I started a blog post a couple of days ago that I was really excited to write because I was feeling so positive about the topic, but I was falling asleep writing it and decided to finish it the next day--yesterday.
But then yesterday was awful.
The heat was oppressive, and in camp, amid the dirt and dust, and with all the glare off the pavement and the metal housing, no trees, no grass, trying to breathe felt like a struggle. Walking from the metro station, through the noisy flea market with Barbie and Monopoly and Dora the Explorer and Star Wars reminders of the globalization that accounted, at least in part, for the desperate poverty of those selling their dumpster-dived wares on dirty blankets in front of deserted and dilapidated industrial buildings baking in the sun was kind of horrifying. I was already drained by the time I reached the refugee camp.
Nothing went well yesterday. The camp of 1,500 probably has 800-900 children in it--children who have lived their whole lives in the horrors of war, children who left war behind only to become refugees--no school, no real home, impoverished, their parents on edge all the time...children without childhoods.
We volunteers try to do our best. We organize activities, dole out juice on the occasions we get enough for everybody, give hugs, whatever might alleviate the boredom and poverty and insecurity that is the day-to-day reality of refugee life, but there are only about 30 of us on any given day--sometimes even fewer, and resources are scarce. Many of the parents have trouble coping, too, and need our help with the children. They made the enormous decision to flee their homes and throw themselves on the mercy of a world which has ultimately shown little mercy. The world debates their future and they have no say over it. They traded the life-threatening horror of war for the life-eroding horror of human smugglers, a perilous sea journey, and an overcrowded, under-supplied camp with the hope of reaching a safe haven and a chance to restart their lives.
But then, one by one, the borders started closing. Nobody wanted them. Nobody was willing to share their nation. Very few actually gave a damn.
And now, after months of living in a ghetto many are losing hope. Some talk of going back to Syria or Afghanistan, of risking bombs rather than continue their refugee existence without recourse or dignity, dependent.
And at times, like when the heat is as oppressive as it was yesterday, or the movie doesn't work like it didn't last night, the fear and the tensions and the anger and the despair are palpable. The children almost rioted over the movie and the respective parents of fighting children themselves began to fight.
It was a day where everything went wrong. It was a day that made me question why the hell I was putting myself through this when I could so easily ignore it all. It was a day that ended as dismally as it began, as I walked back to the metro by mountains of garbage, limping on a swollen painful ankle from a cluster of bites from who knows what, despairing that there was anything they, or I, or anyone could really do.
I took the day off today. My ankle was huge and inflamed and I couldn't put on my shoe, but more than I needed to rest my ankle, I needed to rest my eyes from the sights, my nose from the smells, and my heart from the hurt. My ankle benefitted from the rest and the swelling has gone down significantly, though it is still hot and painful, but my heart doesn't feel any better.
Today, via the Whatsapp of the Better Days at Moria group I was with on Lesvos, I heard the news that thousands of refugees and aid workers were evacuated as tents were burned in the camp. BBC said a riot started at the news that there would be mass deportations.
No, my heart doesn't feel any better. Some days it's hard to find any hope. Some days I despair. What have any of us done to deserve this?
Monday, September 19, 2016
Saturday, September 17, 2016
How Spelling My Name Wrong is Opening Doors
In the babble of languages spoken in the refugee camps, English is the lingua franca. Since I really only speak English, I lucked out. The refugees' native languages include Arabic, Farsi (both Iranian and Afghan), Urdu, Kurdish, Pashtu, French... while the volunteers' include English, German, Greek, Dutch, French, Spanish, Polish... Communication can be awfully difficult and frustrating at times, but sometimes funny attempts to exchange information can also build friendships.
We volunteers wear nametags, and of course I've written my name in English on the badge, but I also added my name in Arabic. Farsi shares (mostly) an alphabet/script with Arabic, and as I can write my name in Arabic-- سارة -- I added that as well. What I didn't realize is that Sara in Farsi appears to be spelled slightly differently than Sara in Arabic. The letters in Arabic are sin, aleph, ra, ta marbuta (the round one with the dots over it on the left) while in Farsi, it's spelled sin, aleph, ra, aleph, or سارا
My misspelling (in Farsi) has become a conversation starter with a lot of Afghans and Iranians, and when they find out I have a few words of Farsi they really appreciate it, but wonder why. When I tell them I used to live in Iran, the Afghans are mildly interested, but the Iranians instantly become lifelong friends.
