The Forgotten Ones
Does anyone remember Aylan Kurdi? Though his first name might ring a bell, I'm pretty sure no one remembers who he was or why his name became so well-known in Europe. His name has been washed away by the tide, much like the tide that washed up his three year old body onto the beach at Bodrum, in Turkey. The picture of that little boy lying at the waters' edge, in a red t-shirt and navy blue shorts prompted a shudder in most of the world. That little boy and his family, paradoxically dead because they tried to escape death in their home town in Syria, made Europe open its eyes for a short while.
Quotas were set up; each European member country was to receive a certain amount of refugees according to its wealth and possibilities. In the aftermath of Aylan's death, with his picture still circulating everywhere, everyone agreed. But they were only awaiting the moment that collective amnesia would fall upon a fast-forgetting public, awash in a daily bombardment of sights and sounds.
Few countries took in all the refugees they had agreed to. Hundreds of thousands still await some kind of settlement in refugee camps in Greece, where they shiver in the winter cold. Despite the "win" against the fundamentalists creating mayhem in Syria, people are still trying to escape certain death, only to meet it when about to step in safer countries, such as the fifteen people who froze to death in the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon earlier this month. What the European Union did do was tighten border restrictions, and patrol the southern waters more often, thereby reducing the number of refugees that arrive from Turkey. Now they take the longer, more dangerous route, and go west to Libya and Morocco.
Last week, a boat with around ninety refugees, mostly Pakistanis, capsized shortly after it left the Libyan shore. Only three survived. Yesterday, a ferry leaving Melilla for the peninsula, found bodies floating in the water. Twenty were recuperated, but it is believed close to fifty were aboard. Almost 250 souls have perished in the Mediterranean this month. During all of last year, 3116 souls have been lost forever in Homer's wine-dark sea. But those are only official numbers. Despite being able to pinpoint dots in the sea that are boats filled with people, some still pass unseen, and no one knows how many really have succumbed to the oblivion of those dark waters.
From official hands out to help, Europe has turned its cold back on those in need. Outrage over lodging refugees has been one reason that has led to the upturn in nationalist political parties. Those type of parties, that are sceptical of a true pan-European continent, and that seek to keep their customs intact by closing borders and minds, have actually won elections in Finland, Hungary, Austria, and Poland. And they have come perilously close to winning them in Germany. France has also seen a growing following of LePen, and Britain's Farage helped create the infamous Brexit.
And yet, despite the cold shoulder, despite the cold, dangerous waters that separate the continents, still desperate people set out in water-borne coffins, searching for a dream that is a chimera. If they survive, they are alone on a continent where they are considered illegal humans. They cannot work anywhere except at clandestine jobs where they earn a pittance, and they have no rights. Yet, they will fight even for that. Even that little bit is a godsend to them.
On occasion I see a man from a non-European country that has English as one of its official languages, in front of a store. He is undocumented, works at whatever he can, and shares a room in an apartment. When he can't find a job, he sits at a store entrance and begs. I once went into conversation with him. He told me he sends money whenever he can back to his family, his wife and children. Despite his precarious condition in this first-world country, he manages to send money home, and that little money makes a big difference in his family's fortunes. I buy him fresh food that he can't get at Caritas or the food bank; fruit, vegetables and meat. Some weeks my expenses are under budget I give him some money.
That man and others like him are to be admired. If we found ourselves uprooted to a foreign country, without the possibility to live like the local people because we don't have the necessary papers, would we be able to work at whatever we found? Would we still be able to send money home, denying ourselves basic needs just to keep our families well? We keep seeing them as "outsiders" or "different" or, in the worst of cases, "illegal criminals that come and take our jobs or try to live on government subsidies without working." But the truth is, they are heroes that have survived calamities that most of us would shrink from. They are heroes that deny their own needs to help their loved ones back home.
I will never stop saying this. They are our brothers and sisters. If we look in their eyes we will see ourselves. And if there is a God, may he grant we never see ourselves in such need as they. Because no one will help us, just as we don't help them.
Quotas were set up; each European member country was to receive a certain amount of refugees according to its wealth and possibilities. In the aftermath of Aylan's death, with his picture still circulating everywhere, everyone agreed. But they were only awaiting the moment that collective amnesia would fall upon a fast-forgetting public, awash in a daily bombardment of sights and sounds.
Few countries took in all the refugees they had agreed to. Hundreds of thousands still await some kind of settlement in refugee camps in Greece, where they shiver in the winter cold. Despite the "win" against the fundamentalists creating mayhem in Syria, people are still trying to escape certain death, only to meet it when about to step in safer countries, such as the fifteen people who froze to death in the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon earlier this month. What the European Union did do was tighten border restrictions, and patrol the southern waters more often, thereby reducing the number of refugees that arrive from Turkey. Now they take the longer, more dangerous route, and go west to Libya and Morocco.
Last week, a boat with around ninety refugees, mostly Pakistanis, capsized shortly after it left the Libyan shore. Only three survived. Yesterday, a ferry leaving Melilla for the peninsula, found bodies floating in the water. Twenty were recuperated, but it is believed close to fifty were aboard. Almost 250 souls have perished in the Mediterranean this month. During all of last year, 3116 souls have been lost forever in Homer's wine-dark sea. But those are only official numbers. Despite being able to pinpoint dots in the sea that are boats filled with people, some still pass unseen, and no one knows how many really have succumbed to the oblivion of those dark waters.
From official hands out to help, Europe has turned its cold back on those in need. Outrage over lodging refugees has been one reason that has led to the upturn in nationalist political parties. Those type of parties, that are sceptical of a true pan-European continent, and that seek to keep their customs intact by closing borders and minds, have actually won elections in Finland, Hungary, Austria, and Poland. And they have come perilously close to winning them in Germany. France has also seen a growing following of LePen, and Britain's Farage helped create the infamous Brexit.
And yet, despite the cold shoulder, despite the cold, dangerous waters that separate the continents, still desperate people set out in water-borne coffins, searching for a dream that is a chimera. If they survive, they are alone on a continent where they are considered illegal humans. They cannot work anywhere except at clandestine jobs where they earn a pittance, and they have no rights. Yet, they will fight even for that. Even that little bit is a godsend to them.
On occasion I see a man from a non-European country that has English as one of its official languages, in front of a store. He is undocumented, works at whatever he can, and shares a room in an apartment. When he can't find a job, he sits at a store entrance and begs. I once went into conversation with him. He told me he sends money whenever he can back to his family, his wife and children. Despite his precarious condition in this first-world country, he manages to send money home, and that little money makes a big difference in his family's fortunes. I buy him fresh food that he can't get at Caritas or the food bank; fruit, vegetables and meat. Some weeks my expenses are under budget I give him some money.
That man and others like him are to be admired. If we found ourselves uprooted to a foreign country, without the possibility to live like the local people because we don't have the necessary papers, would we be able to work at whatever we found? Would we still be able to send money home, denying ourselves basic needs just to keep our families well? We keep seeing them as "outsiders" or "different" or, in the worst of cases, "illegal criminals that come and take our jobs or try to live on government subsidies without working." But the truth is, they are heroes that have survived calamities that most of us would shrink from. They are heroes that deny their own needs to help their loved ones back home.
I will never stop saying this. They are our brothers and sisters. If we look in their eyes we will see ourselves. And if there is a God, may he grant we never see ourselves in such need as they. Because no one will help us, just as we don't help them.
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