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Lesvos: where holiday paradise and refugee crisis converge Lesvos: where holiday paradise and refugee crisis converge
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On the Greek island of Lesvos, two worlds are colliding. Every day this summer, holidaymakers are confronted with the fallout from bloody civil wars as sunrise brings boatloads of refugees to the beaches of Europe.On the Greek island of Lesvos, two worlds are colliding. Every day this summer, holidaymakers are confronted with the fallout from bloody civil wars as sunrise brings boatloads of refugees to the beaches of Europe.
During my seven years with UNHCR, I have found myself working in refugee camps in Ethiopia, Jordan and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The last place I expected to be sent on emergency mission was a holiday island during peak tourist season.During my seven years with UNHCR, I have found myself working in refugee camps in Ethiopia, Jordan and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The last place I expected to be sent on emergency mission was a holiday island during peak tourist season.
But Greece is now the frontline of Europe, receiving more than 1,000 new arrivals every day. More than half of them are to Lesvos. Although the Turkish coast is only 10km across the turquoise Aegean, the crossing costs dearly. The going rate charged by smugglers is around $1,000, half price for children, and life vests cost extra. You wouldn’t want to take your chances without one, as each week news of another sinking adds to the death toll in this stretch of the Mediterranean.But Greece is now the frontline of Europe, receiving more than 1,000 new arrivals every day. More than half of them are to Lesvos. Although the Turkish coast is only 10km across the turquoise Aegean, the crossing costs dearly. The going rate charged by smugglers is around $1,000, half price for children, and life vests cost extra. You wouldn’t want to take your chances without one, as each week news of another sinking adds to the death toll in this stretch of the Mediterranean.
People are making the journey because they have no choice. Most are from Syria, others from Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia and Eritrea – refugees from war, persecution, violence and human rights abuses. Desperation and fear drive them.People are making the journey because they have no choice. Most are from Syria, others from Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia and Eritrea – refugees from war, persecution, violence and human rights abuses. Desperation and fear drive them.
I saw a 71-year-old woman, her daughter and eight-week-old granddaughter rescued from a flimsy rubber dinghy crammed with 40 people. It’s not a journey undertaken lightly. What pushes the refugees onwards through the mountains of Greece, up through the Balkans – where the brutality of the police and smugglers is rife – and onwards towards safety in Germany, Sweden, and the UK, is the knowledge that what they are leaving behind is far worse.I saw a 71-year-old woman, her daughter and eight-week-old granddaughter rescued from a flimsy rubber dinghy crammed with 40 people. It’s not a journey undertaken lightly. What pushes the refugees onwards through the mountains of Greece, up through the Balkans – where the brutality of the police and smugglers is rife – and onwards towards safety in Germany, Sweden, and the UK, is the knowledge that what they are leaving behind is far worse.
Sami, a 24-year-old computer science graduate from Aleppo, is one of those who made the dawn crossing from Turkey. “The smugglers told us it was safe. But there were too many of us. We knew it was dangerous and we didn’t want to get on the boat,” he tells me, his hands still shaking. Threatened with guns, 40 Syrian men, women and children got onto a small inflatable dinghy and were pushed into the water.Sami, a 24-year-old computer science graduate from Aleppo, is one of those who made the dawn crossing from Turkey. “The smugglers told us it was safe. But there were too many of us. We knew it was dangerous and we didn’t want to get on the boat,” he tells me, his hands still shaking. Threatened with guns, 40 Syrian men, women and children got onto a small inflatable dinghy and were pushed into the water.
“It was totally dark. After 20 minutes water started to come into the boat. We didn’t know what to do, we were still so far away and the sea was rough. We had to hold the children up so they didn’t get wet. I just didn’t want the children to die.” By the time the Greek coastguard arrived the boat had almost entirely deflated. “We were only five centimetres above water. We were so close to death.”“It was totally dark. After 20 minutes water started to come into the boat. We didn’t know what to do, we were still so far away and the sea was rough. We had to hold the children up so they didn’t get wet. I just didn’t want the children to die.” By the time the Greek coastguard arrived the boat had almost entirely deflated. “We were only five centimetres above water. We were so close to death.”
Under normal circumstances, responding to the needs of the ever-increasing influx of refugees would be a difficult task. But with Greece facing an uncertain financial future, the challenge for the Athens government is overwhelming.Under normal circumstances, responding to the needs of the ever-increasing influx of refugees would be a difficult task. But with Greece facing an uncertain financial future, the challenge for the Athens government is overwhelming.
In Lesvos, much of the response has been led by volunteers living in small villages with limited resources but enormous generosity. Melinda, owner of the Captain’s Table tavern in Molyvos, spends €100 a day on fruit for the children rescued by the coastguard. Daphne, owner of the Votsala hotel in Thermi, has been organising football matches and cookery lessons with refugees and holidaymakers. “It’s a cold drop on a hot stone, just a humble contribution,” says one of the volunteers. Everyone I speak to feels their contribution is small.In Lesvos, much of the response has been led by volunteers living in small villages with limited resources but enormous generosity. Melinda, owner of the Captain’s Table tavern in Molyvos, spends €100 a day on fruit for the children rescued by the coastguard. Daphne, owner of the Votsala hotel in Thermi, has been organising football matches and cookery lessons with refugees and holidaymakers. “It’s a cold drop on a hot stone, just a humble contribution,” says one of the volunteers. Everyone I speak to feels their contribution is small.