Most of the refugees have some English by this point--the first word they all seem to learn is "problem", and the children, of course, are learning particularly quickly, but many only have about as much English as I have Farsi or Arabic. In other words, barely enough to be useful. One of my personal goals for this round of work is to teach English. Education doesn't really fall under the purview of Project Elea, but every interaction is an opportunity to help with language.
As word has gotten round among the Iranians in camp that I used to live in Iran and speak a (very) few words of Farsi, more and more are approaching me for help. To my delight, much of my work day in the camp is now spent sitting and chatting with various Iranians, swapping languages. My Farsi is improving, and I hope I'm improving their English. To give them that skill, or to enhance it, would be reward enough, but we get so much more than language from the exhange.
A couple of days ago I sat talking and laughing with two young men in a back and forth mix of English and Farsi, until I was called away to help an Iranian woman with English. We wrote simple sentences in her notebook--"Hello, how are you?", "I am fine, thank you.", "My name is...", "What is your name?", "I have a son named...". Again, there was much bonding and laughter over our bungled attempts at each others' language.
Then yesterday, while knocking on doors to share information about an activity we had planned for women (carrying a paper with the info written in English, French, Arabic, and Farsi), I met an Iranian man who wanted to learn to dance. He complained about his muscles being tight, and knowing we offered yoga for men, but not knowing the exact time, I offered to return after the women's activity with the day and time men's yoga was scheduled.
As promised, I returned a couple of hours later to tell him yoga was on Tuesdays at 6 pm. He invited me in for tea, and I sat with him and two other Iranian men, answering questions, practicing English, and, as always in these situations, laughing a lot. It turns out he didn't just want to stretch; he wants to learn ballroom dance! Project Elea doesn't have that in the schedule now, but who knows? Maybe at some point we can offer it. Some other volunteers told me that a former volunteer kept offering to teach the Lindy Hop, so you never know. Ironically, it was in Iran that I studied ballroom dance.
Anyway, all these attempts at language, by virtually everybody in camp, volunteers and refugees alike, are all attempts at understanding each other. And after all, isn't that the goal? Makes me glad I don't know how to spell my name.
We volunteers wear nametags, and of course I've written my name in English on the badge, but I also added my name in Arabic. Farsi shares (mostly) an alphabet/script with Arabic, and as I can write my name in Arabic-- سارة -- I added that as well. What I didn't realize is that Sara in Farsi appears to be spelled slightly differently than Sara in Arabic. The letters in Arabic are sin, aleph, ra, ta marbuta (the round one with the dots over it on the left) while in Farsi, it's spelled sin, aleph, ra, aleph, or سارا
My misspelling (in Farsi) has become a conversation starter with a lot of Afghans and Iranians, and when they find out I have a few words of Farsi they really appreciate it, but wonder why. When I tell them I used to live in Iran, the Afghans are mildly interested, but the Iranians instantly become lifelong friends.
Most of the refugees have some English by this point--the first word they all seem to learn is "problem", and the children, of course, are learning particularly quickly, but many only have about as much English as I have Farsi or Arabic. In other words, barely enough to be useful. One of my personal goals for this round of work is to teach English. Education doesn't really fall under the purview of Project Elea, but every interaction is an opportunity to help with language.
As word has gotten round among the Iranians in camp that I used to live in Iran and speak a (very) few words of Farsi, more and more are approaching me for help. To my delight, much of my work day in the camp is now spent sitting and chatting with various Iranians, swapping languages. My Farsi is improving, and I hope I'm improving their English. To give them that skill, or to enhance it, would be reward enough, but we get so much more than language from the exhange.
A couple of days ago I sat talking and laughing with two young men in a back and forth mix of English and Farsi, until I was called away to help an Iranian woman with English. We wrote simple sentences in her notebook--"Hello, how are you?", "I am fine, thank you.", "My name is...", "What is your name?", "I have a son named...". Again, there was much bonding and laughter over our bungled attempts at each others' language.
