Meeting the Syrian Refugees who have crossed Europe
He clenches his fists in anticipation and excitement, anxious to meet his brother whom he has not seen for 3 years. One of the lawyers accompanying him notices his tense shoulders, and gives him a reassuring smile and pat on the back. Ever since Saeed and his brother left Syria together to escape the escalating war and the pressures from the regime’s army to join the fighting, nothing has been the same. Never did they imagine that they would be forced to make the kind of decisions that they did when they haven’t even hit their twenties. Ever since they left their family in their hometown Dar’a, their lives have been anything but an amalgam of fear, frustration and uncertainty.
Turkey. Greece. Bulgaria. Romania. Serbia. Croatia. Slovenia. Austria. Italy. Germany. France. This is the same route that Saeed - and countless other refugees I have spoken to over the past 12 months - embarked on to seek safety from tyranny and subjugation. A route which left them exposed to a wide array of traffickers, smugglers, gangs, and police, notwithstanding the prolonged periods of time in which they were subject to fear, humiliation and brutality. A route which forced them to put their lives at risk, not just once, but multiple times. A route they had no other choice but to take because there is no existing safe legal route to asylum which would allow a refugee to board a plane from Greece in order to join a family member residing in another European country.
Whilst hundreds of other passengers walk towards the exit in St Pancras, in a hurry to get to their next destination, Saeed soaks up the mundaneness of the moment. Boarding this train from Calais and making it to St Pancras meant everything. Those who have experienced the unimaginable, often assign huge meanings to the meaningless. He was in total disbelief and enthused happiness without embarrassment as he embraced his brother. Only a few weeks ago, he was one unaccompanied minor amongst a thousand others regarded with staggering contempt by the French authorities and French police. He was alone in Calais, the camp with appalling conditions which would never meet humanitarian let alone moral standards. Memories of local angry mobs attacking the tents at night with fire fuelled with anger at refugees, police firing tear gas and rubber bullets at children who attempted to jump on moving trains and lorries to reach the UK, were deeply ingrained within him. Today would be the first time - in many months - that he would wake up in a warm, comfortable bed, just like
any other 15 year old boy should.
Since the image of Aylan Kurdi emerged last summer, news outlets around the world turned their attention to the thousands of refugees trying to cross the Mediterranean to reach Europe. Extensive coverage of these refugees’ journey, at times in xenophobic and judgemental undertones, surfaced on news channels all over the world. Many of these refugees were Syrian, and whose departure from Syria as a result of the civil war triggered a mass exodus worldwide.
As a frustrated British Syrian, I felt a deep sense of helplessness. It was becoming increasingly difficult to watch the escalation of the crisis spill to Europe, at the French borders, and not to be able to do anything about it. I asked myself each day; what can I do to help these people trying to reach safety? Government figures offered statements of condescending sympathy, calling the crisis ‘unfortunate’ and pledging to give refuge to a miniscule numbers of refugees. But I was unable to comprehend the lack of urgency and absence of humanity worldwide.
Just a month after the uproar that Aylan Kurdi’s picture generated, I was blessed with a unique opportunity to do something for the refugees which Europe slammed shut their doors to, leaving them at the mercilessness and hostility of borders.
A cross collaborative project between two law firms, a couple of community organisers and voluntary interpreters was launched in October 2015 by Citizens UK, who identified hundreds of children eligible for family reunion to the UK. Initially called Migrants Law Project, but now more commonly known as Safe Passage, this project facilitated a partnership between all those collaborating to support each other in field level casework in order to help refugees stuck in Calais access safe and legal routes to asylum. I was lucky enough to be one of the first interpreters providing initial interpreting and translation support to the lawyers who had a huge pile of casework to work through. We were a team of no more than 15 people, but as each month went by, the number of solicitors, interpreters and charity workers grew. After 6 months of amazing unity and coordination, and 1,400 pro bono legal hours later, the unthinkable happened. In January 2016, ‘’the first three boys and one dependent older brother from Syria, were successfully reunited with their families from Calais following a historic judge ruling ordered the Dublin III regulation to be implemented’’. A clause within this regulation states that a refugee stuck in Europe with a family member in the UK has a legal right for family reunion.
Why was this a historic judge ruling?
Simply because it was the culmination of months of landmark litigation to establish the first safe legal route for refugee children and vulnerable adults to travel from Calais to the UK. It set a precedent. For the first time since the outbreak of the crisis, these refugees would be able to access a safe legal route to asylum and fulfill their right as outlined in the Dublin III. And the arrival of these 4 paved the way for more and more. As of September 2016, 51 refugees from Calais, the majority of whom were unaccompanied and seriously vulnerable, have been able to come to the UK under Dublin III.
