Photo: © Petros Diveris, Molyvos, Lesvos, October 2015
We arrived in Lesvos on that unforgettable Wednesday night, 28 October 2015, a date when the Greeks traditionally celebrate their heroic "OXI" to Italian demands for surrender at the beginning of WWII, and hurried to Eftalou from the airport in a taxi. Owing to its geographical location, Eftalou, near Molyvos, is currently one of the hotspots in the migration path of the unfortunate, be they from Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan or Iran. Its coast is about ten kilometres from Turkey, and it has seen hundreds of thousands of people attempting entry into "Fortress Europe" in the past year or two. Things got much worse when the road crossing at Evros, a natural river border with Turkey in the north-east of Greece, was fenced; I am not certain under whose orders that happened, but the crossing is sealed.
Since the road crossing was fenced off an ever-increasing number of people have attempted the passage to Greece by sea, in small dinghies or dilapidated sightseeing boats. Single young men, whole families, young kids with no one accompanying them, attempt to cross the treacherous border on a daily basis, the lucky ones arriving here scared, wet and freezing, and carrying very little if anything at all with them; the unfortunate ones never make it, as the sometimes stormy and cold sea swallows them.
This last Wednesday was a very bad day; I wish I could say it was the worst, but I am almost certain that this was just the beginning. We arrived in the harbour of Molyvos to apocalyptic scenes of immeasurable suffering and tragedy; until that night I had never witnessed tragedy of such magnitude, never got to actually sense pain and despair almost as a smell. The horror sunk in gradually, it took me some time to realise that these ghost-like figures in the harbour were people who had literally just come out of the sea. According to the official reports, that night a little over two hundred forty people were rescued, seven people were found dead in the water, and at least another thirty four were reported missing. These numbers are still being revised upwards in terms of casualties. The numbers are just numbers, but in a town the size of Molyvos one cannot hide from the tragedy; it's everywhere, and it's very hard to take in.
The rescued people, many of them injured or in shock, were walking up and down in the small harbour, trying to find their relatives, their kids, or to call someone back home to let them know they made that part of their journey. I asked three kids if they minded me taking pictures of them. They didn't mind, nor did the parents, and as I was taking that sad but also joyous photo of kids who actually made it, a young woman who sat nearby broke down, crying in a way I will never forget. She had just lost her baby in the cold windy sea. That day will of course go down as a particularly grave one, due to the number of victims and the recklessness of the people smugglers who put so many people on a boat that was almost designed to capsize.
Photo: © Petros Diveris, Molyvos, Lesvos, October 2015
Upon arrival in Eftalou and Molyvos you will bump into a number of individuals and members of charities, all involved in the management of this unnecessary and seemingly never-ending horror. It is fair to say that Molyvos never saw so many guests in early winter, nor even summer (let alone Eftalou). Swedish, German, Danish and other northern European charities are there to welcome and treat the boat people as they arrive, and to take them to the buses which will ferry them to the port, with the final destination being the promised lands of Norway, Sweden, Germany or somewhere else, usually via Macedonia. Very quickly people start specialising, there is a lot of know-how required to minimise casualties at the point and moment of entry. G., a woman from New Zealand, who watches the dinghies arrive through her binoculars from her hotel window, is among the first to run to the spot and try to gain the knife-carrying "captains'" trust quickly, so that they listen to her when she shouts 'trust me, no pop, no pop!' One of the reasons is that when the boat pops it makes a sound just like a gunshot, and so there have been reports of people jumping into the sea at that very last moment. There is a real danger of hypothermia and drowning, particularly as many of these people come from the mountains of Afghanistan, so they've never seen the sea before, let alone swum. Also, they sometimes forget that they have a rucksack on their back, and some carry babies. Adventists, atheists, Christians, locals and many Americans volunteer. Among other tasks they always try to quickly get these people to change their clothes so that they don't get cold, something which many of them resist for reasons of modesty. They also clear the shore of the thousands of golden, space-exploration-like thermal blankets handed to the new arrivals; these blankets and the abandoned bright orange life jackets adorn the shore of Eftalou now, along with the deflated dhingies, and the remains of the sightseeing boats used to smuggle people into Europe.
No real drama can ever take place without its heroes and, in this instance, the heroes have to be the Spanish saviours. Originally a private-sector company now turned into a charity (Pro Activa), they came here with their jet skis, and with their skills they've saved countless people from drowning. J. was clear that he's not interested in politics, nor in the greater scheme of things, although he went on to say that there should be no borders, and that the European Union as an entity should respond to this catastrophe. What J. knows well is the sea, and how to quickly get to people in that very moment which separates death from life. At that moment, J. has to make a snap decision as to who can possibly make it, and who can't. The greatest single mistake at that second is getting too close to the people you are trying to rescue. They will grab the jet ski, or clutch at anything they can, very likely endangering you and everyone else. J. has an eighteen-month-old daughter in Barcelona; the last thing he wants is to have to report the death or injury of one of his team, something that seems to be getting increasingly more likely as the numbers of people making the crossing swell, and the winter closes in. Also, the equipment available leaves a lot to be desired. For example, the most pressing need now is for fast, inflatable, low-height boats, boats with which you can approach people quickly, and which people can get onto easily. As doctors and the Spanish volunteers explain, what really matters is simply getting people out of the sea as quickly as possible.