Then yesterday, while knocking on doors to share information about an activity we had planned for women (carrying a paper with the info written in English, French, Arabic, and Farsi), I met an Iranian man who wanted to learn to dance. He complained about his muscles being tight, and knowing we offered yoga for men, but not knowing the exact time, I offered to return after the women's activity with the day and time men's yoga was scheduled.
As promised, I returned a couple of hours later to tell him yoga was on Tuesdays at 6 pm. He invited me in for tea, and I sat with him and two other Iranian men, answering questions, practicing English, and, as always in these situations, laughing a lot. It turns out he didn't just want to stretch; he wants to learn ballroom dance! Project Elea doesn't have that in the schedule now, but who knows? Maybe at some point we can offer it. Some other volunteers told me that a former volunteer kept offering to teach the Lindy Hop, so you never know. Ironically, it was in Iran that I studied ballroom dance.
Anyway, all these attempts at language, by virtually everybody in camp, volunteers and refugees alike, are all attempts at understanding each other. And after all, isn't that the goal? Makes me glad I don't know how to spell my name.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Back in Greece; Working in Athens
I've been back in Greece almost a week now after a three month stay back in San Francisco, but it already feels like much longer. I'm in Athens this time, rather than on Lesvos, working in a camp in the industrial neighborhood of Eleonas. It's an official government camp, with very little NGO presence--MSF pulled out not long ago over some dispute in the way the camp was operated--but a volunteer group called the Elea project works there trying to make the camp more livable for the residents. Currently there are about 1,500 people living in the camp, and another 750 in a different camp right next to it. The other camp is run by the military with no volunteer presence, but I've heard they're slated to be joined, and our population will include the second camp. I also heard that the wall between them will stay up, though. I don't know why. It seems counterproductive.
In many ways the camp is much better than either Moria, the official registration camp on Lesvos (now a detention center) where I worked, or the spillover, volunteer run, Better Days for Moria camp. If you've read earlier blogs you know that in Moria, housing consisted of overcrowded, tiny Ikea huts without electricity, and that housing at Better Days was in tents, also without electricity, though charging stations were available at both camps. But the electricity supplied shipping container houses at Eleonas are much nicer. They have private bathrooms affording some privacy to the residents. Many have beds with mattresses, though some are still sleeping on thin, yoga-style mats.
The geography of the camp is much different too. Instead of hilly, rocky, and muddy, the land is flat, graveled or paved, and dusty, and the flatness makes the area of the camp consequently seem much bigger. There is room for sports and biking, which the residents very much enjoy, although the women have asked for an area where they can play sports in relative privacy, and that might not be possible.
A few trees have been planted, but they provide no shade yet. A garden area is in the works, with herbs and flowers. I haven't seen or heard of any vegetables being planted yet, but food distribution here doesn't just consist of prepared meals but includes occasional fruit or vegetables--apples, potatoes, tomatoes, onions... as well as packages of bread at every meal. Since volunteers work only until 10:30 pm when we all have to leave the camp, breakfast is distributed with dinner. Everybody complains about the prepared meals, and they are far worse than those on Lesvos. When I did food distribution two days ago, the meal was potatoes in tomato sauce. Starchy foods like rice and potatoes are the staple. Meat is served once a week.
Other than the sports area and equipment, the volunteers have started a number of activities for the residents. I have been involved in a women's expression group, run by a young Spanish psychologist, henna night (where seven- and ten-year-old Afghan refugees Shabanaz and Maida decorated my hands, and I decorated others), movie night (Kung Fu Panda--the kids loved it), and some game playing. There are also yoga and fitness classes, a bike workshop, a football tournament (that's soccer to my US readers), story time, and various other activities of the like. Some English classes just started for the children, but I haven't been involved yet. My main project, and the one I'm most excited about, at Eleonas will be setting up a library. Currently, though, the only container building we have access to for the library serves as a storage area for clothes and toys.
