A few days each week I volunteer at
Miksaliste, a refugee aid center set up near the bus depot. While not a
full-fledged camp, this collection of makeshift rooms has served tens of
thousands of refugees passing through Belgrade. Recently, however, it's been
more or less the same hundred or so guys everyday. All are men, most between 17
and 35 years old, and none is Afghani, Iraqi, or Syrian -- the only three
nationalities allowed to claim asylum in Europe since late November. Instead,
the men at Miksaliste hail from Algeria, Tunisia, Morocco, Somalia, Eritrea,
Nigeria, and Pakistan. For some time now they've been stuck in Serbia,
prohibited from journeying north.
The makeup of Miksaliste shifted
completely since European countries began screening those who pass through
their borders, which, in turn, shifted typical conversations with volunteers.
For the most part, the volunteers aren't trained in refugee response and don't
know if and/or how to determine who is an economic migrant and who is a
refugee, and if and/or how that distinction impacts the aid they receive.
Naturally we provide clothing and a substantial breakfast and lunch to anyone
who shows up, but donations and volunteers dwindled since the EU deemed
only individuals from Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria worthy of the title
"refugee," which suggests this rhetorical switch impacted the
public's perception of the crisis. Because of the language barrier and because
many of them seem to wish to keep to themselves, we cannot speak openly with the
migrants and thus we don’t know why they left their homes and risked their
lives to come to Europe, making it that much more difficult to humanize their
situation.
Earlier today, a few volunteers at
Miksaliste discussed how it can be difficult to sympathize with and care for
these migrants without allowing them to take advantage of that kindness. An
incident last night spurred this conversation: some men were spotted robbing
the donation area and many articles of clothing disappeared. Though we do not
know who did it, it still damaged the trust volunteers have placed in those
they’re trying to help. Some of these migrants demand the same articles of
clothing day after day and at times they will not accept anything that isn’t
new. These frustrating moments leave volunteers with activist fatigue, unsure
how to manage our trust and build relationships with the refugees.
Generally speaking, communication is
quite tricky at Miksaliste given the various languages spoken by refugees and
volunteers alike. The foreign volunteers outnumber the Serbian one, which can
lead to misunderstandings and often result with things left unsaid. Regarding
the refugees, there are so many questions that I wish I could ask them in order
to share their answers with those who doubt their intentions. If we could
humanize this crisis, turning it from abstract to real for those who aren’t
personally involved in it, as
photos of Aylan
Kurdi did last September, I
think public opinion would start to shift. In the past, I’ve used theatre to
get to know people and begin to understand their experiences. I believe
strongly that art has the power to breed empathy and fuel trust. While we tried
some clowning/physical comedy games with children back in September in the park
near the bus depot, the young men who are stuck in Serbia now seem uninterested
in art of any sort, and our relationships remain largely impersonal.
Hopefully this incomplete list of
hurtles facing those on the frontline of this crisis provides a bit of
background to my foray into refugee response work. Fortunately, I'm attending a
two-day training next week during which I hope to address these concerns and
see what the experts say. Unfortunately, I sense that, like this entire crisis,
there are no quick fixes or easy answers, and that this will likely only get
worse before it gets better. I'll keep you posted.