Photo: © Petros Diveris, Molyvos, Lesvos, October 2015
That dreadful and unforgettable Wednesday night I responded to the crisis by going to the bar and getting myself beer as quickly as I could. At the bar I got to hear locals and members of the Coast Guard talking about the events as they were unfolding. Someone asked someone else "how many did we get today?", to receive a response along the lines of "two hundred, two fifty, about ten missing, two of them ῾μωρουδέλια' (moroudelia)"*. At that moment it sounded to me just like fishermen talking about the catch of the day: another day, another few dead. The fact that I am a native Greek speaker gave me an advantage, in that I could both overhear people, like the Coast Guard, and converse with the locals. What is striking is that this time, unlike in the past when everyone would be expressing loudly their opinions and swear at the powers to be, and the politicians, the majority of the locals kept to themselves. With the exception of the occasional middle aged guy in the café who would rudely interrupt my typing to offer his conspiracy views, most people simply don't talk. Both a woman in a shop in Molyvos and the owners of the hotel I was staying at only spoke cautiously, after gauging me, mainly asking me what I thought of the situation. What needs stressing here is that the refugee crisis has followed another Greek crisis, the financial one, making the impact of the latter even worse in places like Lesvos, Kos and Kalymnos.
The islands' health and other public services were already stretched to the point of not been able to deliver services normally, when the boats and dead started dominating their life. It is my impression that the locals, barring neo-Nazis, fascists, and other remnants of the dark Greek past who don't seem to be the majority, hold the refugees as the least responsible for the situation. Many foreign journalists and NGO members were quick to make the point that a large part of the population of Lesvos were refugees themselves. Not only they themselves were refugees: the ones who came here followed exactly the same routes, and quite possibly many drowned; furthermore, few others fled to Syria. But, at any rate, encountering hundreds of distraught, desperate, displaced people on the way to school on a daily basis is hardly conducive to a "normal" upbringing for the kids of Lesvos. A man who runs a taverna in a small harbour past Eftalou pointed out how weird it felt to him to be able to lock the family house door after 7pm and all that pain out - it's "as if it's all normal, but I want my children to know that there is a problem out there. Yet, I have to protect them", he said.
The grip such a crisis has on a society, particularly a small one like this, is something the central politicians and governments involved are totally unaware of, if not intentionally ignoring. The refugees are being used as a political pawn, a bargaining chip between the EU's core, Greece, Turkey, Hungary, Serbia and Croatia. The most recent signal from Berlin was that of the possibility of a loosening of the "Greek bailout" terms, if the Greeks accepted more refugees and camps on Greek soil. As we speak a concession was already made, for camps to house 50,000 refugees, somewhere on the Greek mainland. These commitments by the likes of the Greek state almost certainly mean that the Greek protectorate will make sure that there are 50,000 people in camps, so that more funds from the core can be released. No guarantees about the services available to these people should be expected, the "ultra left wing" new Greek government is not in a hurry to bind itself by "humanitarian nonsense" any more.
The original plans wanted the refugees housed in the islands of arrival, thus destroying one of the few industries left to them: tourism. I cannot tell whether we are dealing with insanity, or criminal neglect here. Wasting no time, Turkey, a key player in the unfolding nightmare that is the dismemberment of Syria, is demanding concession upon concession, threatening to push up to two million refugees into Greece. With the current death rates we would be looking at about 300,000 to 500,000 possible deaths, should Turkey make good of their threats. This kind of politics now seems normalised and perfectly acceptable in the parliaments of Strasbourg and Berlin and Paris, in the corridors of the EU, the White House, and the UN.
This grotesque admission that human life doesn't matter anymore is now OK across the whole spectrum of European citizens, conservatives, socialists, and of course nationalists. As I am looking at the hundreds of people who have gathered here in Lesvos, from the US, from Canada, from across Europe and even the Middle East, to cover the situation and to help, I can't stop thinking that we have now reached a new era of brutality, one where the Greek Prime Minister has the audacity to... "demand an end to the deaths", as if he cannot open up the border in Evros, or stop making use of the refugees as a discount token to keep his electorate happy.
There are many organisations involved but at this moment I'd like to focus on the following
Their postal address is
Starfish Foundation
Hellenic Postoffice of Mythymna
C/o Starfish Foundation
Molyvos, 811 01
Greece
Please do consult their facebook page before deciding to send any donations, because any items sent to them that they don't need reduce the storage available for items they do need. The facebook page is the easiest way of contacting them. Generally I'd say that volunteers are always needed, but please do keep in mind that just to get used to what's happening may take up to a week, so consider spending a little bit more time than just a week.
Photo: © Petros Diveris, Molyvos, Lesvos, October 2015