The Horrors of Lesbos: On the Front Lines of Fortress Europe
Friday, 06 November 2015 00:00 By Harriet Paintin and Hannah Kirmes-Daly,
ROAR Magazine | Report
Boats and life jackets left by migrants on a beach on the island of Lesbos
in Greece, November 2, 2015. Despite rough seas and colder weather, the flow
of migrants out of the Middle East to Europe has continued unabated even
though winter has made the journey especially perilous. (Mauricio Lima / The
New York Times)
Nothing could have prepared us for the night when approximately 300 people
were shipwrecked off the coast of Lesbos.
Boatloads of people were brought in by the coastguard. Everyone was drenched
to the bone, hypothermic, screaming the names of family members who had
perished. Medics and volunteers desperately attempted to revive the
unconscious.
One moment I was consoling a young man, shuddering and shaking in my arms,
as he cried out, "my brother, my brother, I have lost my brother, our boat
was broken, two hours at sea," the next I was wrapping my arms around a
woman screaming and banging her head against the wall, her eyes wide in
shock, desperation and grief.
Another woman slipped in and out of consciousness, coughing up salty sea
water, her lips blue, shaking under the pile of blankets on top of her.
Another refused to let us change her out of her soaking wet clothes, refused
water, food and warm tea, until she found her two-month-old baby. Nearly
everybody that night lost a family member to the sea.
Nevertheless, the striking image of refugees piling out of rubber dinghies
on the shores of Greek islands is by now a familiar one. We are familiar
with the dangers posed by the treacherous sea crossing, with so many
refugees perishing. We know of the extortionate rates charged by smugglers
($1,000-$2,000 per person, compared to 20 euros for the ferry), we know
about the war zones, torture and persecution that these people are fleeing.
But what awaits refugees who have survived all of this, on the Greek island
of Lesbos, is unknown except by the few who have experienced and witnessed
these horrors themselves.
From the port and the beaches, they are sent to one of the makeshift camps
situated at the northern end of the island, next to a busy dusty road, where
they are forced to wait in the long lines for buses to the registration
camps. Many have to wait patiently overnight, given that their only
alternative is to walk the 70 kilometers. There is a general sense of
confusion and frustration at the lack of autonomy that the refugees
experience: before registration, even those with the money are not allowed
to take a taxi or rent a hotel room; they must sleep on the cold, dusty
ground and await their turn in line.
There are two registration camps on the island, Kara Tepe for Syrians and
Moria for non-Syrians, and refugees have to queue in the necessary line upon
arrival. Non-Syrians are immediately struck by the discrimination they face:
"Why is there a different line for Syrians?" the Afghanis and Iraqis ask. I
tell them that it is because of the two different registration camps, but I
do not have the heart to tell them of the stark difference in the conditions
they will face, or that this discrimination will be enforced throughout the
entirety of their journey across Europe.
Kara Tepe is a well-equipped and well-staffed camp, with UNHCR cabins for
Syrian refugees, a solid stream of volunteers and NGOs, doctors easily
available, and a quick and easy registration process. It is difficult to
describe the horrendous condition in Moria, an imposing former military base
with three layers of razor-wire fencing, intended to be used as a detention
center. Here, Afghans, Iraqis and Iranians who are fleeing homes destroyed
by war, poverty and persecution are subjected to dehumanizing conditions.
"On the boat here we were scared, we lost everything. then we arrive here,
made to sleep outside here and wait for three days in the line for our
papers, with the police, treated like animals, like I am not a human too,
and I start to believe I am not a human - I am ashamed, I feel sorry to
disturb you here in Europe. I am only searching for some humanity."
There is very little NGO presence and only a few UNHCR staff, who have been
allocated so little resources that they ask the volunteers for help: "do you
have any blankets or food for us?" There is extremely limited access to a
doctor, who is only on site from 9-5. All authority in Moria lies with the
police, of whom some are ready to help but the majority treat the refugees
with brutal cruelty; there are countless accounts of beatings and tear gas
at the hands of the authorities in Moria.
