Five Years of Waiting
On the Brink of Change in Greece
Five years may not seem like a long time. But for people seeking safety in the European Union, each year since 2015 has brought about new heartbreak, new setbacks and deprivations of human rights. Though the migration context in Europe, and in Greece, have profoundly changed in this period, for refugees waiting for relocation, reunification or asylum, the situation has stagnated at best, and deteriorated dramatically at worst.
After five years working in Greece we’ve witnessed time and time again how an unsustainable migration system somehow continues, often buried under its own weight. Alongside other actors, we have raised our voices to decry woefully inadequate reception conditions on the Aegean Islands, painfully long waiting times, and dangerous deprivations of rights for the most vulnerable. With every year, little improves — and asylum seekers suffer more of the same — more insecurity, heightened uncertainty, more stress and more isolation.
In five years, a lot has changed. But also painfully little.
Today, we are on the brink of another large shift in Greece that puts the rights and safety of refugees more at stake. But in order to understand where we are, we need to review how we got here — what have we witnessed in our five years of immediate crisis response, and psychosocial support? How can this review of the changes help us to charter our way forward, as an NGO but also collectively?
From Movement to Containment
When we founded Lighthouse Relief in September 2015, it was at a moment of constant movement. Thousands of people arrived on the shores of Lesvos every day — and in order to provide first assistance, comfort and a warm welcome, we set up our Stage 1 camp, nestled in an olive grove near the fishing village of Skala Sikamineas.
We received thousands of people every day — they stayed for a short while, sometimes overnight, then transited on to the south of the island, and then on to the mainland, and to other countries in order to lodge their asylum claims and to be reunited with their family members. Pushed by conflict, persecution and insecurity, over 800,000 people arrived in Greece to seek asylum that year alone.
Quickly, the narrative of a “migration crisis” emerged — both in political rhetoric and news media, an “unmanageable flow” or “wave of migration” were described. This crisis narrative infused the situation with urgency and fear. 2015 was indeed the start of a crisis — but a protracted crisis of humanity and of policy, the effects of which we would see through the next five years.
For people making the journey to Greece, everything changed in the month of March 2016. On 8 March, the so-called “Balkan route” closed, effectively trapping people on the move at the northern borders of Greece. That month, our team travelled to the northern border, where we witnessed the deplorable conditions in which people were waiting — 40% of those in Idomeni were under 15 years old.
“The filthy, muddy Idomeni camp is now home to between 12,000 and 15,000 stranded men, women and children fleeing conflict. People here lack basic resources like food, adequate shelter, basic sanitation and medical care. Here there are mostly families, and many vulnerable cases.” (LHR, March 18, 2016)
Just a few weeks later, on March 20, the EU-Turkey Statement entered into force — a pivotal, and heartbreaking moment for the thousands fleeing from conflict and persecution. The infamous statement declared that anyone who arrived on the Greek islands after the 18th of March, 2016, would be returned to Turkey. In return, an equal number of Syrians in Turkey would be resettled in Europe. Neither of these conditions materialised. Turkey was described as a safe third country, despite an inadequate asylum system, and ongoing human rights abuses.
Overnight, Moria Registration Center was transformed into a closed “hotspot” to manage return and readmission. Our team had been providing support to families in the center, and was asked to leave on March 21st.
“From Sunday, people crossing the Aegean Sea from Turkey have no hope of finding refuge in the EU. Instead, it is expected that they will be returned to Turkey, despite the country’s grim track record for not providing adequate protection for them.” (LHR, March 21, 2016)
At this point, with our teams at the southern and northern borders of Greece, we knew that refugees would be trapped on the mainland for long periods of time. We were determined to provide them support while they waited, expanding to camps on the mainland, including Ritsona, where we still provide psychosocial support today. At the time, Ritsona camp was a small gathering of tents, on a previous military base, a winding and mountainous 8km away from the nearest town, Chalkida.
“ The staggered asylum process and struggling Greek economy means that people will be living in camps for months, if not years, vulnerable to the elements, exhaustion and exploitation.” (LHR, May 6, 2016)
Between 19 March and 26 September 2016, 20,000 people arrived in Greece, where they were subject to a “fast-track procedure” intended to return them to Turkey. Although arrivals were significantly less than the previous year, the situation demanded that we stay on Lesvos to make sure that no matter how many people arrived — whether five or 500, there would be someone there to provide first assistance.