The weather is just beginning to cool a little, so winter clothes distribution will start soon, but clothing distribution in general is not an everyday task as it was on Lesvos. Here the refugees know they will be staying some time (though they all desperately want to move on) and there is space to do laundry. Clean wet clothes hang to dry between the rows of shipping container houses, some of which are beginning to reflect their inhabitants' aesthetics, with curtains, or a few plants. I have yet to be inside one, though Farah, a lovely Iranian woman, has invited me for tea any time. According to the ministry rules, we are only allowed to stay 15 minutes inside a refugee's home.
There are already toys floating around, but the Project Elea team is still trying to figure out an equitable way to distribute the toys that are in storage in our future library. Apparently, too, nobody wants to distribute the pile of donated Barbies. I understand their concerns, but if the decision were mine, I would go ahead and give them out. Unrealistic Barbie is not that big a deal compared to what these children have seen, and bringing them some happiness is important.
This post has taken me two days to write--yesterday I spent most of the day looking for an apartment--and now it's time to go to camp. I'll try to write more often. As always, thanks for reading, thanks for caring.
In many ways the camp is much better than either Moria, the official registration camp on Lesvos (now a detention center) where I worked, or the spillover, volunteer run, Better Days for Moria camp. If you've read earlier blogs you know that in Moria, housing consisted of overcrowded, tiny Ikea huts without electricity, and that housing at Better Days was in tents, also without electricity, though charging stations were available at both camps. But the electricity supplied shipping container houses at Eleonas are much nicer. They have private bathrooms affording some privacy to the residents. Many have beds with mattresses, though some are still sleeping on thin, yoga-style mats.
The geography of the camp is much different too. Instead of hilly, rocky, and muddy, the land is flat, graveled or paved, and dusty, and the flatness makes the area of the camp consequently seem much bigger. There is room for sports and biking, which the residents very much enjoy, although the women have asked for an area where they can play sports in relative privacy, and that might not be possible.
A few trees have been planted, but they provide no shade yet. A garden area is in the works, with herbs and flowers. I haven't seen or heard of any vegetables being planted yet, but food distribution here doesn't just consist of prepared meals but includes occasional fruit or vegetables--apples, potatoes, tomatoes, onions... as well as packages of bread at every meal. Since volunteers work only until 10:30 pm when we all have to leave the camp, breakfast is distributed with dinner. Everybody complains about the prepared meals, and they are far worse than those on Lesvos. When I did food distribution two days ago, the meal was potatoes in tomato sauce. Starchy foods like rice and potatoes are the staple. Meat is served once a week.
Other than the sports area and equipment, the volunteers have started a number of activities for the residents. I have been involved in a women's expression group, run by a young Spanish psychologist, henna night (where seven- and ten-year-old Afghan refugees Shabanaz and Maida decorated my hands, and I decorated others), movie night (Kung Fu Panda--the kids loved it), and some game playing. There are also yoga and fitness classes, a bike workshop, a football tournament (that's soccer to my US readers), story time, and various other activities of the like. Some English classes just started for the children, but I haven't been involved yet. My main project, and the one I'm most excited about, at Eleonas will be setting up a library. Currently, though, the only container building we have access to for the library serves as a storage area for clothes and toys.
The weather is just beginning to cool a little, so winter clothes distribution will start soon, but clothing distribution in general is not an everyday task as it was on Lesvos. Here the refugees know they will be staying some time (though they all desperately want to move on) and there is space to do laundry. Clean wet clothes hang to dry between the rows of shipping container houses, some of which are beginning to reflect their inhabitants' aesthetics, with curtains, or a few plants. I have yet to be inside one, though Farah, a lovely Iranian woman, has invited me for tea any time. According to the ministry rules, we are only allowed to stay 15 minutes inside a refugee's home.
There are already toys floating around, but the Project Elea team is still trying to figure out an equitable way to distribute the toys that are in storage in our future library. Apparently, too, nobody wants to distribute the pile of donated Barbies. I understand their concerns, but if the decision were mine, I would go ahead and give them out. Unrealistic Barbie is not that big a deal compared to what these children have seen, and bringing them some happiness is important.
This post has taken me two days to write--yesterday I spent most of the day looking for an apartment--and now it's time to go to camp. I'll try to write more often. As always, thanks for reading, thanks for caring.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Deportations in the Dark: A Report from a Refugee Camp
It's 4:30 am here and I've just spent the last half an hour messaging with a friend who was taken to one of the Greek mainland camps near Kavala. What he told me is seriously disturbing.