The detention center was designed for 500 people, and in recent weeks there
have been as many as 5,000 people there, waiting outside the camp to be let
in for registration. Once the refugees arrive, they must wait in line for
their papers, without which they cannot take a taxi, get a hotel room, or
buy their tickets for their onward journey. If they attempt to leave the
camp without these papers they face arrest.
They cannot even leave the line to buy food from the overpriced outlets that
have appeared (charging 8 euros for a liter of water) without rejoining
again from the start of the line. The authorities stopped providing food,
reasoning that because they cannot detain the refugees they are not legally
required to provide them with anything. When individual volunteers handed
out food, paid for with their own money, they found people - children - who
had not eaten in days.
The first winter storms hit the island this week with four days of
torrential rain and thunderstorms. As a result, thousands of families,
children and elderly people, were sleeping in a river of mud and rubbish
with no shelter, food or medical care. The queue to enter the registration
center stretched as far as 2.5 kilometers and some people waited under the
rain, without food, for as long as six days.
People were huddled together in soaking wet blankets, trying desperately to
get shelter, their eyes blank and empty, glazed over and no longer seeing
the scene in front of them, or filled with a manic desperation. Barefoot
children were knee deep in a river of mud and rubbish, their feet white and
shriveled. There was no escape from the incessant rain. As volunteers handed
out blankets people shrugged them away - "there's no point, we are soaking
wet" - or desperately asked if they could be sent back to Afghanistan.
Inside the area for registration, everybody desperately tried to shelter
under the small tarpaulin, while the police shouted and beat people with
their sticks. Families were split up in the chaos and volunteers desperately
pleaded with the police to let them through the fence to reunite children
with their parents. "What kind of person leaves their child alone? These
people are not human," one of the policeman said in response to these pleas.
This excerpt from a personal account of a volunteer, who was at Moria during
the four days of storms, vividly describes the inhumane conditions, police
brutality and desperation faced by those at Moria:
A girl, no older than 8, falls on her knees in front of me and folds her
hands together and in hysterics she says: "please help, please help." A
passed-out woman is dragged in, babies drenched in their blankets. These are
the scenes I see before my eyes like a horror film I cannot switch off.
The woman from UNHCR grabs me: "they are about to open the gates for the
next group." I take one look at the gate and see the squashed people pushed
up against it, sounds of crying and screaming. The riot police removes the
bolts and opens it. Hordes of people run in, people are getting trampled on,
piled on top of each other when they all try to push in.
"We have to pull out the babies!" We run in and with all my might I tug at
the people stuck at the bottom. It's no use. I see a child and pull her
arms. Then, a strange smell and a quick sensation: teargas. It burns my
eyes, my throat, my face. People scream and run away from the gas. I have to
let go of the child and run also, it is unbearable.
This registration process to claim asylum in Europe is so systematically
abusive that it is putting the lives of those who have escaped war, prison
and torture in danger. Instead of being used to create registration centers
which do not put lives at risk, EU funding is consistently pumped into the
further securitization of borders, forcing people to undertake the dangerous
ocean crossing.
Far from providing safe refuge to those who survive this crossing, the
authorities are subjecting these people to dehumanizing, degrading and life
threatening conditions. The situation is critical. As one volunteer doctor
who flew out to assess the situation said: "There are thousands of children
here and their feet are literally rotting, they can't keep dry, they have
high fevers and they're standing in the pouring rain for days on end. You
have one month guys, and then all these people will be dead."
This piece was reprinted by Truthout with permission or license. It may not
be reproduced in any form without permission or license from the source.
HANNAH KIRMES-DALY
Hannah Kirmes-Daly is a freelance reportage illustrator.
HARRIET PAINTIN
Harriet Paintin is a freelance writer and musician.
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By Rebecca Murray, IPS News | Report
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By Pierre Guerlain, Speakout | Op-Ed
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The Horrors of Lesbos: On the Front Lines of Fortress Europe
Friday, 06 November 2015 00:00 By Harriet Paintin and Hannah Kirmes-Daly,
ROAR Magazine | Report
. font size Error! Hyperlink reference not valid. Error! Hyperlink
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reference not valid.
