On May 17th 1847, the Syria, a large ship carrying 430 people with severe fever, arrived on Grosse Isle in Canada. It was the first ship to set sail for the continent in 1847, a year in which almost 100,000 Irish emigrants arrived in North America on "coffin ships", fleeing the Great Famine in Ireland.
In 2015, 168 years after the Syria traversed the Atlantic Ocean, an unnamed, inflatable dinghy carries 45 Syrians from Turkey to the Greek island of Lesbos. Thousands of refugees are making the dangerous journey across the strait between Turkey and the Greek islands, and some drop to their knees with joy having survived the crossing.
Because of our troubled history and large scale emigration from our shores, we in Ireland should be able to relate to the plight of the refugees. Despite this, some of us here may be guilty of a feeling of separation from the whole crisis. We probably all know someone, for whatever reason, who feels apathetic, or even indifferent, towards those making these huge journeys across entire countries. I’ve heard things like “how is this our problem?”, and “it’s all terribly sad but it’s happening all the way over there.”
But what if these people, literally running for their lives from their war-torn homeland, were being washed up on our shores instead of some unheard of Greek islands? How would we react to thousands of refugees arriving in Ireland?
For five months last year, the refugees were arriving on my island. My island was Lesbos, just 10km from Turkey.
I was accepted to take part in an Erasmus+ programme at the University of the Aegean in Mytilene. In February last year, I flew to Athens from Dublin and from there I boarded another flight bound for the airport just outside Lesbos’ only city, which would be my home for the next five months.
When I arrived, the refugee crisis was just developing, although its seeds were sown when the Syrian civil war began in 2011. In February, it was not the main news story in Europe; in January, SYRIZA had formed the first radical left-wing government in Europe in over 20 years.
The first signs of a problem appeared when a freelance journalist from Switzerland arrived in Mytilene and stayed with us for over two weeks. This was in early April. It might seem surprising now that as late as this, there weren't more warning signs of what was to come. The journalist could foresee the crisis that would soon test Greece and Europe, and we were beginning to come to terms with what was happening.
He took many pictures of abandoned, inflatable rafts along the rocky east coast of Lesbos. This was a clear indicator that studying on the island would soon include an unexpected dimension. Almost immediately after his departure, hundreds of Middle-Eastern men (they were mostly men at the time) were visible around the port area of Mytilene, sitting on folded cardboard boxes on the ground.
From then on, thousands of refugees were boarding dangerous, overcrowded rafts, in a desperate attempt to begin a new life in Europe. When they arrived, they waited around the port area of Mytilene. They were in a strange country with nowhere to go, trying to comfort crying babies in a frenzy of disorganised, desperate chaos.
I wasn’t ready to witness such desperation. It was particularly evident in the northern village of Molyvos, a picturesque place frequented by tourists from all over the world. The refugees who had just arrived in this area were required to make their way south to Mytilene. Although some cried with relief upon surviving the crossing to Lesbos, Molyvos was otherwise a joyless place.
A volunteer from Finland visited the village while staying with us for a few days in June. She described the scene aptly in a way I’ll never forget. The refugees were on one side of the road, tourists on the other, staring at each other. On one side, music was playing and people were sipping frappé or wine outside lovely little bars and cafés. The other side was plagued by misery and desperation. Her description of it being “a terrible social apartheid” was quite accurate.
The scene in Molyvos brought to mind a chilling quote often attributed to Stalin. “One man’s death is a tragedy, one million deaths is a statistic.” I began to understand this more clearly than before. I saw the sadness in the face of a mother holding her crying baby. I saw an old man with cancer sitting on top of a flimsy bit of ripped cardboard. I saw the people usually hidden amongst the statistics. Perhaps this provides an answer to why so many across Europe feel apathetic: a sick old man sitting on the ground is a tragedy, one million refugees is a statistic.
I was truly inspired by the efforts ordinary people made to help in any way they could. From the Swiss freelance journalist to the Finnish volunteer, and all the Greek students who are continuing to volunteer, there are many who feel the need to do something. I left Lesbos last July not deflated, but with hope. When I arrived home I encountered some who genuinely didn’t care. I also met many more who wanted to help and show their support. I hope to return to Lesbos myself this summer to volunteer.
Since my departure, barriers and fences have been erected between countries. Under a controversial deal between the EU and Turkey introduced last weekend, migrants arriving in Greece will be sent back to Turkey, though this does not seem to be deterring people, as thousands of migrants have still landed on Lesbos and other Greek islands in the past few days.
Since my departure, barriers and fences have been erected between countries. Under a controversial deal between the EU and Turkey, introduced last weekend, migrants arriving in Greece will be sent back to Turkey. Medecins Sans Frontières announced it will cease any operations linked to the EU registration centre, as the organisation, which continues to provide assistance to those who need it most*, does not want to participate in any way in a "mass expulsion operation".
The deal puts migrants at further risk, as Turkey is simply not a safe place for them. They do not extend refugee status to Afghans or Iraqis, which could lead to mass deportations. Although there are many NGOs still operating in Lesbos, MSF’s protest departure will no doubt have a negative impact on the refugees and migrants. Despite the deal, thousands have continued to arrive on the shores of the Greek islands in the past few days, albeit somewhat less hopeful than those who arrived before them.
Yet I remain quite certain that when there is desperation, compassion actually transcends borders. One thing I learned from living in Mytilene is that there will always be groups of volunteers ready to help when help is needed most. I look upon these volunteers as heroes and heroines. They will be increasingly needed as NGOs like MSF withdraw.
Update, March 29th: A spokesperson for Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) provided the following clarification: "The organisation continues lifesaving work on Lesbos, running mobile clinics, sea rescue and providing medical care inside transit centres. Following the transformation of the Moria registration 'hotspot' on Lesbos into a detention centre, where refugees and migrants are not being given access to claiming asylum before facing 'mass expulsion’, the medical humanitarian organisation has ceased all operations linked to it. MSF will only resume work in this centre when there are guarantees that protection and humanitarian principles will be respected."
