Why is there always hills? I’ve been to two continents now, and the important stuff is always at the top of a hill. Always.
I crest the hill to see this.
Boats torn up by the open sea and the corresponding shore. These are the boats of the lucky ones. They paid $3000 per person to be crammed on one of these with anywhere from 50 to 100 other people by a smuggler. If they weren’t this lucky, then they were smuggled across the open sea in a rubber dinghy, packed to the max for about $1500 per person. This is not a simple fee. Its more than most make in a year but decisions had to be made.
As an American, I can cross the same stretch in a ferry for 10 euro or about $11.39. Because I have a passport. I’m not running from people trying to kill me, my family, my way of life because of war, or an armed conflict, or general unrest. I’m not so desperate for a job, for food, for security, or peace that I would have to cross a four mile stretch of open sea from Turkey to Greece in a rubber boat.
I keep going past the boats who sail the open grass to see this.
Its a new kind of hill. Ones made up of “life jackets”, and pool noodles, and blow up floaties. They call this place the graveyard. Here laid to rest are the remnants of more than 400,000 refugees that have passed through the island of Lesvos. Its been emptied three or four times.
The makeshift flotation devices are often filled with craft foam instead of actual buoyant material. They are falsely stamped with “Yamaha” on the back. These “life jackets” will soon pull you under with the weight of water than safe you on the open sea. One of my squadmates, pointed out the obviously I couldn’t see, these are leftovers of those who made it alive on the shores of Lesvos.
As one of the missionaries here put it, how dangerous does the land have to be to turn to the open water? How bad does it have to be to leave half your love ones and put the other half in one of these?
Or worse, your child in this on four miles of open sea.
I climbed a mountain of craft foam and torn clothing to get to this picture. With each step, I remember these are ones that made it. But when I see pool toys used to do battle on the open sea, my heart breaks and anger flows out. A baby used this. A baby.
I think back to how these people, these people seeking refuge from war and hunger and death, are portrayed in the American media. We say backhandedly with no information say that they are terrorists without seeing that these people, these humans are no more terrorist than the Parisians who fled the Paris attacks or the Belgians that fled the Brussels attack. We don’t talk about how there in the Syrian War there are more than 96 factions, not including ISIS. We don’t talk about the more than 25 other nationalities represented at the camps and how these people are fleeing very real danger despite the fact that we don’t categorize their home countries at war.
We don’t talk about the babies crossing open ocean in a pool toy because that’s safer than the land.
I don’t have an answer to this problem. I can’t fix it. But I can tell its story. So that’s what I’ll do.
Since I’ve landed on the Island of Lesvos, I have only ever felt security and calmness and the generosity of the people here. Last night was my first shift in the camp that turned from a registration camp to a detention facility overnight. According to the volunteers who lived this transition, as of March 20th, the EU is sending all refugees back to Turkey (despite the overwhelming discrimination they face there, the fact that they are beaten, mugged, and stolen from). In return, Turkey received money, the ability to send their citizens to the EU without a visa, and for every one Syrian (only Syrian) refugee sent back to Turkey, one will get to legally enter the EU. Most likely, all other nationalities will be sent back to their home country. For many, this is a death sentence if they can’t prove they deserve asylum.
Still, as I entered the camp around midnight last night, it was quiet.
There are about 3600 people in this refugee camp and it was quiet.
There are police and border patrol all around and it was quiet.
I spent the night organizing a donation room. It was quiet.
This morning, I was met with smiles and introductions accompanied by handshakes.
I don’t know what to do with this except tell you and pray. Pray that these people, these human beings, these families and singles, find peace. They never have to make the decision between open war and the open sea again. They find love and acceptance.
I have an overwhelming feeling that this month these people are going to teach me so much more than I could ever give them. I pray that together God will direct us in what we as a body should do with their stories, and help us cross the hills to find the important stuff in this situation.