. Boats and life jackets left by migrants on a beach on the island of
Lesbos in Greece, November 2, 2015. Despite rough seas and colder weather,
the flow of migrants out of the Middle East to Europe has continued unabated
even though winter has made the journey especially perilous. (Mauricio Lima
/ The New York Times)
. Nothing could have prepared us for the night when approximately 300
people were shipwrecked off the coast of Lesbos.
Boatloads of people were brought in by the coastguard. Everyone was drenched
to the bone, hypothermic, screaming the names of family members who had
perished. Medics and volunteers desperately attempted to revive the
unconscious.
One moment I was consoling a young man, shuddering and shaking in my arms,
as he cried out, "my brother, my brother, I have lost my brother, our boat
was broken, two hours at sea," the next I was wrapping my arms around a
woman screaming and banging her head against the wall, her eyes wide in
shock, desperation and grief.
Another woman slipped in and out of consciousness, coughing up salty sea
water, her lips blue, shaking under the pile of blankets on top of her.
Another refused to let us change her out of her soaking wet clothes, refused
water, food and warm tea, until she found her two-month-old baby. Nearly
everybody that night lost a family member to the sea.
Nevertheless, the striking image of refugees piling out of rubber dinghies
on the shores of Greek islands is by now a familiar one. We are familiar
with the dangers posed by the treacherous sea crossing, with so many
refugees perishing. We know of the extortionate rates charged by smugglers
($1,000-$2,000 per person, compared to 20 euros for the ferry), we know
about the war zones, torture and persecution that these people are fleeing.
But what awaits refugees who have survived all of this, on the Greek island
of Lesbos, is unknown except by the few who have experienced and witnessed
these horrors themselves.
From the port and the beaches, they are sent to one of the makeshift camps
situated at the northern end of the island, next to a busy dusty road, where
they are forced to wait in the long lines for buses to the registration
camps. Many have to wait patiently overnight, given that their only
alternative is to walk the 70 kilometers. There is a general sense of
confusion and frustration at the lack of autonomy that the refugees
experience: before registration, even those with the money are not allowed
to take a taxi or rent a hotel room; they must sleep on the cold, dusty
ground and await their turn in line.
There are two registration camps on the island, Kara Tepe for Syrians and
Moria for non-Syrians, and refugees have to queue in the necessary line upon
arrival. Non-Syrians are immediately struck by the discrimination they face:
"Why is there a different line for Syrians?" the Afghanis and Iraqis ask. I
tell them that it is because of the two different registration camps, but I
do not have the heart to tell them of the stark difference in the conditions
they will face, or that this discrimination will be enforced throughout the
entirety of their journey across Europe.
Kara Tepe is a well-equipped and well-staffed camp, with UNHCR cabins for
Syrian refugees, a solid stream of volunteers and NGOs, doctors easily
available, and a quick and easy registration process. It is difficult to
describe the horrendous condition in Moria, an imposing former military base
with three layers of razor-wire fencing, intended to be used as a detention
center. Here, Afghans, Iraqis and Iranians who are fleeing homes destroyed
by war, poverty and persecution are subjected to dehumanizing conditions.
"On the boat here we were scared, we lost everything. then we arrive here,
made to sleep outside here and wait for three days in the line for our
papers, with the police, treated like animals, like I am not a human too,
and I start to believe I am not a human - I am ashamed, I feel sorry to
disturb you here in Europe. I am only searching for some humanity."
There is very little NGO presence and only a few UNHCR staff, who have been
allocated so little resources that they ask the volunteers for help: "do you
have any blankets or food for us?" There is extremely limited access to a
doctor, who is only on site from 9-5. All authority in Moria lies with the
police, of whom some are ready to help but the majority treat the refugees
with brutal cruelty; there are countless accounts of beatings and tear gas
at the hands of the authorities in Moria.
