000. Tents sprawl in every direction and have sunk into the wet ground. The temperature is not that low, but the rain and the wind cut through my jacket and jumper. There is mud everywhere.  And not just wet dirt, the kind of mud that you sink into and traps your feet and cakes on all the way up to your knees. Disease is rampant.  One volunteer told me that 80% of the population has scabies, and because they don’t have easy access to showers, hygiene standards are appalling.

IMG_2380There are fences and barbed wire everywhere. On the train from Paris I felt like shrinking in my seat at the site of how many steel walls cordoned off the Eurotunnel. On the hill next to the camp high fences block the roads so refugees cannot get to the trucks that board the ferry. All I can think of when I see these barriers is Israel and the Occupied West Bank and how horrible a feeling it was to be behind similar walls in Bethlehem. Even though in Calais the fence isn’t technically trapping them, it’s a constant reminder that these people are not really free to move. The increasing number of walls being built on this continent has been touted by many as evidence of Europe’s failure. I think its evidence more of humanity’s failure.

On my way in I chat to an elderly French volunteer who comes to the jungle and knits with the women and children three times a week. She loves the children she tells me, and laughs while recounting how the police have searched her many times and only ever found wool and knitting needles. She is horrified that conditions like this exist in France, and when I ask about the election tomorrow she is distraught at the idea of Le Pen, but admits she couldn’t bring herself to vote for Sarcozy now that the socialists have pulled out. She then hangs her head in shame while telling me it was the left who allowed the Jungle to descend into its current state and she has lost all faith with the government.
IMG_2376We come across a group of men from Iraq who are leaving the camp as we go in and she embraces them and asks about their families. They call her Mama and one tells her he has just been granted asylum and is going to Lot. She cannot contain her joy that his family will be somewhere safe and hugs him fiercely. When the men find out I’m Australian they all want to know about the island detention centres, and if it’s true that there people are not even allowed to walk out of ‘their jungles’ . Amazingly, I’d never made this direct comparison. I shudder to think what a jungle would look like where people are not allowed to leave. These guys may have nowhere to go, but at least they are not locked in.

I meet a Sudanese guy as I sludge through the mud. He tells me how he fled Sudan in September and has been in the Jungle for three months. He travelled through Egypt and Libya, took a boat to Sicily and then came through Italy and France. His English is soft and polite and near perfect. He has a wife and two children in a province near Darfur and he is hoping to bring them to the UK ‘once he gets there’. He has tried every night for 10 weeks and been caught, beaten and sent back over and over. ‘Do you think it will get easier?’ he asks me hopefully, ‘Do you think that maybe they will open the border and let us in?’
I’m asked this question at least a dozen times through the course of the day by people who are hoping I will tell them what they want to hear. After what some of them have been through it’s incredible to me that they have any belief left at all. The man looks devastated when I tell him I only think the UK is going to get harder and harder to get into, and I feel as though I’ve personally let him down. But despite his crestfallen face he still shakes my hand and thanks me earnestly before walking off with his friends.

50.951290 1.858686

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

Welcome to the Jungle

12 Saturday Dec 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Politics, Refugees

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

asylum, calais, crisis, discrimination, EU, followtherefugees, France, frontnational, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, Jungle, lepen, middle east, migrant, openeuborders, refugees, refugeeswelcome, syria, uk

franceukI generally don’t tend to head north at this time of year, at most times of year for that matter, and thankfully for my vitamin d levels in less than two weeks I’ll be on a beach in Sydney and temperatures in single digits will seem like a distant memory. But right now I’m on a train heading to northern France, where the forecast is predicted to be rain, cold and wind, three things that I hate. And I’m heading to a place that is so unappealing its been nicknamed ‘La Jungle’.

calais2The Jungle actually refers to several squatter camps that have sprung up around the northern French town of Calais, where the Eurostar tunnel takes travellers across the channel to England. While refugees have gathered here for years trying to jump trucks, trains, cars or ferries to get to the UK, in the past year numbers have substantially increased and there are now thousands of people. Some have lost their lives in attempts to get to Britain, many have been injured by trying or from police brutality, one man managed to walk the length of the Eurotunnel before being apprehended by police at the other end. Many do not speak French, some have family in Britain, and others simply think they have a better chance at a life there than in Europe, but generally refugees stay here for a long time. While some have managed to get to England, most languish in tents in the mud. Conditions are atrocious, and by all accounts the camps resemble townships. In what appears to be a pattern I’ve seen everywhere from Lesvos to Skopje, governments do not want to acknowledge the full extent of this problem and provide the infrastructure and humanitarian services so desperately needed through fear of giving the situation any element of permanency and losing votes.

