We do not see any borders from space. From up here it is crystal clear that on Earth we are one humanity, we eventually all share the same fate.
Alexander Gerst, German Astronaut
In my house, my dad has the news on the television all day every day. I’d become tetchy and irritable when news reporters showed images of young men jumping onto lorries and even the roof tops of Euro-tunnel trains. These are desperate people I would mutter, these are refugees fleeing war, violence, and corruption.Yet even the word “migrant” has become dirty, as if there’s something wrong and selfish about the freedom of movement. The freedom that we take for granted but wont permit to others in desperate need.
As soon as the British government sent £7 MILLION to Calais in the form of prison-like fences, I’d had enough. I wanted to show my solidarity and show that my government does not represent me. A government, I may add, that the majority of the UK population didn’t want in the first place. So myself and three friends, Gareth, Dil, and Adam set up a crowdfunder online asking friends and family to help us raise £150 to cover the price of the ferry for one van loaded with aid supplies. Within three days we had £750, in a week we were just shy of a grand. “Guess we’re doing monthly trips then” I said. And so it started. We named our little group “HumanKind” and within three weeks we had connected with local aid groups including Children of Calais, the Hummingbird Project, and many different independent people who had been collecting donations and even buying new supplies. We ended up taking 55 tents tatted from Bestival by a group of local anarchists, food and bottled water intercepted by The Real Junk Food Project Brighton, and a job lot of tents, tarpaulins, camping chairs, soaps and shampoo, all collected by Children of Calais and The Hummingbird Project, who kindly provided Dil and I with first aid training to boot! Not wanting to be “one of those” groups-who, with the best intentions, end up badly self-distributing the wrong aid and dehumanizing people in the process, we were extremely selective in our donations. We only took priority items of the highest quality, and were in regular contact with volunteers on the ground and in the distribution centres to know exactly what was needed most.
On 19th September we left Brighton at 3am in an old micra, and a questionable van, both filled to the brim with supplies, set to join thousands of people on a solidarity march through the jungle organised by L’auberge des migrants international.. Once in Calais at 9am, it had already been 6 hours since we started travelling. Our sleep deprived delirium continued throughout the morning as we navigated our way around Calais on the wrong side of the road, to check in to various hostels and to get breakfast. Then we entered the jungle.
It seemed to hit us all in a wave of emotion, as we each simultaneously fell silent. Flood damage could immediately be seen, and as I tried to stay clear of the pools of water I looked down to see people’s feet crammed into shoes that didn’t fit or wearing flip flops as they walked through boggy sand and waste. In every direction there was barren landscape filled with makeshift shelters. But there are not that many people. 3,500 is hardly the “swarm” our doting Prime Minister would have us believe. A sickly plastic smell clung to the air as we passed large areas of the camp that had been destroyed in the floods. Broken tents lay abandoned on the ground, and piles of unwanted (often unthoughtful) donations smouldered in a bid to burn waste materials. Who sends high heels and sparkling bikinis to a refugee camp?
Refugee camps lined with fences to “protect the border”
Material debris is burned
We followed the procession of people to the bridge, where the atmosphere exploded. Music and dancing burst through the crowds, as everyone chanted the word “Freedom” in Arabic. Amongst the crowd I was surprised to see Europeans who were elderly and disable, and that many adults walked hand in hand with their young children. This was nothing like anything the media portrays to us back at home. Smiles were everywhere, everyone spoke enthusiastically, wanting to shake our hands, to say hello.
“Hello” quickly became my favourite word to say- it says: “I see you, I see you here with me. I see you here, in a place that the outside world ignores”.
Three policemen watched from on top of the bridge, and the prison-like fences crowned in barbed wire stretched across the entire horizon. Despite the fences, we smiled and we chanted and watched the dancing. Little were we to know that not four days after this wonderful unity of European citizens and refugees (Somalian, Sudanese, Eritrea and Syrian people), the French police would rip down all the tents from under the bridge, bull dose large areas of the camp, herd these people like cattle into the jungle, and tear gas indiscriminately despite the presence of women and children.