The detention center was designed for 500 people, and in recent weeks there
have been as many as 5,000 people there, waiting outside the camp to be let
in for registration. Once the refugees arrive, they must wait in line for
their papers, without which they cannot take a taxi, get a hotel room, or
buy their tickets for their onward journey. If they attempt to leave the
camp without these papers they face arrest.
They cannot even leave the line to buy food from the overpriced outlets that
have appeared (charging 8 euros for a liter of water) without rejoining
again from the start of the line. The authorities stopped providing food,
reasoning that because they cannot detain the refugees they are not legally
required to provide them with anything. When individual volunteers handed
out food, paid for with their own money, they found people - children - who
had not eaten in days.
The first winter storms hit the island this week with four days of
torrential rain and thunderstorms. As a result, thousands of families,
children and elderly people, were sleeping in a river of mud and rubbish
with no shelter, food or medical care. The queue to enter the registration
center stretched as far as 2.5 kilometers and some people waited under the
rain, without food, for as long as six days.
People were huddled together in soaking wet blankets, trying desperately to
get shelter, their eyes blank and empty, glazed over and no longer seeing
the scene in front of them, or filled with a manic desperation. Barefoot
children were knee deep in a river of mud and rubbish, their feet white and
shriveled. There was no escape from the incessant rain. As volunteers handed
out blankets people shrugged them away - "there's no point, we are soaking
wet" - or desperately asked if they could be sent back to Afghanistan.
Inside the area for registration, everybody desperately tried to shelter
under the small tarpaulin, while the police shouted and beat people with
their sticks. Families were split up in the chaos and volunteers desperately
pleaded with the police to let them through the fence to reunite children
with their parents. "What kind of person leaves their child alone? These
people are not human," one of the policeman said in response to these pleas.
This excerpt from a personal account of a volunteer, who was at Moria during
the four days of storms, vividly describes the inhumane conditions, police
brutality and desperation faced by those at Moria:
A girl, no older than 8, falls on her knees in front of me and folds her
hands together and in hysterics she says: "please help, please help." A
passed-out woman is dragged in, babies drenched in their blankets. These are
the scenes I see before my eyes like a horror film I cannot switch off.
The woman from UNHCR grabs me: "they are about to open the gates for the
next group." I take one look at the gate and see the squashed people pushed
up against it, sounds of crying and screaming. The riot police removes the
bolts and opens it. Hordes of people run in, people are getting trampled on,
piled on top of each other when they all try to push in.
"We have to pull out the babies!" We run in and with all my might I tug at
the people stuck at the bottom. It's no use. I see a child and pull her
arms. Then, a strange smell and a quick sensation: teargas. It burns my
eyes, my throat, my face. People scream and run away from the gas. I have to
let go of the child and run also, it is unbearable.
This registration process to claim asylum in Europe is so systematically
abusive that it is putting the lives of those who have escaped war, prison
and torture in danger. Instead of being used to create registration centers
which do not put lives at risk, EU funding is consistently pumped into the
further securitization of borders, forcing people to undertake the dangerous
ocean crossing.
Far from providing safe refuge to those who survive this crossing, the
authorities are subjecting these people to dehumanizing, degrading and life
threatening conditions. The situation is critical. As one volunteer doctor
who flew out to assess the situation said: "There are thousands of children
here and their feet are literally rotting, they can't keep dry, they have
high fevers and they're standing in the pouring rain for days on end. You
have one month guys, and then all these people will be dead."
This piece was reprinted by Truthout with permission or license. It may not
be reproduced in any form without permission or license from the source.
Hannah Kirmes-Daly
Hannah Kirmes-Daly is a freelance reportage illustrator.
Harriet Paintin
Harriet Paintin is a freelance writer and musician.
Related Stories
Refugees Struggle in Ruined Camp
By Rebecca Murray, IPS News | ReportRefugees in Europe and the Matrix of the
Iran Deal
By Pierre Guerlain, Speakout | Op-Ed
Show Comments