calais6Such an approach has failed. Coinciding with my weekend is the second round of the French regional elections, where Marine Le Pen, France’s terrifying duplicate of Pauline Hanson or Donald Trump, is poised to win the first region ever for her far right-wing party the Front National. What is amazing to me is how many people in the previously socialist north seem to be voting for Le Pen as a protest vote. Though as someone who comes from a country that elected a buffoon because a politician changed her mind about a carbon price that the majority of the world is now advocating, this probably shouldn’t be such a surprise. I guess I had more faith in the intelligence of the French, and hopefully they end up proving that faith justified. If not however, and Le Pen wins and takes control of a region, she has promised to do whatever it takes to get the ‘migrants’ out of Calais, and one can only fear to what extent that means she is willing to go.

calais3I’ve spent a lot of time since starting this project obsessing over how governments and people can be so dismissive of refugee’s human rights. Rights that we are all internationally recognised to possess for no other reason than the fact that we are human. You’re not entitled to them because you’re white, rich, male, Christian, straight or born in the west. You’re entitled to them because you are a human being. And it’s dawned on me that the reason some can be comfortable with this is because for many these people are not considered human. While it’s easy to argue that refugees are different, the ‘other’, or even a threat, such arguments don’t justify denying them human rights. It’s harder to get your head around the fact that for so many they are just not people, and this allows us to treat them accordingly. It’s the type of thinking that allows Israel to dismiss war crime accusations for the indiscriminate bombing of Palestinian civilians. It’s the type of thinking that allows the majority of the Australian population to not even blink while the government locks up desperate innocent people on remote pacific islands and denies them the most basic of fundamental freedoms. And it’s this type of thinking that allows France to treat the people in the jungle as an inconvenience rather than people screaming out for help and dignity.

But, however much we may choose to ignore it, these people are human beings. Believing otherwise may make it easier for you, but it doesn’t make it any less of a fact. They are the same species as you and your children. They catch the same diseases. Their bodies function in the same way. They have the same physical, civil and social needs. They could be your kidney, blood or bone marrow donors. A brilliant Banksy that popped up today emphasised the reality that this could be any of us. If you believe that you are entitled to human rights, and most people do, you cannot simultaneously support the deprivation of them for someone else because they are poorer, darker or less fortunate than you.banksy_calais__02_2015_0

It’s now been almost a month since I left Serbia and in some ways the world is a different place, particularly my world. There are more military personnel in Paris then I care to see in the city I live, I’ve been patted down before walking into a big store, it takes an absurd amount of time to get into the building at work, and for several weeks any noise on the metro made people jump. Travelling with the refugees through the Balkans gave me a unique perspective after the attacks happened. When Macedonia announced it wouldn’t let through anyone who wasn’t from Iraq, Syria or Afghanistan, I was relieved that ‘my friends‘ had got through when they did. When US governors and a certain presidential candidate started calling for a halt on any humanitarian intake from Syria I was filled with a rage more violent than it would have been 6 weeks ago. And as each country along the way started to build a fence, I wanted to be there to see what it would look like and how it would feel now, with a very physical barrier to increase the terror, isolation and loneliness these people are already dealing with. To increase the sense that no one wants them.

calais7Many people asked me why I didn’t take more photos, or even video footage. It’s important to remember that these people are refugees, which by definition means that they are fleeing persecution, and most likely do not want their identity to be revealed to authorities back home before they have found safety and a durable solution. In Syria there have even been stories of Assad’s government identifying individuals on social media and raiding their property, or worse, punishing loved ones they have left behind. To add to this, many journalists operating in the field have acted unethically in the taking of photos, particularly of children. I witnessed myself on Lesvos questionable media practices. It goes without saying that permission should always be sought before a photo is taken, and from parents if the subject is a minor. But even in these cases a personal judgement must be made as to whether this is the right thing to do. While photos have played a powerful role in this crisis, they can do so without the exploitation of grief, the invasion of privacy or putting refugees and their families at risk.

Thank you all again for your support, so many people responded to my call for clothes and put me in contact with people they knew who have helped at the Jungle. Many have asked me about visiting themselves. The following pages contain very useful information on the situation in Calais and how you can help;
http://www.calaidipedia.co.uk/
https://calaismigrantsolidarity.wordpress.com

Please think twice before you make a move, as there is a chance good intentions can compound pre-existing problems.

Peace, Kate x

50.951290 1.858686

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

même pas peur

17 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Economics, Politics, Refugees, Religion, Travel

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

asylum, australia, crisis, discrimination, EU, europe, fear, followtherefugees, France, FYROM, greece, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, lesbos, macedonia, middle east, openeuborders, Paris, parisattacks, prayforparis, prayforpeace, prayfortheworld, refugees, refugeeswelcome, safepassage, syria, united nations, USA, war

It seemed like no one on my bus to Belgrade spoke English, but I picked up that the word refugee is not used much by the Serbians, ‘they’ are all ‘immigrants’,*said in an angry voice*, showing the power of language in labeling someone as undeserving. And it’s clear that as in Australia, many Europeans don’t believe refugees have a right to be here.

IMG_2355I am an immigrant. I left my wealthy, stable, safe country to live and work in another because I wanted to experience something different. I had no well-founded fear of persecution, I could have found a better paid and more secure job in Australia than I found here. But no one in Europe has ever questioned my right to be here. No one has ever accused me of taking someone else’s job. And as far as I know, no one has ever worried that I might be a threat to national security.