About ten minutes before he messaged me, between 3 and 4 am, over fifty Pakistanis were taken from the camp for deportation. Apparently this is the second middle-of-the-night deportation from the camp at Paranesti Drama, outside Kavala. According to my friend, all those taken for deportation had signed papers requesting asylum, and all of them had been given papers saying they would be there for 6 months to a year. None of those taken for deportation had a lawyer. And since they were at the camp at Paranesti Drama, they arrived in Greece prior to the EU-Turkey deal which began on March 20, and were therefore all eligible to request asylum.
This appears to be in contravention of the policy saying that all who requested asylum would get fair treatment on a case-by-case basis, as there has not been time for claims to be properly assessed and processed.
Moreover, the paper saying the refugees would/could be there for six months to a year should be the paper they receive after requesting asylum and giving them temporary status for the length stated in the paper.
I am not absolutely certain this paper is that document though because my friend can't send me a photo of the document. None of the refugees at Paranesti Drama have phones anymore. He told me that when they arrived at the camp in northern Greece on March 26 their cell phones were all taken away, and that they were told by the Greek police running the camp that if they wanted their phones back they could have them after they (the Greek police) had disabled the cameras.
My friend further reported that they were only fed once a day, that (like in Moria) the food was inadequate, that there were no proper doctors, and that it was like a jail. There are no volunteers, NGOs, or media present.
I have promised to help to the best of my ability, and am writing to every contact I have in various NGOs that were working in Moria, and every press contact I have. If any of you reading this have any good contacts, please pass on the information.
About ten minutes before he messaged me, between 3 and 4 am, over fifty Pakistanis were taken from the camp for deportation. Apparently this is the second middle-of-the-night deportation from the camp at Paranesti Drama, outside Kavala. According to my friend, all those taken for deportation had signed papers requesting asylum, and all of them had been given papers saying they would be there for 6 months to a year. None of those taken for deportation had a lawyer. And since they were at the camp at Paranesti Drama, they arrived in Greece prior to the EU-Turkey deal which began on March 20, and were therefore all eligible to request asylum.
This appears to be in contravention of the policy saying that all who requested asylum would get fair treatment on a case-by-case basis, as there has not been time for claims to be properly assessed and processed.
Moreover, the paper saying the refugees would/could be there for six months to a year should be the paper they receive after requesting asylum and giving them temporary status for the length stated in the paper.
I am not absolutely certain this paper is that document though because my friend can't send me a photo of the document. None of the refugees at Paranesti Drama have phones anymore. He told me that when they arrived at the camp in northern Greece on March 26 their cell phones were all taken away, and that they were told by the Greek police running the camp that if they wanted their phones back they could have them after they (the Greek police) had disabled the cameras.
My friend further reported that they were only fed once a day, that (like in Moria) the food was inadequate, that there were no proper doctors, and that it was like a jail. There are no volunteers, NGOs, or media present.
I have promised to help to the best of my ability, and am writing to every contact I have in various NGOs that were working in Moria, and every press contact I have. If any of you reading this have any good contacts, please pass on the information.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Report from Moria
I realize I'm not writing these days; I don't feel like there's much to say. But I still keep up with events in Mytilini and Moria through a Whatsapp group.
Conditions inside Moria have been getting progressively worse. I think I told you all about the hunger strike a couple of weeks ago. Many issues have revolved around food. There hasn't been enough of it, the police running the camp apparently don't really know how to distribute it, and judging from the photos uploaded to the group, the food has been less than satisfactory.
Conditions inside Moria have been getting progressively worse. I think I told you all about the hunger strike a couple of weeks ago. Many issues have revolved around food. There hasn't been enough of it, the police running the camp apparently don't really know how to distribute it, and judging from the photos uploaded to the group, the food has been less than satisfactory.
Pile of rejected food from the hunger strike. They look like hot dogs.
