It was through two trips to the Jungle in Calais that I saw the effect of biased reporting on the lives of refugees. Prior to these trips I had found myself confused and frustrated by the lack of public empathy afforded to refugees. In my mind it was inconceivable to think that we should not make a few sacrifices to provide safety to people whose lives were otherwise in danger. If public empathy for those fleeing persecution was greater them I am sure the UK Government would be more inclined to fulfill the agreements made when we signed the UN Convention on Asylum.
The conditions in the Calais camp were unthinkably grotesque and inhumane. I would drive through Calais in the sun, see the ferries, the cafes, the restaurants and beaches only to arrive at a camp which was like something you would see in an advert by the UNHCR on our TVs. Understandably the atmosphere in the camp was volatile. Any area where people are living in poor conditions will be volatile. But I kept thinking that the people were living in these desperate conditions because Britain was making it so hard for them to travel the last 20 miles of their journey.
We would arrive with some trepidation, a slight forboding hanging over us as we recognised that we never knew quite what to expect. But with Care for Calais tabards on we were instantly recognisable as friendly faces and we would be greeted with smiles and an occasional cheer. On both my visits one in the winter and one in the summer it was the resillience, the goodwill and determination of refugees that was keeping us all strong. We needed them.
It seems ridiculous to think that although I finished each day with a hot shower, a meal and a comfy bed I needed the refugees who had nothing to carry me through. I had safety, security, family and had never even been to a war zone but I needed these people. I was supposed to be the person offering help but couldn’t have done that without their uplifting spirits.
On my first visit for just a day we had witnessed the first demolition of the camp. The atmosphere was filled with desperation, anger, frustration and despair as well as the acrid smoke that billowed up from burning shelters. It was bitterly cold and at times we stood against the side of a shelter to escape the hail that lashed down on our faces. We went to a meeting but first had to wait as a man had been found dead and volunteers had to help ensure the religious customs surrounding death were carried out. The meeting was acrimonios as refugees lashed out at volunteers who were powerless to help them.
We then met with one of the Syrian leaders. He offered us thick, dark, sweet coffee in his tiny shelter and told us of a recent phonecall with his young son who remained in Syria. He told us how his son had said: “please don’t die alone in Calais, come back and die here with us.” I will never forget that. No young boy should be placed in a situation where he feels like that. And no father shold have to hear it. That man told us he did believe he would die in the camp and he did believe his children would die in Syria. And we couldn’t help him. Even people who have committed murder are not subjected to such conditions. But I did meet people who had no sympathy for this man even though he had done nothing wrong. And they weren’t people who had ever lived in a war zone themselves.
The refugees who flee places like Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq and who made it to Calais were the people who started out higher up the income scale in their home country. It is not cheap to pay traffickers so often the most fit and able person in the family would make the journey and he or she would be able to have their family brought safely to the UK after they had arrived. Not many people in the UK have experienced living in a war zone or in a country where they fear persecution so why do so many feel they can judge those who do?
The refugees were rarely able to discuss the situation they fled from and rarely able to discuss the journeys to Calais. it was all too horrendous a memory. But the memories were there in all the terrifying, painful and distressing details. But people who can survive all that and set up in an illegal camp in the hope of making that final 20 mile crossing to the UK were understandably strong and resiliant. Why is Britain rejecting having engineers, doctors, teachers and nurses with strong and resilient characters settle in this country?
I suspect it is because they are pandering to the general public’s distrust of the ‘other’, the racism and bigotry that pervades our society. It is an election winner to mollycoddle the Daily Mail reader and offer a hostile environoment to anybody who can be safely classed as ‘different’. It comes from a self serving, self interested Government who thinks first about their own future and not this country’s.
So on my second visit which this time was for a week I started to think carefully about why the public attitudes in the UK were so callous. I started to look at the local newspapers in the Calais youth hostel each evening and with distant memories of French language interpret what they said. If I had believed all the papers said I too would have distrusted the refugees. But I was seeing the reality and so had empathy. British news articles would have given me much the same impression.
So how do we find out the truth if our media lies? The reality is that we must look for the truth. We must question everything including ourselves. A French man working in the youth hostel told me that Calais has been affected for many years by refugees seeking entry to Britain. He said that the lorry drivers in particular had suffered because of the refugee problem in the town. So attituudes were generally hostile to refugees. But as he pointed out the lorry drivers were facing enormous fines if they were found to have a refugee stowaway on board. The hostility was understandable in a way once you recognise the problems those lorry drivers faced every time they went through Calais. But if they questioned themselves they may have been able to see that it was the authorities who made them carry such a burden. The authorities should have been the people taking responsibility for checking the lorries for refugees.
Before I left to get the ferry home I walked over the road from the youth hostel to the beach. The sun was shining and the sky was clear and Dover was clearly visible across the sea. I thought then about the camp and the many refugees who sheltered there. Most of them would have already travelled thousands of miles from ther home country. But because of the relentless reinforcing of the UK borders that last 20 or so miles eluded them. How sickening it must be to live with all the depravities of the camp when they could on a clear day see the coast of Britain. I felt ashamed of my own country when I boarded the ferry. I had been able to give a little help to a few people during the week and I felt overwhelmed by just how little difference that would make. I couldn’t stop my tears as I watched the Calais shoreline slowly fade from my view. I would miss those people and I felt privileged to have met them,
Eastbourne People's Assembly 