Every single refugee I spoke to loved their home. Every single one of them spoke of the beauty of their country and said they would go back if they had a future there. We are wired to want to return to where we are from. Every Christmas I go home, because it gets to November and I’m itching to be where I’m from again. For these people, going home is not an option.

I was sitting in my hotel in Belgrade when news of the terrorist attacks in Paris came through, and like everyone who calls that city home I felt sick to my stomach, and wracked with nerves until one by one everyone there who I loved turned out to be ok. There’s really nothing more terrifying than the thought of not feeling safe where you live, and the French have had a taste of that in the last few days. The difference is that for the majority of refugees, they do not have a government who will act to protect them, who will do whatever it takes to ensure their future safety. For some of them, it is the government targeting them. They are not running from an attack on a stadium, or a nightclub, or a restaurant, or a bar. Their villages, cities, and in some cases their countries, are on fire.

IMG_2361

We all empathise with the images coming out of France that show people terrified and fleeing. We can all understand that when you hear gun shots and comprehend the threat, you grab the people you love and you run. You run away from the danger, and you keep running until you find protection and feel secure. Refugees don’t get to just run out of the restaurant; they have to run further and faster and for longer until they feel safe. Why is it that we don’t look at the images of people running from war and make that correlation? There was not one story of someone slamming their door in the face of Parisians who ran on Friday. Why can we not #PorteOuverte now?

While I’ll acknowledge that I met some who weren’t running from obvious persecution, the idea that these people are to be feared is something that I understand less now than I did two weeks ago. That the man or woman who comes from a different background is someone you are justified in being afraid of because they are different to you makes no sense. We make these people the other because it allows us to feel safe in our bigotry and more comfortable in our ignorance. Obviously I didn’t talk to every refugee, but these people don’t want to blow up your homes and change your way of life. They don’t want to convert Europe or threaten your children. They don’t want to impose some deranged form of Sharia law. What they want is the same things you do. They want to send their kids to school, finish their own education, get a job, and be able to feed their families. They want to be free and to live without fear.

IMG_2356Almost immediately following the attacks in Paris, Poland announced that it would no longer be adhering to its commitment to accept a mediocre number of Syrian refugees under a previously negotiated EU deal. Hungary is likely to follow. Calls in the US and Australia to halt any intake were loud. As if the two issues were automatically linked. Despite the fact that the vast majority of these perpetrators were European citizens, born and bred here, in our schools, our suburbs and our communities.

What I’m afraid of now is what’s to come. How we will react as a community. If Paris will permanently feel like a city under military protection. If France will feel like a country at war. I’m afraid that people will become more racist. I’m afraid that Marine Le Pen will win the next election. I’m afraid Muslims will no longer feel safe on the streets. I’m afraid that hate speech will become something we accept, stand by and allow to happen.

But when it comes to the refugees, I am not afraid of them. I’ve helped these people out of leaky boats. I’ve comforted them while they’ve howled violently. I’ve walked to border crossings with them in the pitch black. I’ve sat in the dirt and talked with them in their camps. I’ve travelled across a country with them. I’ve shaken their hands and heard their stories and shared their food. I’ve been alone with them in the dark.

And if I’m not afraid of them after that than you don’t get to be either.

paris-peace

48.856614 2.352222

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

Everyone, including the police, started singing

16 Monday Nov 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Politics, Refugees

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

asylum, discrimination, EU, followtherefugees, FYROM, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, macedonia, middle east, openeuborders, refugees, refugeeswelcome, safepassage, serbia, syria, war

IMG_2348I take the official and ordered crossing from FYROM into Serbia at Miratovac and reach the processing centre at Presevo. This camp is the most chaotic that I’ve witnessed. There are people everywhere yelling, and a heavier police and military presence than I’ve seen before. As this is an entry point, people here are registered and fingerprinted and this takes time. On an average day- 8 hours, on a bad day- 24. After arriving from the border groups are barricaded and held back behind metal rails in numbers of 50 or so. It really looks like something out of a war film. From here they move up the line group by group until they enter the UNHCR tents where they are processed, finger printed, and then board a train or bus to Sid at the Croatian border.

Adis from the United Presevo Volunteers comes out to meet me at the entrance where I’ve had another encounter with a displeased policeman. I’m not going to be allowed into the official tents. I hopefully and helpfully tell the cop that I’m Australian, but this one doesn’t seem to care.
Adis has been in Presevo for a month now. There are about 25 volunteers living in a house, literally crammed into the rafters sleeping on top of each other. These people are phenomenal. Unlike on Lesbos, there is no glamour and prestige in Presevo, there are no pretty beaches and waterside restaurants, and these guys are doing it tough. They work 18 hours days, and from what I can tell, they’re the only reason the situation hasn’t completely spiraled out of control. Before entering the camp it is this group who are handing out water and food and clothes and basic medical care to the refugees who may be here for hours and hours before they are processed. MSF also have a tent to deal with the most serious cases, but policemen often refuse to let people out of the line, even to use the toilet. As a result children defecate in their pants. When groups move forward to be registered people are anxious, and there’s a high risk of babies and children being trampled. I see for myself Adis throw himself into one such movement and act as a human shield to stop a little girl being flattened. The Presevo volunteers work entirely off donations and are desperately in need, with funding left for only a few more days, so if you can spare it- $50 goes a very long way in Serbia.