Photo by someone known to me only as Secoady in the group
Meals in Moria: bread and potatoes, bread and pasta
Photos by Sham Jutt
One of the refugees who used to stay at Better Days for Moria, a Pakistani, Sham, has been regularly reporting from inside about the worsening conditions. A few days ago he reported that after asking a policeman why he put two people in front of him in the food line, the policeman kicked him and said "Fuck you, I'm an officer and management and who are you? Garbage Pakistani?" and our friend didn't get food.
Photo of the police coming after Sham with his nightstick out
Photo by Sham Jutt
Though food has been a point of contention, it's certainly not all about food. The following short video, also taken by Sham I think, captures part of one of the protests inside Moria this month.
As I told you before, most NGOs pulled out of Moria when it became a detention center, though EuroRelief was still inside. Amnesty International was granted access in early April, just after the first deportations started on the fourth. Human Rights Watch went in shortly thereafter, I think. I know they went in, but I'm not sure exactly when. However, it doesn't seem to have made much difference to conditions inside. Where it may have made a difference, though I'm not sure, is that a few days ago Moria, and the camp VIOL on the Greek island of Chios, opened their gates, allowing refugees some freedom of movement.
However, there were many people still locked up. A majority of the Pakistanis (who have been treated especially badly throughout this whole mess) and for some unfathomable reason the unaccompanied minors who are supposed to be under the aegis of the UNHCR.
Sham reported this morning that there was a riot or near riot around food distribution again. He said that Syrian and Afghan men with rocks and iron (I'm not sure what the iron was) started a big fight in the distribution line, that the stones were "coming like rain", and that many people were injured. Sham also said there were only three or four policemen there, and two or three army men, and that very few people got food.
Then around 5:00 this afternoon, reports started coming in from volunteers who were near the camp that there was another riot situation, that people were throwing stones at the police and that police had responded with tear gas.
Apparently, the riot started when the unaccompanied minors (I'm certain my friend--the trauma victim of an earlier post--was in on this, possibly one of the instigators) broke out of their cells. I don't blame them at all for breaking out; the fact that they were locked up at all is unconscionable.
Reports said a fence was torn down, fires started, and offices broken into. EASO (European Asylum Support Office), EuroRelief, Moria's director, and refugees receiving medical care were all evacuated. The latest reports say that the refugees are now in complete control of the camp and were apparently broadcasting "Freedom, Freedom" over the loudspeakers.
I hope they get their freedom. All of them.
UPDATE
The refugees are still in control of the camp, but there have been many injuries. Ambulances did arrive to take out wounded people. Apparently there are many fires as well, and the police were being driven out of camp. It's inspirational that they were able to stand up for their rights, but I'm terrified of what will likely happen tomorrow. The authorities are apparently already talking about mass deportations without redress, but I fear there will be much violence. Below is a photo taken inside the camp this afternoon.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Last Days on Lesvos--for so many
Again I must apologize for falling behind in my posts. After everything fell apart in Lesvos, I was pretty sick, exhausted, and depressed again. I think we all felt like we had been hit with a tsunami--that everything we had worked for was swept away by a force far too large to resist with any success.
People are still there resisting, though. Refugees, volunteers, NGO staff, local residents... But I couldn't stay and be part of that, though I love a good protest. My visa was about to expire and I had to leave enough time on it that I can go back to Athens for my flight out. I left about a week so I have time to check out the anarchist scene in Exarchia where squats are being set up for refugees. I hear it is especially busy now that the EU in its infinite wisdom decided to clear everybody out of the functioning camps and move them either to Athens or to some quickly erected make-shift camps all over mainland Greece. Especially since these camps have absolutely no facilities other than tents. No running water. No electricity or wi-fi (so no light or connection with friends, family...anyone). No medical services, distribution... Really, nothing.
One particularly problematic aspect of having no electricity or internet is that those seeking asylum (and they are all supposed to be able to) are given Skype appointments to request it. A little hard to keep a Skype appointment without wi-fi. Although, maybe it's a moot point, because according to all reports I've heard the Skype number doesn't work or isn't answered. Great. Good job EU. Missing an appointment through no fault of your own is a great way to deny asylum. It's so easy.
