Eight representatives from embassies, the EU, UNHCR, and IOM listened to the experiences of 23 small grassroots NGOs from across Greece, all working in support of refugees. It was a unique gathering, because small NGOs rarely have much access to embassies, and embassy representatives almost never get the chance to speak with so many NGOs at once who are truly working on the ground.

“We are the ones taking the risks to fill the enormous gaps left by Greece and the EU,” one of the NGOs said. And those risks have grown significantly in recent years. Calls for criminalisation are increasing, and so is the legislation that enables it.

A bitter example of this is the so-called “boat trials.” When a boat arrives, the police look for the person who was steering it. That person is arrested and accused of human smuggling. But human smugglers are not on those boats. After the arrest, an extremely brief trial follows. Thousands of people are unjustly imprisoned in Greek prisons.

We were guests at the residence of the Dutch Ambassador to Greece. It was very special to be able to meet there, and that representatives from other embassies had also been invited. And it was one of those days when something happens that you cannot plan or orchestrate, yet that is exactly what makes it so extraordinary.

In addition to the danger of criminalisation, these NGOs are dealing with declining income, suddenly losing access to the camps where they work, and struggling with what they can still do or say without putting people or their organisations at risk.

As the day unfolded, the atmosphere began to change. The initial tension faded. People started sharing openly and honestly, while also contributing to the report we are preparing for embassies and others on the effects of this legislation. As the stories began to connect, a picture emerged that was heartbreaking, infuriating, and deeply sad. But also inspiring: these people are doing it. They are doing what truly matters, despite fear, despite danger.

Two worlds met. Two worlds trying to position themselves within a discourse that speaks of human rights, while holding on to those rights often proves to be an illusion. Two worlds that did not know each other before, yet where something like solidarity began to emerge. “Next year at the French Embassy,” I joked to a French diplomat. “That sounds like a good plan,” he replied.

“I was very sceptical about this day,” one of the participants said, “but that turned out to be completely unjustified.” “I hope you realise the enormous impact you have created with this day,” another wrote.

I find it impossible to capture the richness of this day in a short piece. That will be done more fully in the report we are finalising this week.

With heartfelt thanks to the Dutch Ambassador in Athens and to Cees Van Beek, First Secretary. A day in which people meet, share strategies and experiences, and above all feel seen, is of immeasurable value in helping them keep going.

“Every year more people drown while crossing the Channel. In 2024, as many as in the previous six years combined.”

We are in Calais. A city with 76,000 inhabitants and 1,200 police officers. A city where every 48 hours, an insane police force destroys the places where people sleep.

That’s bullying. Malicious harassment. Dehumanizing. Get lost, go away.

A city where everyone without papers is homeless. A city where people lose hope.

In the late afternoon, we’re standing on a large field. There’s a game of football going on. Two boys sit by the water tank — just refilled by the organization we’re here with — washing their shoes. Two other boys are watching the game. Aron kicks a ball around with Gabriel. He’s so young it hurts. On the field stands a huge trailer, inside are tents where 400 people sleep.

Laundry flutters on the barbed wire. A bitter image of hope and despair in one.

Everything you see here is a layered reality. Seeing things, knowing what you’re not seeing, and sensing — when you place yourself in the shoes of that boy whose eyes light up when he plays football with a ball that’s far too soft — feelings you don’t want to feel, too much heard, seen, experienced. So young, younger than my own boys.

It’s strange — walking around in this madness during the day, that’s doable. But then, in the evening, back in the hotel room, the awareness sinks in of what I’ve actually seen. And I think about 95 amoral MPs and 1,200 police officers who destroy things pointlessly, and these boys — who are just human, like you and me — but here are condemned to live among the trash, to be welcome nowhere.

Imagine what that must feel like.

The world is broken. I can’t put it any other way.

If everywhere, all we can come up with is beating people away, stabbing boats (yes, that happens here too — in shallow water, it’s even allowed), destroying their belongings every 48 hours with brute force — it’s inhumane. And it’s only getting worse.

Normally, I would now begin a tribute to the organizations here. And they absolutely deserve it, because what courage and grit it takes to keep providing people here with water, food, electricity, clothes — because otherwise they simply wouldn’t have it.

But today, disgusting Dutch legislation runs parallel to a disgusting French reality. And that is unspeakably heartbreaking.

It is unacceptable.

Period.

Lianne Engelkes Manou Zonderland 🌎🌍🌏 Aron Bosman Dirk Kome Bart Driessen Haella Stichting Fred Foundation

I’ve seen a lot of shit in this world. Wars, droughts, famines, exploitation and slavery, violence and oppression. At times, it has severely tested my belief in human goodness. But after much struggle, I refuse to believe that people simply don’t care. Again and again, I have seen people rise up, say no—and all I can do is say yes to that no.

This morning, I looked out over the Mediterranean Sea here on Lesbos. It’s freezing cold. Towering whitecaps reveal how strong the wind is. Yesterday, six people drowned off the coast of Samos. It is unbearably unjust and heartbreaking.

My hope comes from knowing that there are people here who see this too—and who are doing everything in their power to fight it.

But the plans of Ms. Klever in the Netherlands today—plans of destruction without any sign of relevant knowledge, conscience, or humanity—leave me deeply saddened, even a little desperate. Because I can see the people who will suffer because of this. And I truly don’t understand how this level of disrespect, this abandonment of human decency, has become the norm.

Ms. Klever, you are not just tearing down organizations, knowledge, and people—you are paving the way for something that must never happen: a society that ultimately doesn’t care about “the other.” A society where fundamental values are discarded and replaced by greed, as long as we are doing fine.

No, just no.

And let us, with all our might, say yes—to all those people and organizations who have the courage, the guts, the knowledge, and the passion to say no.