IMG_2345

Volunteers also provide essential information to people who often have no idea what’s going on. Some refugees think that they are in Slovenia and not far from ‘Mama Merkel’. Others arrive having no idea which country they’re in. Something that makes a huge difference is basic communication, so the volunteers have made info sheets explaining where they are and what happens next. It seems incredulous that this hasn’t been done by the state or large NGOs. It’s such a basic and obvious thing to keep people informed, and the times I’ve seen refugees stress is when they don’t understand what’s going on. It would be a simple gesture, as well as an act of basic decency and a sign of respect to acknowledge these people as humans who deserve the courtesy of knowing what’s going to happen to them. It’s also pragmatic and would make everyone’s lives a lot easier.

IMG_2350The volunteers are all young, I don’t see anyone who looks over 40, many are in-between studies or jobs, some have left work to come here. All of them look exhausted and stressed. I ask them about their biggest problems, which seems a stupid question when the whole place is chaos. They tell me how the medic tent is only able to handle priorities, and there are so many problems that priority has come to mean being 8.5 months pregnant and having contractions. If you don’t fit that description, you’re waiting a while. Young men show up with injuries sustained from the boat trip from Turkey, having walked through Greece with serious wounds, but single males are never the priority.

Another huge issue is psychological care. Children often have panic attacks, particularly when they are separated from their parents. I hear one story of a 16 year old diabetic who was refusing to take insulin and effectively killing herself slowly. Another of two teenage girls who fled Syria and had all their belongings stolen in Hungary, one had started cutting herself. A woman died in a hotel room because they switched off the water and she couldn’t take her heart medication. They found her reaching for the pills. A bottle of water is all that would have made the difference. When stocks are low, water is only distributed to ‘special cases’- drinking water– a decision actually has to be made for who stays dehydrated.

IMG_2352The volunteer house is set less than 50m back from the street where the refugees are barricaded. The background noise of people in distress is loud and constant, and I don’t understand how they are getting any sleep at all. One tells me that she sleeps with a walkie talkie next to her ear in case of an emergency, meaning she never sleeps at all. Everyone has nightmares about the screams that sometimes come from the street and mean that something is really very wrong. I am so humbled by these people and their dedication. I could not live how they are living and the difference that they are making is enormous. Recently, Adis started cooking for everyone, but some days there is only enough money for them to have one hot meal. Because they want to be clear that general donations go to the refugees, you can donate specifically to their kitchen.

Something I’ve heard consistently since leaving Greece is stories of the authority’s brutality. While the military generally have a better understanding, policemen are not trained to deal with these kinds of situations. There is no understanding of cross-cultural communication, and it shows. People are shouted at like animals and pointed at like criminals. I see one man pushed to the ground and others dealt with very roughly for daring to take a step forward. But I’m also told stories of compassion, that the cops here are protective of the volunteers, and very, very concerned about the babies. But still there is no order in Presevo. Attempts to separate women and children from men to protect them in the crowds don’t work because wives obviously want to stay with their husbands. And when the crowd surges it’s the most vulnerable who are at risk of being trampled. The power of a group of people of this size heaving with exasperation and aggravation is quite frightening.

IMG_2343

As with everything I’ve seen in the last week, there are many stories of humanity at its best. Some of the refugees have helped with crowd control, a Syrian social worker intervened in one tense situation and told Adis, ‘I got your back’. At one particularly busy point a group of kids aged 7-10 helped with running the food distribution tent, excited to be given a role and responsibility, and just something to do other than wait. A Spanish NGO called Clowns Without Borders showed up one day and started entertaining the children, but it ended up having just as positive an effect on the state of mind of the police. One story that gives me chills is of a day where supplies ran out and there was nothing left to give. People were getting anxious when Adis, feeling powerless, started playing music on a whim, and almost immediately the situation calmed. Everyone, including the police, started singing. A moment of normalcy in an otherwise appalling situation prevented disaster. On another occasion when they were linking arms to try and hold a crowd back, a group of Moroccan guys started singing ‘We are the world’. Sometimes all it takes is a song, an act that reminds everyone we are all the same, and a part of something bigger than ourselves.