Even the islanders not involved in the refugee response are sympathetic to their plight. I meet 80-year-old Euclides in the port of Mytilini, which is overlooked by Lesvos’s own Statue of Liberty. Keen to impart some local history, he tells me it was built by a young Greek man who fled to America during the first world war. Upon arrival in New York he was so struck by the Statue of Liberty as a symbol of hope that he vowed to make enough money to return and build his own statue for the island.Even the islanders not involved in the refugee response are sympathetic to their plight. I meet 80-year-old Euclides in the port of Mytilini, which is overlooked by Lesvos’s own Statue of Liberty. Keen to impart some local history, he tells me it was built by a young Greek man who fled to America during the first world war. Upon arrival in New York he was so struck by the Statue of Liberty as a symbol of hope that he vowed to make enough money to return and build his own statue for the island.
Euclides’s own father found refuge on Lesvos in 1922. “The Greeks and the Armenians came here because their houses were being burnt,” he tells me. “So many people were slain in Turkey. My father came to Greece with my grandparents when he was four years old. They came by boat from Smyrna [now Izmir]. They left their houses, all their property, and they could never go back.” Euclides’s own father found refuge on Lesvos in 1922. “The Greeks and the Armenians came here because their houses were being burnt,” he tells me. “So many people were slain. My father came to Greece with my grandparents when he was four years old. They came by boat from Smyrna. They left their houses, all their property, and they could never go back.”
I ask Euclides what he makes of the new wave of refugees. “The Syrians are coming now because otherwise they will be killed. What else can they do? What is happening to them is a tragedy. I understand. It is what happened to my own family.”I ask Euclides what he makes of the new wave of refugees. “The Syrians are coming now because otherwise they will be killed. What else can they do? What is happening to them is a tragedy. I understand. It is what happened to my own family.”
Kalloni is halfway between the beaches at the north of the island, where most of the refugees arrive by boat, and the town of Mytilini, 70km away through the mountains, where they must register with the police. I find Giorgos mopping the floor at the refugee shelter in Kalloni provided by his NGO, Agkalia. He has recently finished his PhD, and works part-time at the family butcher’s shop to support his wife and son. A tractor owned by a member of Greece’s far-right Golden Dawn is parked outside of a shelter and a dozen young men from Afghanistan rest against its wheels, grateful for the shade and impervious to the protest.Kalloni is halfway between the beaches at the north of the island, where most of the refugees arrive by boat, and the town of Mytilini, 70km away through the mountains, where they must register with the police. I find Giorgos mopping the floor at the refugee shelter in Kalloni provided by his NGO, Agkalia. He has recently finished his PhD, and works part-time at the family butcher’s shop to support his wife and son. A tractor owned by a member of Greece’s far-right Golden Dawn is parked outside of a shelter and a dozen young men from Afghanistan rest against its wheels, grateful for the shade and impervious to the protest.
Giorgos is cleaner, cook and doctor to the road-weary refugees who spend a night at his shelter. “A lot of people arrive in bad shape. They’ve been tortured by the smugglers in Turkey. I’ve seen people with gangrene and terrible wounds. I’ve pulled sea urchin spines from a thousand feet, and rubbed them with olive oil. In Lesvos we have hundreds of graves that just say ‘Afghan 54’, ‘Afghan 55’… It’s a new holocaust.”Giorgos is cleaner, cook and doctor to the road-weary refugees who spend a night at his shelter. “A lot of people arrive in bad shape. They’ve been tortured by the smugglers in Turkey. I’ve seen people with gangrene and terrible wounds. I’ve pulled sea urchin spines from a thousand feet, and rubbed them with olive oil. In Lesvos we have hundreds of graves that just say ‘Afghan 54’, ‘Afghan 55’… It’s a new holocaust.”
He is worried about the impact of the financial crisis and that if the government falls, the right-wing factions may take over. The people here are not rich, but what they have, they share. “Even if Greece is bankrupt and we have no money, we will still have our bodies and we will help the people who need us,” he says.He is worried about the impact of the financial crisis and that if the government falls, the right-wing factions may take over. The people here are not rich, but what they have, they share. “Even if Greece is bankrupt and we have no money, we will still have our bodies and we will help the people who need us,” he says.
For me, the shining example of hope and freedom on Lesvos is not its statue but its people. The islanders don’t know what will happen with the economic crisis, but they still reach out to refugees. In the middle of this Greek tragedy, they are epic heroes.For me, the shining example of hope and freedom on Lesvos is not its statue but its people. The islanders don’t know what will happen with the economic crisis, but they still reach out to refugees. In the middle of this Greek tragedy, they are epic heroes.
Laura Padoan is UK external relations associate at UNHCR. Follow @Laura_Padoan on Twitter.Laura Padoan is UK external relations associate at UNHCR. Follow @Laura_Padoan on Twitter.
Join our community of development professionals and humanitarians. Follow@GuardianGDP on Twitter.Join our community of development professionals and humanitarians. Follow@GuardianGDP on Twitter.