by Sabine Wilke
On September 3, 2015, a single photo dominated the front pages of newspapers and online media worldwide. It was a little boy, three years old, his small body twisted and soaking wet, lying lifeless on a Turkish beach. Four and a half kilometers: that is the distance he would have had to overcome, to make it to the Greek island of Kos, to the promise of Europe: four and a half kilometers to find security and freedom.
Aylan Kurdi died at sea. Drowning miserably, senselessly, and countless other people with him. Women, men, children. Night for night, until this day.
I was born on September 3, and like most people in a job, I like to spend my birthday on holiday. Far away from world events, with no emails and push messages. But on that day, I couldn’t escape the news of this photo.
I hesitated. I did not want to see the photo, did not want to be pulled into this tragedy, not now. But it did show up on a website, eventually, or in a tweet. I don’t remember. But it showed up alongside news from Germany, my home, and images of welcoming crowds at train stations, of open borders and helping hands. Sadness, despair and anger inside of me were mixed with a cautious optimism about the events in my country.
A year ago, in early September, Europe saw a sudden turn of events. Germany’s chancellor Angela Merkel decided to open borders to refugees stuck in Hungary and what followed was a rather unprecedented and determined march through Europe, a march of thousands of refugees and migrants towards what seemed to be a safe harbor.
To explain her action, Merkel coined the term “We can do this”. She was convinced that this was a humanitarian imperative and that Germany had the means and infrastructure to help those in need. This simple phrase has since been quoted up and down, it has been interpreted and criticized. Trivialized and exploited. It was mocked, approved and disapproved. That’s what happens in a democracy, in an open society where the liberty of expression leads to sometimes controversial debates.
For almost ten years, I have worked as a humanitarian. And my job gives me the privilege of meeting people in many places of the world, to learn about their lives. In 2011, I met Somali women in the largest refugee camp in the world, Dadaab. They had fled famine and violence in their home. And on the run, they were ambushed, robbed and raped. In the second year of the Syria conflict, in 2013, when the world still turned a blind eye, I met a a group of three women in Jordan. They lived in a run-down apartment of two rooms with 19 children. When CARE arrived to provide them with some cash support, they had already been evicted and had left back to Syria. I spend a few days in the East of Niger, one of the poorest countries in the world. Hundreds of thousands of Nigerians have sought shelter here from violence in Northern Nigeria. I sat in the courtyard of Rahamatou, a single mother, who had opened her home to 40 women and children in total. While she barely knew how to fee her own. And just last week I met Berivan, a young Syrian woman from Aleppo, in a camp in Greece. "Hide me in your luggage and take me to Germany, along with my children," she begged. I looked around in the warehouse where she lived in a tent. For months, Berivan has been waiting for a call from the Greek authorities, to state her case and to find a way to move on.
I am not mentioning these places to showcase a “top ten” like list of “the worst refugee crises in the world”. No. I am telling these encounters because every one of them showed me why Germany, why the whole European Union shouldn’t ask itself a question like “Can we do this”.
If Jordan "can do this" (664,100 refugees). If Niger, which ranks last in the Human Develoment Index, can “do this” (124,721 refugees). If countries like Turkey, Lebanon, Pakistan and others can “do this”. The majority of refugees and displaced people reside in countries neighboring conflict areas or even within their own country. This puts host communities under tremendous strain. Still, they bear the burden. They feed their new neighbors. They don’t close their borders. Can you imagine being rejected at a border post, carrying your child in your arms, behind you war and violence, and ahead of you a small glimmer of possible safety? We would all want to be let in.
Sure: "We can do this" is not a panacea, and it isn’t a catalogue of policy measures either. There need to be honest discussions about how to integrate a population which is in parts heavily traumatized. And yes, internal security and rule of law need to remain prerogatives. Social justice and cohesion need to be ensured. And yes: Europe cannot and will not be able to welcome an endless number of refugees each coming year. But we actually don’t. The majority of Syrian refugees stays in the region. In Turkey, Lebanon and Jordan, a total of 4.8 million people have found shelter.
Given those new challenges, CARE has decided to start operating in Europe. For the first time since post-war support in the shape of the famous CARE packages, our organization now provides support for refugees stranded in Greece. And we’ve started a program in Germany which helps schools and teachers to integrate and welcome new arrivals. Children with a different cultural and linguistic background, who need support to adapt. We’ve learned how to promote social coherence and teach youth about gender norms and universal values in the Balkans. We are taking this to Germany now. And CARE continues to work in many countries around the world where refugees seek shelter and where people ask themselves this one crucial, brutal question every day: “Can I still stay here? Or do I need to leave my home?”
On September 3, 2015 I celebrated my birthday. And Aylan Kurdi was dead. Today, one year later, thousands more children have died. In the Mediterranean, the bombings of Syrian cities, on their way to Europe.
This year I'll be on leave again and offline. With the increasing areas of conflict worldwide, the continuous influx of refugees and rising right-wing populist movements in Europe, there continues to be enough to do for civil society organizations like CARE. To build bridges, to provide assistance and to promote mutual understanding.
I wish for less hysteria in our public debate, for less mistrust and demagogy. Less populism, shortsighted election campaign slogans and exclusion based on whatever seems to be “en vogue” at the moment. I wish for our societies to continue to show the courage, commitment and dedication to basic humanitarian values that the German chancellor relied on in her decision last year. I don’t necessarily agree with the politics that followed, and continue to watch closely as my government tries to bring together different opinions and expectations.
At the end of my conversation with Berivan, the young Syrian woman in Greece last week, she handed me a plastic fork and a plate of peeled tangerines. This hospitable gesture stood in stark contrast with the lack of hospitality that Europe had shown this young woman and her family so far.