42.309171 21.649869

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

I could not stay just sitting any longer

13 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Economics, Politics, Refugees, Travel

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

asylum, discrimination, EU, followtherefugees, FYROM, human rights, immigration, middle east, morocco, openeuborders, palestine, refugees, refugeeswelcome, safepassage, war

IMG_2304I ignored the policeman’s advice about buses for normal people and tried to find a car full of refugees who spoke perfect English. When that failed I settled on one where between two of the four we could manage a pretty decent conversation. When refugees cross into Macedonia they are given the option of a taxi or a train to the Serbian border, for the same price per person. Problems arise because children under seven ride for free so no taxi driver wants to take more than one kid per car. A very large Afghan family will have to wait until the next train which is 10 hours away. In my car are four guys in their twenties who insist that I sit in the front despite the fact that I’m smaller than any of them. They are curious about what I’m doing, but find it less strange than most of the non-refugees I’ve spoken to. We each pay 25 euro, no one asks me to put in more. Before we leave I ask the driver if I have time to buy some water, and three of the four thrust unopened bottles at me.

Mahmoud, 27 and his brother Annas, 25 are from Palestine, Nasa, 29 and Nabin, 20 are from Morocco. For the next two hours we skirt across Macedonia to Tabanovtse. Nasa speaks French perfectly and English well enough so between the two we get by. I point out to him that Morocco is not at war, and he openly agrees and says he had no fear there, but no life. He left three years ago and has been floating around the Middle East ever since. Finally he decided to try his luck and wants to get to Norway because he likes the cold. ‘I could not stay just sitting any longer, I want to change my life. No war, but no future.’ A qualified mechanic, he could not get a job anywhere and wants to start a family. For a year and a half he’s had a Russian girlfriend he met in Egypt, ‘I was not like this when we met’ he assures me, ‘I was clean and had fresh dressing and nice face’. His girlfriend, who he has just left in Dubai, wants to live in Russia. He tells me they’ve just had an argument, ‘I love her, but she drive me so crazy- I had to delete what’s ap.’ The idea from what I can gather is that once he’s established himself as a millionaire mechanic in Oslo the girlfriend will forget about St Petersburg and follow. She paid for his flight to Istanbul and this is a source of great shame for him. He averts my eyes as he says it, and you can tell this man is crippled by how powerless he feels to control his own future. ‘I don’t have anything, sometimes this country, sometimes that country.  All I do is food, sleep, smoke.’  He is also very upset by having to accept charity in general. He had two large packs but they were stolen in Turkey and his belongings have been reduced to a plastic bag. ‘For 9 days now I have no shower, no wash. These clothes, they are not mine. I had to take them’

His friend Nabin is sporting an injury he sustained days ago on the boat journey to Greece. But they have not stopped to see a doctor. The 20 year old is incredibly pale and I tell them that once we get to the camp they should speak to a medic. But they are determined not to waste time and want to keep moving. ‘We cannot sleep, we need to move, we don’t like sitting’. The taxi driver later tells me that 10 000 people crossed over yesterday and in reality they will have to sit for a while on the Serbian side to be processed.

Mahmoud is 27 but easily looks ten years older than me. He speaks Hebrew, Swedish, Arabic and some English. He shows me the scars on his head and arms from where the Israeli soldiers shot at him in Hebron. He intervened to help a relative they were trying to take after an argument, and they turned on him. He tells me the situation has become so bad you cannot leave your home without being harassed. ‘We go to sleep, and the next morning there are new houses on our land.’ He feels that there is no hope for him in Palestine and things are getting worse, he acts out how soldiers in Gaza point guns at children. Mahmoud left the occupied West Bank a month ago and travelled to Turkey before crossing the Med. He made the decision to leave his wife and child behind and bring them over later rather than risk putting them on a boat. He shows me photos of his little girl who is 2 and has a huge bow on her head. The next photo is of him clutching someone else’s baby on a boat, less than 6 months old. He tells me the Turkish smugglers were even rough with the children. ‘The babies were very scared on the trip, we all had to help.’

photo 5

I ask them if they would ever go back to their countries. Nasa says maybe in ten years, to show his children. Mahmoud shakes his head, thinks about it, and then says ‘maybe in twenty’. He then shows me photos of the Al-Aqsa mosque and starts raving about its beauty. When I tell him I’ve been there he grows very excited. I tell Nasa I have also been to Casablanca and travelled in Morocco. Mahmoud’s face clouds over and he says, ‘international travel, that is so nice for you’ and I wish I had kept my mouth shut. While Moroccans can visit 56 countries visa free, it’s harder for Palestinians, and Mahmoud snuck out on a false passport. None of them have any papers, the Palestinians to start with and the Moroccans since Turkey where the smugglers put a gun to their head and took their documentation, claiming they would be turned back otherwise. They are all amazed by how nice people in Europe are, and I am too much of a coward to tell them this will not always be the case.