Ugh. What a mess. Deportations started on April 4th, but stopped on the 5th. Then they started again, but there haven't been that many. However, I heard today that the port of Piraeus (near Athens) is to be cleared out by Easter--the Greek Orthodox celebrate Easter May 1st this year) and the government has been trying to clear the makeshift camp at Idomeni on the Macedonian border. MSF does have a small camp there built to accommodate 1,500 people, but there have been up to ten times that many stuck there recently.
There have been thousands stuck there since the borders closed. Yesterday, apparently, a group tried to break through and the Macedonian police used tear gas and rubber bullets to stop it, wounding a lot of people in the process. People have tried to cross through the closed border before--last month two groups attempted to cross the river. In one group, that wasn't as organized, several people drowned. The other group used a cable, but were brought back as soon as they made it across.
Though I think the EU's deal with Turkey, and much of the way they've handled this has been awful, I still have to fault the US even more. Much of the blame for the crisis must be placed squarely on the shoulders of US policy. I found it incredible when a US State Department undersecretary (or something) showed up at Moria a couple of weeks ago--after it was turned into a detention camp. The State Department put out a statement saying they were very concerned about the refugee issue, but apparently not concerned enough to stop dropping bombs on half the world and making economic war on virtually all of it.
And still there are refugees coming here to Izmir hoping to cross into Greece and start a new life in Europe.
People are still there resisting, though. Refugees, volunteers, NGO staff, local residents... But I couldn't stay and be part of that, though I love a good protest. My visa was about to expire and I had to leave enough time on it that I can go back to Athens for my flight out. I left about a week so I have time to check out the anarchist scene in Exarchia where squats are being set up for refugees. I hear it is especially busy now that the EU in its infinite wisdom decided to clear everybody out of the functioning camps and move them either to Athens or to some quickly erected make-shift camps all over mainland Greece. Especially since these camps have absolutely no facilities other than tents. No running water. No electricity or wi-fi (so no light or connection with friends, family...anyone). No medical services, distribution... Really, nothing.
One particularly problematic aspect of having no electricity or internet is that those seeking asylum (and they are all supposed to be able to) are given Skype appointments to request it. A little hard to keep a Skype appointment without wi-fi. Although, maybe it's a moot point, because according to all reports I've heard the Skype number doesn't work or isn't answered. Great. Good job EU. Missing an appointment through no fault of your own is a great way to deny asylum. It's so easy.
Ugh. What a mess. Deportations started on April 4th, but stopped on the 5th. Then they started again, but there haven't been that many. However, I heard today that the port of Piraeus (near Athens) is to be cleared out by Easter--the Greek Orthodox celebrate Easter May 1st this year) and the government has been trying to clear the makeshift camp at Idomeni on the Macedonian border. MSF does have a small camp there built to accommodate 1,500 people, but there have been up to ten times that many stuck there recently.
There have been thousands stuck there since the borders closed. Yesterday, apparently, a group tried to break through and the Macedonian police used tear gas and rubber bullets to stop it, wounding a lot of people in the process. People have tried to cross through the closed border before--last month two groups attempted to cross the river. In one group, that wasn't as organized, several people drowned. The other group used a cable, but were brought back as soon as they made it across.
Though I think the EU's deal with Turkey, and much of the way they've handled this has been awful, I still have to fault the US even more. Much of the blame for the crisis must be placed squarely on the shoulders of US policy. I found it incredible when a US State Department undersecretary (or something) showed up at Moria a couple of weeks ago--after it was turned into a detention camp. The State Department put out a statement saying they were very concerned about the refugee issue, but apparently not concerned enough to stop dropping bombs on half the world and making economic war on virtually all of it.
And still there are refugees coming here to Izmir hoping to cross into Greece and start a new life in Europe.
Thursday, March 24, 2016
1,000 Cigarettes
Though writing my blog entry yesterday felt final, there are stories yet to tell, and I can't resist telling this short one, even if I am one of the stars of it.
On Sunday, I think--the week's been a blur--when the Pakistanis had held their meeting to discuss what they would do, and decided that they would go in to Moria quietly with heads held high, small groups began heading down the hill to the Syrian gate where they knew they were going into detention. There were some tears, lots of hugs and handshakes, a few brave jokes.
Our lovely tea tent people who passed out thousands of cups of tea and biscuits, and fed we volunteers three meals a day on virtually nothing, made up bags of goodies for those going inside--a packet of biscuits, a bottle of water, an apple, some chocolate...