Speeches are given from the back of the van, followed by music and dancing. Police watch from the bridge.
Europeans and refugees walk, dance, and talk with each other below the fences.
Europeans cheer for freedom on the march through the jungle
The march stops one of the lorries entering the industrial estate on the periphery of the Jungle
One of the many banners we saw on the march
No.
The march took us all the way to the Calais ferry port where we painted our words of welcome and solidarity on a large wall. My favourite moment was when one Syrian man turned to a French lady behind him and asked her how to spell “victims” in English. The French lady struggled to answer. The man laughed with her as he said “this is jungle problem-we need English speakers, we speak English-we try to go to England”, I said to them both “yes but then the English speakers here can’t speak French!” we all laughed in the realisation that the small things that seem helpless like the lack of a common language, can be overcome quickly with humour and a smile.
Syrian refugee and French citizen joke about their language barrier-the desired language: English
After the march we set off back into the jungle where we had left our car. Walking back from the ferry port we met many different people who said hello, gave a smile, a hand shake. But the nearer we came to the bridge, our entrance of the jungle, the more uneasy I felt. I stepped over a sleeping mans legs, as he lay face first in his tent that was half the size of him, too small for him to lay completely inside.
Under the bridge we came across a group of women and children, each holding signs asking “where are our rights?” “the jungle is for animals, it’s not for us”, some held personal signs which read their identity, their purpose. “I am a scientist”, “I am a student”, “I am a teacher”, “I am a lawyer”. A knot formed in my throat. One woman with a mega phone and well-spoken English asked us these questions as I filmed. My eye’s started to water. A man walked by, saw my sadness, and gave me the most warm smile of encouragement I could have asked for. The Jungle is not a place to self-victimize, it’s not a place to bring your own struggles into, it’s a place where we must bring positivity and action. I would not let myself cry. I had no right to. I will share their message instead.
Women’s protest
Children accompany women holding signs.
Leaving the women, we entered the jungle which felt very different from hours before. It was as if we had been given a reality check, of what it is really like here on a “normal” day. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of human waste. Despite 3,500 being a small number of people, there are too few toilets for even that many.We were told there is just one water tap. The barbed wire fence loomed over us on the surrounding hill. No wonder these women liken their situations to caged animals. Caged animals left without adequate care. How can this be happening?
People cued patiently as groups of coordinated volunteers distributed bottled water and small plates of food. An English volunteer explained how in England it’s considered polite for women to go first, and so all the men shuffled back to let the women to the front of the cue. Everyone looked tired, but we received smiles from everyone. There was a sense of cooperation and order amidst the helplessness and injustice of poverty.A gentleman holding a small paper plate of rice peered into our car as we ready ourselves to leave, he offered us some of his food as if it’s the most normal thing to do in the world. This is so far removed from what we are told to believe by our media and by our government.
Five minutes later we were back in Calais, feeling sick at the thought that what is essentially third world poverty, was within walking distance from first world society. How is that not our responsibility? How is that moral, fair, or even legal??
The next day we travelled to a distribution centre where we offloaded all our supplies, which were greatly received. We felt a sense of achievement knowing that all these tents, sleeping bags, food, and more, will be used-not left to sit in a pile and eventually burned.
Humankind left to right: Adam and Jess (The Real Junk Food Project Brighton), Gareth, and Dil.
One of our vehicles filled with priority supplies
me and Gareth unloading crates into the storage facility
Real Junk Food Project Brighton food donations
Empty van!
Left to right: Adam, Gareth, Dil, Jess, Dave, Mark
We will be returning in a few weeks to spend another weekend in the Calais Jungle, this time we are bringing carpenters and tools. We will be building shelters with L’Auberge, teaching people basic carpentry skills, helping to clear away waste in the camp, and distributing more much-needed supplies.
If you would like to help fund our next trip please click here
(All money will be used to pay for petrol and euro-tunnel tickets).
For more updates you should follow us on facebook here: HumanKind
The Rubbish Junkie 