I mention ISIS. The Palestinians don’t know much about it, but rage visibly flashes through Nasa. ‘These people have no religion’ he tells me, ‘they are not Muslim, they are not human’. He goes on to explain how what they do is harem, and Islam forbids it. As a way of making me understand, he talks about how to be a Muslim it is very important to be clean, inside and out, and no one from ISIS can be clean. When I ask why he thinks people are going to fight with them, his explanation is surprisingly economic. ‘C’est fou, but they think it’s the only way to get a house and money… People like me, who want a better life, but they are crazy.’ He is not worried about any of them coming to Europe this way and laughs when I ask, ‘they take the planes… It is the people running from them who take the boats’.

johnantono_BERLIN wall_11-2015

They ask me about my plans once we get to the camp, and I explain I can’t cross with them but will return to visit that night with a contact in Skopje. Mahmoud immediately grows concerned and tells me this is not a good idea and I need to be careful. ‘I am afraid for you’. After a couple of hours in the car this man is sincerely concerned for my well being and starts quizzing me on how I know this person. His almost brotherly worry is so genuine I’m taken aback.

When we get to the crossing I’m suddenly overcome with I don’t know what. I’ve heard many people describe the situation here as a form of apartheid, and every time I’ve dismissed such a label as excessive and exaggerated. But now that I’m here and I’m living it, now that I go one way and they go another, that’s exactly what it feels like. While I will walk across a border and flash my passport, these kind, generous, funny and smart men who I’ve spent the last two hours talking and joking with, who have shared with me, have to spend hours in a dirty camp being pushed from here to there not knowing what’s going on. These are my friends now and it just doesn’t seem fair. Before I even realise what’s happening I’m blubbering, and the poor, hungry refugees who haven’t slept in days and have been walking for hours try to comfort the privileged, well fed Australian girl who will sleep in a hotel room tonight and can’t keep her shit together. It would have been hilarious in its ludicrousness, but I am so ashamed by my own good fortune that I can’t see the humour in it at all.

41.608635 21.745275

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

That kill that and that kill that and they kill me

13 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in All, Politics, Refugees, Travel

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

asylum, discrimination, EU, followtherefugees, FYROM, greece, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, macedonia, middle east, openeuborders, poverty, refugees, refugeesgr, refugeeswelcome, safepassage, syria, war

IMG_2291Last night under the cloak of my Medecine du Monde contingent I visited the Idomeni camp on the Greek-FYROM border. It’s purely a transit camp, and on any given day 10 000 people pass through. The camp is confronting in its sadness and its normalcy. The doctors tent has a waiting room that short of a few copies of Women’s Weekly could be the same as any other medical centre. People sit in line to see the medic, parents try to calm their crying kids and control the naughty ones, and everyone looks bored and restless. Outside there is a group of teenage boys seeing who can clear a railing the most easily by leap frogging. One doesn’t make it and is teased mercilessly. People are trying to connect to the wifi and find somewhere to charge their phones. Other than the overarching sense of waiting and expectation, other than the dirt and the tents and the smell, this could be anywhere. Every now and then a volunteer yells out ‘Farsi and English!’ or ‘Urdu!’ and without fail someone puts up their hand and comes forward to translate.

IMG_2294The only thing that really makes this scene different is the sense of anxiety and nervousness about when it will be their turn to cross. Groups arrive in large buses and are given a ticket, and when their number is called they are allowed to walk into FYROM. The timing depends on the authorities at the other side letting them through. Every 5 mins someone asks me what number they are up to, people are frantic they will miss their turn and be stuck. The really bizarre thing is that there’s no check or control on the numbers, and yet nobody pushes in. Everyone is waiting their turn. The refugees are anxious and frustrated, but incredibly polite; every time I tell them that I don’t know and they just have to wait they thank me profusely.

IMG_2301UNHCR is trying desperately to make sure groups stick together. A problem has been families becoming separated and it is easy to see why. The camp is dark and there are hundreds of people everywhere. People are curled up in corners and fall asleep in the dirt. I chat to a logistics officer from MSF, Antonis, who is very proud with how much his English has improved in the past month since he started working at the camp. Like all of Greece he has family in Melbourne and is excited that I’m Australian. He tells me how his grandparents were refugees and we have to help these people. The kindness in his voice when he responds to the same questions over and over again shows much more patience then I could muster. I think of the video footage of Australian staff at detention centres that was leaked and I cringe. Maybe part of our problem is that we’ve always just had it so good people really believe hardship is not being able to afford a second car. Australians can say things like send them back and ‘stop the boats’ while Antonis can say ‘we know what they have seen’.

Fatima and Ahmoud are a young Kurdish couple who left Syria a month ago. When I ask if they were afraid of the government or ISIS or the rebels Ahmoud waves his hand dismissively and says ‘that kill that and that kill that and they kill me’. So many threats exist that discussing who is responsible has become irrelevant. They have a two month old baby, and for this reason Ahmoud paid 2300 pp to travel to Greece in a new boat. He responds to many of my questions with ‘because I have a baby’, and tells me he saved money for two years and sold his house and all their jewellery to afford the ticket. They spent 20 days in Turkey where they were harassed by the police and the army. Ahmoud tells me that he didn’t sleep for almost three weeks because he had to stay awake and guard their family to make sure his wife and daughter were safe. Eventually a smuggler picked them up from Istanbul and they drove for 9 hours in the dark to Izmir. Crying, terrified, they were put on the boat for Greece. They are heading to Sweden where Ahmoud’s older brother is. His hopes for the future are simple, he wants his daughter to be able to go to school, and he wants to have a life.