In a few months, the context had shifted dramatically, and the needs evolved beyond first assistance and humanitarian relief. We grappled with the implications for vulnerable people on the move — how long would they wait on the mainland? How much more dangerous would the journey become for them?
Between Two Worlds
At the end of 2016, the situation transitioned from being seen as an “emergency” to a stable one — from humanitarian crisis to development. With this shift in perception, there was also scaling down of support for civil society actors in Greece, and in 2017, there was a handover of services to the Greek government. But significant gaps in the response remained, and the rate of relocation was extremely slow. Though the attention of the world had moved elsewhere, we did our best to provide constant support despite the diminishing resources and funding available, both on the mainland and on Lesvos.
The needs for psychosocial support were extremely high on the Greek mainland. People trapped in camps there had suffered trauma in their countries of origin and during their journeys. Often, they were exposed to ongoing trauma due to prolonged uncertainty and poor living conditions. We met many residents who had been separated from their family members, and faced huge obstacles in the reunification process.
Through our work in Ritsona and other camps, the lack of opportunity and education for children and youth was jarring. In our Child Friendly Space and our educational activities, we tried to create consistency and stimulation despite the difficult conditions.
During our time on the mainland, we became increasingly aware that there was also little support targeting youth navigating their teen years and early twenties — usually a time of planning and dreaming. In response, in 2017 we created our Youth Engagement Space alongside the youth of the camp — a space that was theirs to shape, to foster creativity, skills and hope for the future.
“‘Never Give Up’ is the motto of the Lighthouse Relief Youth Engagement Space (YES) in Ritsona refugee camp. Here, creativity is celebrated and participants are encouraged to develop their interests and are engaged not as refugees but as human beings: real people with talent, hope and aspiration.” (LHR, June 2017)
On Lesvos, we continued to provide as warm a welcome as we could, knowing that for most people this would be the one moment of calm and peace before being transferred to Moria. There, asylum seekers were waiting longer and longer in traumatising, unhygienic, appalling, and overcrowded conditions.
Though several thousand vulnerable refugees were transferred to the mainland, this was just a drop in the bucket, as more people fleeing insecurity still arrived on the shores of Lesvos and other islands in 2017 and 2018.
With few actors left on the north shore, we worked with our key partner, Refugee Rescue, to ensure that people could be safe upon their arrival, after a long and dangerous journey. But tensions were growing on the islands, with local communities frustrated at the lack of support they received from the central government and the EU.
Human Rights at Stake for Refugees & Asylum Seekers
In 2019, the cumulative effects of all these shifts surfaced when the political landscape changed dramatically. In the summer of 2019, a government was formed under the leadership of the centre right New Democracy Party and Prime Minister Kiriakos Mitsotakis. The newly elected government implemented measures affecting people on the move, including a new law curtailing protections for asylum seekers, and an arduous registration process for NGOs.
Meanwhile, a significant increase in arrivals to Lesvos in the summer of 2019 left our team on Lesvos working non-stop to provide first assistance. It was the highest number of arrivals we had witnessed since 2015.
“In the last four years on the north shore of Lesvos, rarely have we had an afternoon as busy as today’s. Just after 5pm, 13 dinghies landed almost simultaneously on a narrow stretch of beach.” (LHR, August 2019)
Some speculated that arrivals would decrease again with colder temperatures, but in the autumn of 2019, our team was still called to respond to landings, often multiple times per day. Every night, we hosted newly arrived people in Stage 2 Transit Camp. One group entered, and hours later, another group would be ushered in — we’d scooch everyone over, find some space and serve hot tea with buckets of sugar. When a new group arrived, we started the process all over again — make space, make tea.
It was then that the municipal council of West Lesvos voted to close the small transit camp, one of the last vestiges of a system that had developed to accommodate arrivals in 2015 and 2016. It was a small indication of the developments to come.
Residents in Ritsona Camp, as well as our team, felt these changes very acutely. The camp was expanding in size, with thousands of vulnerable people from the Aegean islands transferred in early 2020. 700 to 800 of the newly transferred residents were children under the age of 18.
A Breaking Point on the Aegean Islands
In the new year, the situation on the islands reached the breaking point that many had long predicted. In February 2020, local communities on Lesvos protested against closed detention centers, and the government responded with force, sending Riot Police teams (MAT) to quell the protests.