I was really touched by that simple gesture, and it sparked a eureka moment. For weeks, those in the camp had been saying "Mother, one smoking please," to me. They mostly called me mother. They started out calling me grandmother, but I wasn't down for that. It became a bit of a standing joke at times; if they wanted a laugh they called me grandmother just to watch my reaction. Ha ha.
And often, I said no to their requests. I gave out a lot of cigarettes, but it's impossible to fund the smoking habit of hundreds of other people.
On this day though, it felt like the refugees left in the camp were condemned men. And the only thing I could offer them that they wanted was a cigarette. So I went to the kiosk near the entrance to BDFM and bought five packs of the cheapest cigarettes they had. Not anyone's favorite, but I could get so many more and there were so many people.
I stood next to the tea tent folks with their goody bags and started handing out cigarettes. I was mobbed. Clearly, it was something they really wanted.
Other volunteers started chipping in to buy more, and all day I kept replenishing my stock. At one point--the second time I was mobbed--I realized my method wasn't working well, so drawing on our strategy of teaching about queuing by saying "Line, line," as we secured places in the food line, I yelled line. Lots of laughs, but it worked. People began lining up. Some of them asked for two, but I wouldn't give more than one per person. There were just too many people. Then some of them began getting in line a second time, using little tricks like adding a jacket or pulling up a hood in the hopes I wouldn't recognize them.
I'm sure some of them got away with it, but it was all pretty high spirited.
By the time I left camp at 1:30 am, I had given away at least 1,000 cigarettes. That's 50 packs.
The next morning I gave away my last two packs. For a minute, anyway, I was able to give them something they really wanted.
Thanks to you all who donated for helping me do this, including the kiosk man who gave me a discount on the last packs, and donated a lighter. There are nice people everywhere.
On Sunday, I think--the week's been a blur--when the Pakistanis had held their meeting to discuss what they would do, and decided that they would go in to Moria quietly with heads held high, small groups began heading down the hill to the Syrian gate where they knew they were going into detention. There were some tears, lots of hugs and handshakes, a few brave jokes.
Our lovely tea tent people who passed out thousands of cups of tea and biscuits, and fed we volunteers three meals a day on virtually nothing, made up bags of goodies for those going inside--a packet of biscuits, a bottle of water, an apple, some chocolate...
I was really touched by that simple gesture, and it sparked a eureka moment. For weeks, those in the camp had been saying "Mother, one smoking please," to me. They mostly called me mother. They started out calling me grandmother, but I wasn't down for that. It became a bit of a standing joke at times; if they wanted a laugh they called me grandmother just to watch my reaction. Ha ha.
And often, I said no to their requests. I gave out a lot of cigarettes, but it's impossible to fund the smoking habit of hundreds of other people.
On this day though, it felt like the refugees left in the camp were condemned men. And the only thing I could offer them that they wanted was a cigarette. So I went to the kiosk near the entrance to BDFM and bought five packs of the cheapest cigarettes they had. Not anyone's favorite, but I could get so many more and there were so many people.
I stood next to the tea tent folks with their goody bags and started handing out cigarettes. I was mobbed. Clearly, it was something they really wanted.
Other volunteers started chipping in to buy more, and all day I kept replenishing my stock. At one point--the second time I was mobbed--I realized my method wasn't working well, so drawing on our strategy of teaching about queuing by saying "Line, line," as we secured places in the food line, I yelled line. Lots of laughs, but it worked. People began lining up. Some of them asked for two, but I wouldn't give more than one per person. There were just too many people. Then some of them began getting in line a second time, using little tricks like adding a jacket or pulling up a hood in the hopes I wouldn't recognize them.
I'm sure some of them got away with it, but it was all pretty high spirited.
By the time I left camp at 1:30 am, I had given away at least 1,000 cigarettes. That's 50 packs.
The next morning I gave away my last two packs. For a minute, anyway, I was able to give them something they really wanted.
Thanks to you all who donated for helping me do this, including the kiosk man who gave me a discount on the last packs, and donated a lighter. There are nice people everywhere.
photo by Emily Smith
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