I ask them about their wedding and Ahmoud tells me that they couldn’t have a real party because of the war. He seems incredibly protective of Fatima and doesn’t let go of her the whole time we talk. He grows bashful as he explains he wanted to marry her when they first met, but it took him two years to work up the courage. Fatima doesn’t speak any English, but seems to understand this as she looks at me and rolls her eyes. Ahmoud was a chef in a French restaurant in Syria, but he is nervous about finding a job in Europe because he cannot work with pork and is worried this will stop someone from hiring him. I ask if they want to have more kids and he says yes, but only one, he is firm that two is enough. I ask if they would ever go back to Syria and his face contorts into a pained expression. He says that he wants his daughter to see his home, ‘but right now it is too empty’.

Being white the refugees think I am working there and assume that I know what is going on. One man comes up and asks for my help connecting to the wifi. He is trying to reach his family in Afghanistan to tell them that he has arrived safely with his son. This is like the blind leading the blind and all I manage to do is run his battery down while trying to find the setting on his phone. A little girl has no socks or shoes and here I am slightly more helpful in finding something for her feet. People are consistently asking for blankets and tonight for some reason there aren’t any, but they are offered extra warm clothing before they cross over. One woman from Nigeria asks me for a carton, she has three babies with her and doesn’t want to put them on the cold floor.

The scene is incredibly multicultural. I meet people from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Eritrea. My new friend Antonis tells me that yesterday they had a group from the Dominican Republic pass through. I walk with one group to the border and it is the strangest feeling. I’ve crossed many borders on foot, but this crossing, in the dark and with authorities herding everyone through like cattle, feels like something out of an apocalypse film.

photo 2

Crossing on the FYROM side of the border

Despite suggestions that I disguise myself as a refugee and sneak across the border illegally I choose not to do that, although an interesting idea I’m not quite keen on spending a night in a Macedonian jail. So this morning I went to the official crossing and then travelled back to the unofficial one on the FYROM side. My Greek taxi driver and the hotel owner were quite concerned that I did not have a visa. I assured them that I am Australian and this is no problem. They asked me if I checked and I lie and tell them of course I have, only a stupid idiot who has never travelled before wouldn’t check if they needed a visa to go into a new country. Luckily I turned out to be right, but for a few seconds I had a slight fear of being turned back to where I came from. It’s not a nice feeling even if in my situation it only would have been a minor inconvenience.

The border between Greece and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia

The border between Greece and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia

At the train station in Gevgelja there are buses and taxis everywhere. The refugees cross and those without lots of children take a taxi while large families wait for a train. Drivers don’t charge for young children, but this means they are reluctant to take more than one in a car load. And the police will fine them if they are caught with too many people. I manage to walk past the first line of security without being noticed and cross the tracks trying to look as not-blonde and fair as possible, but have to turn around. My choice to do things officially turned out to be a wise one because almost immediately I was racially profiled by the police and had my passport checked. Macedonia has been doing everything to stop people accessing the camps and they are not impressed with my presence. Without official accreditation, which I don’t have, or official permission from the police, which I couldn’t get, you are not supposed to be there. I explain that I am just trying to get a taxi and want to go to Serbia and they calm down once they see my passport is stamped. But my place is clear, ‘these buses are not for you, here is Syrian people, normal peoples bus is over there’.

41.145189 22.499747

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

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

11 Wednesday Nov 2015

Posted by Kate Brooks in Economics, Politics, Refugees

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

asylum, australia, discrimination, EU, followtherefugees, greece, human rights, humanitarianism, immigration, middle east, openeuborders, refugees, refugeesgr, refugeeswelcome, safepassage, syria, united nations, war

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.

41.122493 22.510477

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

Redefining the Norm

14 Tuesday Aug 2012

Posted by Kate Brooks in All, Politics, Religion

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

christianity, church, discrimination, gay rights, marriage

I’m not one to espouse the virtues of matrimony. I never dreamt of a big wedding or a white dress or a frosted cake. (Although I do love cake) There was a moment when I liked the idea of marriage, but I think that in our world we should be able to love and commit without a piece of paper, and I think that over time the piece of paper has come to mean less and less. And frankly, I want something more than that. Of course not everyone one is as lucky as me. Despite the fact that I have zero desire to marry, and no one with whom I would want to, if I so wished tomorrow I could pick some random off the street, and if he was willing we could be married in a matter of hours. Yet a girl exactly like me, who has been in a loving relationship with another woman for years, is not able to choose not to marry the person that she loves. We tell this girl that her relationship is not as valid, or meaningful, or sacred, because the person that she loves happens to share the same genitalia. We tell her that because she is attracted to women and not men, she is not allowed to access one of the most fundamental and ancient rights known to mankind. And we tell her that she shouldn’t complain about this, because we’ve created a different institution for her to be a part of.