On February 27, just as the MAT forces had withdrawn, Turkey announced it would no longer prevent asylum seekers from travelling across the sea and land borders to Greece. With this, tensions erupted on the island of Lesvos, laying bare the years of appalling living conditions for asylum seekers, against the stark and often insidious frustration from the local community.
Although many media outlets, as well as politicians, reacted quickly with a familiar narrative predicting “uncontrollable flows” or “waves” of migration, we did not witness a significant uptick in sea arrivals, but our team did encounter threats and intimidation, eventually forcing us to pause our operations. Across the island, asylum seekers, humanitarian workers, journalists, and members of the local community faced threats, violence and intimidation, and a deprivation of their rights. In an alarming move, on March 1st, the Greek government suspended the right to claim asylum for thirty days, invoking Article 78(3) of the Treaty of the Functioning of the EU (TFEU).
“Today, we are seeing the outcome of an institutional failure: the lack of a coherent EU migration policy has created an intolerable situation for local communities on the islands, as well as asylum seekers, including those trapped in the horrific reality of Moria Camp.” (LHR, March 4, 2020)
As fears of COVID-19 quickly took center stage, we were forced to indefinitely prolong our suspension. Throughout the summer of 2020, the situation for refugees and asylum seekers further deteriorated, often under the guise of public health interventions in reaction to COVID-19.
At the same time, there were growing reports of rampant pushbacks in the Aegean Sea, a violation of international humanitarian law. Those who were able to land on the Greek shores were placed in remote, low-resource settings for prolonged quarantines. Camps on the islands and on the mainland were placed on indefinite lockdowns, with residents unable to venture outside to get even the most basic necessities. Remote camps that had already been isolated, such as Ritsona, became even more shut off from the rest of the world due to the Coronavirus.
A new and troubling issue also began to emerge in March 2020, when the Greek government further cut the support that recognised refugees could access. Whereas refugees previously had six months of financial and housing support in order to find their own accommodation, get a social security number, and seek employment, they now only had 30 days to do so. When this new regulation took effect at the end of May, over 8,300 refugees in these so-called “exit schemes” were left without any support — with even their scarce cash assistance taken away, and were forced to seek housing in the middle of a pandemic. Many recognised refugees, including thousands transferred from the islands, were left struggling with homelessness, living on the streets in the middle of a crowded square in Athens.
Where We Are Today
At the end of September, we observed the five year anniversary of Lighthouse Relief in the midst of upheaval. Huge political shifts on Lesvos meant that we could no longer provide Emergency Response to the few asylum seekers still able to land on the shores.
The devastating fires in Moria Camp had inspired some fleeting hope that things would change. However, after days on the streets of Mytilene with little support, the camp’s inhabitants were transferred to a new camp with conditions even worse than the former — located on a previous firing range, and completely exposed to the elements. The opportunity for meaningful change dissipated with the new camp, and the subsequent closure of PIKPA, one of the few dignified hosting structures left.
Today, a new emergency situation is on the horizon. In the months to come, thousands of people will be transferred from the Aegean Islands to the mainland, and thousands more by Easter 2021. Upon their arrival, they will access a limited amount of support, then essentially be left on their own to navigate the complex world of housing, employment, and Greek bureaucracy.
A Reason for Hope
In this context, it can be difficult to be hopeful. Though the migration context may have changed in many ways, a few things have remained constant. Asylum seekers are still stranded, often unable to move forward and unsupported in their quest to do so.
But there is, in spite of it all, a reason for hope. In the past years, and especially during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, we have seen community initiatives flourish, and we have ramped up our Resident Volunteer programme to offer a greater role to community members in our programming — this enriches our activities, making them more accountable and responsive.
In 2020, COVID-19 has placed the world on pause — but for many asylum seekers, life has been on pause for much, much longer. In this “in-between” time, it is crucial to foster opportunities for hope — for looking to the future, and for enriching this in-between time with creativity, support, stimulation.
Though there are changes on the horizon, change is also an opportunity to reevaluate the way things are being done. If there is one thing that the past five years have taught us, it is the importance of ensuring that the voices of asylum seekers and refugees are elevated and included in shaping the support that they receive. Humanitarian action must be driven by the individuals whom it affects. It is crucial, more largely, that the voices of displaced people inform humanitarian action, policy, journalism and storytelling. It is only together that we can build a brighter future.
