Auto Pilot No More

Sometimes things go really well throughout the day. You reach closing time and you realize that there weren’t too many problems throughout the day. This is rare, but it happens. Two days ago was not one of these days, but it’s funny to look back on now.

It’s amazing how comedic life can feel on this island, and the events that occur seem to be almost episodic. Two days ago, the episode involved three residents who weren’t keen on following some of the Hub rules, so we ended up in a bit of a predicament.

Our rules clearly state that, if you want to be transported to and from the Hub from the Hotspot, you need to attend class. We don’t drive our vans like a taxi, if you use our vehicles you need to come to class and then we will transport you back to the camp.

Two days ago, three men rode in the vans to the school, did not attend a class, and then tried to board the vans again and get a ride back to the camp. The driver of the van informed them that they had not attended class, so they would not be allowed to ride back to the camp. They didn’t like hearing this, so they climbed into the van and sat in the back row, refusing to move.

This is how we ended up in a good old fashioned stand off. As a teacher in the mornings, I don’t have to worry about driving until the afternoon shift begins, but since I had just finished teaching my last class, I watched the situation unfold from the classroom window. It seems that, whenever there is a problem, a group of men tend to just magically appear out of thin air and literally surround the situation. This is a little annoying because it becomes impossible to discretely solve small issues, but sometimes it’s encouraging because most of the men who circle-up are doing so in defense of the volunteers and the school.

This issue happens relatively frequently. People think that they can out smart our check-in system or they think that we’ll get soft and just drive them back to the camp. But we try not to do this, we try to keep the rules strict in an attempt to keep the system working. This particular situation was weird because usually when people refuse to get out of the van they back down within five minutes or so, but not this time. The stand off just stretched on and on and on. I watched as multiple volunteers made their way over to the van doors to try their luck at coaxing the three men out of the back seat. Then other residents tried as well, along with volunteers standing next to them to assert their authority. Translating didn’t work either, as none of the three men understand much English.

Whenever there’s a problem, there’s always a crowd. I snapped this photo quickly from the classroom window simply because I had to document how STUPID the situation looked; men gathered around, a lineup of spectators watching from the ground. `

So, the drama continued to drag on. Eventually, although I suspected giving more attention to the situation would not work, I took a shot at trying to defuse it. I climbed into the middle seat of the van as everyone else dispersed and the four of us did our best to have an honest conversation. They speak just a little English and, at this point, I speak a little Arabic, so we pasted together a really messy, beautiful string of broken conversation. One of the men in particular is a very sweet guy, so I was really surprised that he was causing such a problem. I did my best to reason with him. He has come to my classes before and I think we have a good rapport with one another.

My attempt was ultimately unsuccessful, although I did manage to get one of them out of the van while the other two stayed put, and the one who got out with me was only stepping out to smoke a cigarette, then he got back in. Looking back on it, it’s pretty funny that he was respectful enough not to smoke in the van, but he wasn’t respectful enough of everyone else’s time. By sitting in the van, we were unable to use the van to transport people to and from the Hotspot, so they were really inconveniencing everyone’s day. Alas, we still made everything work, but the situation was all too dramatic.

While I was in the van, they kept telling me that they were going to sleep in the van, continuing their stand off throughout the night. I tried to imagine what this would look like in my head. It’s a 25 minute walk back to the Hotspot, why wouldn’t they just give it a rest and walk back in the sunshine? The answer? Pride.

Even though we don’t fully speak each other’s languages, it was perfectly communicated to me that they were sorry, they loved me and the people that work at the Hub, and they didn’t want to cause a problem; however, they weren’t moving. This, to me, meant simply that they were too prideful to admit they were in the wrong.

As soon as everyone stopped paying them any mind, they got bored, called a cab, and went back to the camp on their own accord. No harm done. They spent a total of 2 hours and 15 minutes waiting for us to cave in and drive them back to the camp. We didn’t give in. Rules are rules. What a stupid way to spend an afternoon.

I feel like a broken record sometimes, but some of the things I witness on this island are worth discussing over and over again as they turn around in my brain in the same manner.

Having lived here for so long, sometimes this place feels like a movie, something far more dramatic than actual life. The days go by like they do anywhere else and things start to feel normal, but when I’m able to grab some perspective, they’re…simply…not normal.

Yesterday evening, I felt a bit strange, so I decided to go for a jog up one of the more quiet roads of the island. As I started off, it began to rain. As I kept going, the rain increased, but I didn’t mind too much, I pressed on. Eventually it got to the point where I wanted to stop because I was getting a bit too drenched for my liking, so I stood under the only structure I could find around me, barely tucked under a small awning, out of the rain. It was dark where I was, but I could see some lights across the harbor. Just me and the rain and the sea. It was a nice moment to reset. No one knew where I was, but at the same time, no one was looking for me. It was really just me and the rain.

Looking out at the harbor, I thought about the ferry that would be arriving in a few hours. In all its glorious majesty, it would sail silently into the harbor, it’s glowing lights illuminating the blackness, giving a bit of hope to the waiting people on the docks. Hope, because a large number of residents of the Hotspot camp, many of whom have been students of mine these past months, were being moved to mainland Greece. This is their first time leaving the island since their arrival here. This is why this place can feel like a prison sometimes, so confining.

Islands

The island is beautiful, but it’s contradicted by the difficulty of the people who are trapped here, waiting to hear when or if they’ll be able to move on with their lives.

For me, I selfishly think sometimes about how I feel stuck here, even though this is far from the truth. I’m not stuck by any means, the only thing that makes me feel stuck here is my heart. It is so dramatic that there’s really only one way out of here for the inhabitants of this island.

That being said, being able to reflect on what this island feels like is a luxury in itself.

In the refugee community, which I run on the outskirts of at this point, rumors have been flying in Greece about a “march on the borders” known as “Convoy of Hope”. It is an extensive and elaborate plan for thousands of refugees in Greece to march on the borders at the north of the country and to push their way overland with their eventual destination goal being Germany. The general idea is that if enough people join the caravan, that the countries will have no choice but to open their borders to the group. All of this is being organized off of the internet, more less, with people communicating in large groups on Facebook messenger, WhatsApp, and text message. The rumors and the stories are growing. Many of the people I interact with everyday on the island want to leave in hopes of joining the convoy.

As I said before, the only way to get off the island is the ferry, which is being carefully monitored during this unique time. Some of my students have been trying each night to leave to no avail. They purchase a ticket, they go to the port, and they’re stopped by the police. This is, of course, is difficult to hear about when they return to school the next day and tell me a bit about their ordeals, but I was especially taken aback when I saw one of my most soft spoken students limping into the classroom. When I asked him what had happened, another student translated for him, telling me that the police had beaten him when he tried to leave the island.

And that, my friend, is worth publishing on this blog, because police brutality should never be tolerated. This is Europe. And even if it wasn’t, this situation would be ridiculous.

The organization I’m working with, along with most other NGOs in Greece are not in support of the convoy, as it could lead to arrests, violence, delayed asylum cases, and potentially even death. I’m waiting with baited breath to see what happens next, but in the mean time, I’m thankful each time I see the students I adore showing up to class each morning, because so many of them seem to keep evaporating into thin air.