‘Calm down’, we say ‘Don’t you know that you can get a civil union? It’s pretty much exactly the same thing- just for people like you’. Or in the words of our esteemed Prime Minister, rest assured that you don’t need to get married, because she doesn’t believe it’s necessary, you shouldn’t either. Despite sharing a very similar view of the institution as our Prime Minister, I don’t see the automatic causation to denying people the right to participate in something I don’t value.

Following Barack Obama’s rather unsurprising revelation that his position on gay marriage has ‘evolved’ to one of support, the after effects are reverberating around the world. From predictable admiration and support out of tinsel town, to the inevitable conservative fear mongering from those terrified of change; reaction has been far reaching and varied.

As expected, one group who has had plenty to say on the topic, are Christians. While there are without question plenty of practising Christians who support the right of a man to love a man and a woman to love a woman, sadly these individuals do not speak loudly or often enough. On the other hand, the deafening cries of the Church in defence of ‘traditional’ marriage and supposed family values can scarcely be avoided.

Mainstream Christianity and its representatives seem to want to have it both ways. In their panicked rhetoric against gay marriage they simultaneously argue that removing further barriers to equal rights will endanger future generations by normalising same sex relationships, as well as feigning concern over how children growing up with two parents of the same sex will handle school yard bullying. God watch over the child with gay parents who is bound to be picked on for coming from a different family background, but heaven forbid that gay relations be normalised by society and shield that child in the first place. Not to mention that this argument completely ignores and even devalues the diverse array of families that exist in today’s society. In a world where the nuclear family structure has long been outnumbered by single guardians, remarried parents and situations where other family members act as the main caregiver, can we really still entertain the notion that any type of structure differing from mum and dad and the kids is a threat to our community? 

As is often the case, surely the best answer is the most simple. Kids are not born with prejudice and judgement; these are things that they learn, from their parents, their teachers, from role models in society. Teach your children not to discriminate and judge. Or why not take a leaf out of your own book and just tell them to love their neighbour? The golden rule writes as simple as that, with no qualifying clause excluding individuals based on who they love. If you teach your children that every family is different and that the most important thing is that we respect each other and those differences, the worst result is that we end up with a more tolerant world, a more accepting future and people less inclined to hate and fear each other.

Of course such an argument won’t appease those who believe that any physical love between two people of the same sex is inherently wrong. On the contrary, the idea that people will not automatically judge minority groups in society will be abhorrent to many who claim to exemplify the virtues of Christianity. But on what basis do religious groups feel they can claim a monopoly over the institution of marriage? Marriage has existed in various shapes and forms since the dawn of time, originally as a union for largely economic purposes. Christianity’s cries to be protecting the historical sacredness of the institution are just not sustained by fact. Once again we are witness to human being’s inability to learn from the past. As every single example in history shows; separate but equal doesn’t work; because separate is never equal. And as most examples of discrimination in history show, just as we look back with shame on a time where black people couldn’t marry white, so too we will look back on the present day and hang our heads with embarrassment that we didn’t recognise the love between a man and a man and a woman and a woman. That we entertained ludicrous comparisons with polygamy or buggery; ignoring the fact that none of these circumstances are simply about two human beings who love each other and wish to celebrate that love.

Because surely this is all that it should come down to; surely in a world with so much hatred and so many problems we should embrace at every opportunity that we can, two individuals who want to celebrate their love. Whether they choose to do it by signing a piece of paper or not. Wouldn’t it be great if the Church was so vocal against real evils?  One might question why we rarely see groups of Christians handing out material against child abuse, or paedophilia, or campaigning for women’s rights, or sprouting wisdom on how Christianity can work in a modern context with reproductive health. Instead we have church leaders like the Anglican Archbishop of Sydney claiming that same sex marriage is detrimental to society, lamenting that should it become legal, “it would be impossible to teach in the classroom that marriage is exclusively for male and female”. A travesty indeed.

An extract of this piece can be found on; http://www.dailydissident.com/author/kate/

Share this:

  • Tweet
  • Email
  • Print
  • More
  • Pocket
  • Share on Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

What’s this?

Forever intrepid gypsy at heart. Lover of pasta, the ocean, yoga and red wine. Believer in human rights, international law and justice. Can't sing, spell or cook. Terrified of snakes and diets. Views are my own.
Follow cheztopflight on WordPress.com

@MsKBrooks

My Tweets

Recent Posts

  • Stateless
  • I love a sunburnt country, Her beauty and her terror
  • This is why you’re not supposed to get into cars with strangers
  • ‘You explain me, here is not the worst’
  • I did not want to go back to the Jungle
March 2023
M T W T F S S
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  
« Jul    

Categories

  • All
  • Economics
  • Politics
  • Refugees
  • Religion
  • Travel

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • cheztopflight
    • Join 27 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • cheztopflight
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...
 

    %d bloggers like this: