The vital role that technology plays in the life of a
migrant was apparent from the start, but over the past two weeks it has proved
more varied than ever before. Many of us complain that we spend too much
time on our phones; we may even find ourselves addicted to certain apps. I sometimes condemn technology, and
smart phones in particular, for tapping into and profiting from human nature's fickle resolve, and I refrain from using wifi everyday as
it's not necessary for the work I'm doing. However, I've recently developed a finer understanding
of the boons of the smart phone. The migrants would be even more lost
(literally and figuratively), more scared, and more alone without these pocket
computers. Here are some instances that demonstrate a few ways in which
smart phones usually help, sometimes hurt, and undeniably shape their
day-to-day lives:
Because migrating requires traveling great expanses by foot,
the number of refugees in Belgrade dwindled since November. A recent spread in
the Economist suggested 7,000/day entered Greece last fall and through the
winter 2-3,000/day (with even fewer since NATO deployed ships to ensure they
don't reach Greece, but that's another story). While they all cross through
Serbia, only a few stop in Belgrade; those who can afford it travel straight
from the Macedonian/Bulgarian borders to the Croatian border. Or, if they're
"non-SIA" (meaning not from Syria, Iraq, or Afghanistan), which
usually means they're economic migrants, they might try to cut through Hungary
illegally. At night we greet "SIA" refugees at the train station and
either escort them to the refugee camp or wait with them for the train to Šid,
the town on the Croatian border. During the day, however, I mostly interact
with "non-SIA" economic migrants, and the most meaningful
conversations I have with them happen around the surge protector provided
by InfoPark (an NGO with a small hut in the park beside the bus/train depot).
InfoPark serves tea, coffee, and instant noodles, but the most significant
contribution is the row of outlets for migrants to use to charge their
phones. This surge protector works as, I imagine, a water cooler does in
the workplace. Nearly everyone has a phone, and those who don't once did
until the phones were stolen by other migrants, by police, or by smugglers.
Some are even on their third or fourth phone because they consider it a
requisite appendage. We open InfoPark at 9am and by 9:02am six phones charge
while their owners wait impatiently for the chance to reconnect with their
friends and family back home and elsewhere in Europe. As the men wait, I begin
basic small-talk which, when the phones' batteries are at 0%, become drawn-out
conversations.
On Monday, a Pakistani man described violence he witnessed
back home before leaving. He's a member of Ahmadiyya, a minority Muslim group
persecuted in Pakistan. As we all do when recounting horror, he struggled to
find the right words to explain what happened so he turned to multimedia. He
opened up his YouTube app, searched for footage of the incident, and played a
video in which Pakistani police beat and tried to set fire to members of his
denomination. Because I had never heard of Ahmadiyya, he used his
phone to google the religion and laced the basic information on Wikipedia with
his personal experience. Since we didn't have a mutual language in which to
communicate fully, technology played the middle man, extending and deepening
our conversation.
YouTube made another appearance another evening as I waited
with a Kurdish family for the train that would take them to Šid. Smugglers had
stolen the passports and nearly all the money of this poor father, mother, and
their four-year-old daughter who we found crying a few blocks from the train
station. I didn't catch the whole story, but basically Muslim smugglers in
Macedonia promised to take them from Greece to Croatia, but instead dropped
them off in Macedonia. Because the family had Afghani passports, they could
have passed freely through the Macedonian and Serbian borders spending very
little on public transportation. Unfortunately, they weren't made aware of
these options since there aren't as many Kurdish translators and they don't
speak Arabic. Believing that their chances of seeking asylum in Germany evaporated with their passports,
their spirits were completely crushed. Fortunately we took them to the police
station, got them registered, and bought them tickets for the train to Croatia.
Since we only have Arabic translators we called our friend in Croatia who
speaks Kurdish and over Skype we navigated each of these steps. Isn't that
fantastic? Everything was spoken in quick Serbo-Croatian and Kurdish so I
didn't catch it all, but the whole time I stood astonished by this triangulated
conversation made possible by technology. After successfully transmitting the
message that all would be well, the family showed me a YouTube video of the
town they hope to reach in Germany which has a large Kurdish population
including some friends of theirs. The mother and father clearly watch this video
regularly because they hummed along to the background music and excitedly
tapped the screen during key moments. These Kurdish refugees had an unbearable
day but this video helped to turn it around and remind them of what would make
the long journey bearable.
For the past week I've known when the clock struck 3:30pm by
a Moroccan migrant's phone alarm. This alarm notifies him of the fourth of five
daily prayers, a practice he and all the Muslims I've met have given up without
easy or any access to a mosque. The alarm itself is some sort of melodic,
chanted prayer which no one has seemed interested in talking about so I haven't
pressed them for its meaning. When asked why he wouldn't silence the alarm
for good he told his friend that they need to remember "what's important
and prayer's important." While religion may come up in a conversation,
people rarely reveal anything about their faith. Obviously it's very personal
and I don't intend to pry, but I'm very grateful to have been privy to this
brief exchange about a matter of great import.
As I indicated above, smart phones are precious and, like
all things precious, they inspire envy and greed in the eyes of those who don't
have them or wish evilly to make easy money. By the time the migrants reach
Belgrade, they've usually lost or been robbed of at least one phone, a loss
that sometimes brings out the worst in people. Of the seven fights I've
witnessed (from afar, Mom and Dad, don't worry), five were sparked by the
accusation of a stolen phone. Naturally these incite regional tensions that lie
just beneath the surface. Two weeks ago, what started as a fight between a
Moroccan and a man from Polisario became a full-on West Side Story brawl
between all the Moroccans and all of those from Polisario. (Alas my role as a Jet
girl in this musical during high school didn't prepare me for the explosive
effect of a fight like that.) Given the proportion of phone-related fights, I
should have been less surprised when I learned of the spark that lit the fire
ablaze. It seems that angst from the injustices they've faced simmers under the
skin of a lot of these guys, but they generally do a good job keeping it in
check. Smart phones, however, are 100% off limits, and if that rule isn't respected
there are consequences.
In an effort to end on a cheerier note, I'll close with a
story from last night. When twenty-six Afghani men got off the train in
Belgrade, we greeted them with care packages full of food and water and
explained their options moving forward. Instead of accepting the free aid, the
first man I approached immediately asked me where he could get an SIM card for
his phone. The Bulgarian police stole his phone and most of his money and while
his friend lent him his phone he needed a Serbian SIM card. While I escorted
him to the money exchange counter and then to the kiosk he explained that it
was his daughters eleventh birthday and he desperately needed to call her. As
soon as he activated the card and added credit, he called, he heard her voice,
and all was well. I don't know if I'd ever seen a wave of relief and joy so
profound.
I intended these anecdotes to explain the strange mix of
medieval and modern that govern the migrants' lives. They walk for many hours
on end and then "like" their friends' photos on Facebook. They have
access to so little actually but so much virtually. More often than not, these
devices supply immense support by keeping them oriented and informed and
helping them to maintain support networks from afar. Sometimes they even
provide that extra push to keep going. One man's phone background features an
image that might appear on an inspirational poster with big text reading
"go the distance" -- a semi-arid landscape, blue sky, and a paved
road cutting straight through the center. When he caught me examining it, he
said, "Life's a journey." While people have always migrated, they
haven't always migrated with this porous link to the place and people they left
and that final destination. In the midst of a sometime-excruciating journey,
smart phones can provide that which migrants need most: hope.
In the next post I'll provide a couple of examples of how
technology influences the work of volunteers, as well.
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