A few months ago, we were celebrating the arrival of the 51st Calais refugee who was reunited with his family member in London and reflecting on the achievements and milestones that have been reached. But there is so much work to be done, and no one is resting on their laurels.
One thing I learned, is that, for a refugee to be stuck in the so-called ‘Jungle’, it doesn’t just have psychological and physical health ramifications. It reforms a refugee’s identity. Sometimes the experience serves to build resilience, but more often than not it exacerbates a refugee’s sense of vulnerability and isolation. After almost a year of interpreting for Safe Passage, I realised how important it is for these refugees to be closely mentored and coached, and to give them the opportunity to share their stories in person and from their own personal narrative. It is one thing to read refugee stories in the papers, but a whole other thing to hear it come directly from them. The need to share experiences with others is an elemental one. Often they are painful and gritty, but it’s vital that we allow them the opportunity to speak, and to allow them to speak on behalf of those who cannot speak for themselves; those who drowned in the sea, their friends in Calais, their parents who are barely holding on to survival in Syria. I learned the importance of asking the right questions, of holding back judgment and of developing an outward and sincere form of empathy. I underestimated the power of personal experiences and sharing stories, how they can send shockwaves through people and change deeply ingrained perspectives.
One year on as a voluntary interpreter, having interpreted for many of these refugees who we see on the boats from Turkey and Greece and who we read stories about in the papers - I reflect on the surreality of this experience. I listened to them explain their traumatic experiences of living under shelling. I listened to them talk about how their family were threatened with death if their sons refused to join the army to fight. I listened to them describe their devastation when their schools were bombed. I saw them reveal their bruises and wounds, and speak about their experience under regime detention. I relayed their stories of survival in the sea, holding on dearly to the sides of rubber boats and their horror as water started seeping through. How they were exploited by smugglers, how they were beaten by Hungarian police, and how they contemplated going back to Syria because Calais was so bad. I remember clearly a story shared by one of the refugees, where he talks about seeing a lorry drive over his friend, who was attempting to jump on it in order to join his uncle in the UK. So many difficult experiences were translated by the interpreters for lawyers, journalists, Members of Parliament and charity workers who worked so hard to inform the British public about the plight of unaccompanied children and young adults.
These are the same refugees who have crossed 10 or more countries, mostly by foot and sea, in order to seek protection. All they wanted was to reach safety and join their family, but little did they know the price of safety and protection that this world forced them to pay. When a Syrian says: ‘Calais was so awful that I just wanted to pick up my bag and return to Syria. At least there, I will die in dignity’, it can really render you speechless. Sometimes for a couple of days.
Many people overlook the fact that these refugees undergo rigorous measures and security checks in order to be allowed to enter this country. A lot of verification and evidence gathering takes place in order to establish that there is legitimate family relations between a refugee in Calais and a relative in the UK. Many children and young adults were deemed ineligible for family reunion, either because there wasn’t strong evidence indicating family relations, or because they simply didn’t have the documents required for their case to be considered. Most importantly, the idea that the risk these refugees put themselves in is unjustifiable is nothing short of abhorrent. You would be making the exact same decision if you were in their place. Whether you admit that or not. You would do anything to keep yourself safe. Even if it meant throwing yourself in the sea, under an electrified rail line or freezing to death in a refrigerated lorry heading to the UK.
The aim of Safe Passage was simple in theory, but complex and challenging in practice. Lots of casework, information verification, phone calls and appointments, and occasional trips to Calais meant that thousands of hours of verification and report writing from the lawyers, of interpreting and translation from the volunteers, often in unglamorous and extraordinary circumstances. Times which demanded unprecedented flexibility from all those involved, times our mental and emotional strength was tested, times when we were lulled into pits of despair, and times when we were overwashed with relief and joy. Times when the lack of political willingness and urgency from the British and French authorities, as well as negative press, significantly hindered progress. Despite these challenges, Safe Passage stands strong - and is working harder than ever to ensure that the hundreds of remaining children with a legal right to come to the UK from Calais are protected from the forthcoming camp demolition. A demolition which will not be relegated as a forgotten footnote in the history of Europe, but one which will always be remembered as the measure of the moral compass of Europe.
Thanks to the amazing campaigning by Citizens UK, the lawyers from Bhatt Murphy and Islington Law Centre, who went beyond and above in identifying and compiling cases: screening, interviewing, fighting brilliantly and convincingly in the court battles. The volunteers who traveled to Calais back & forth, the interpreters, the community organisers and campaigners who unrelentlessly imposed political pressure, all the other organisations who backed this work and all the sacrificial duties we do not know about - to produce this amazing result.
Amazing things happen when people unite, and work towards a common goal. As cliche as this may sound, it never rang more true during this experience. A genuine drive to help, to practically respond to a crisis in a purposeful direction, combining sincerity, skill and expertise, produces beautiful things.
