The recurring theme in conversations over the past days has been the invisibility of problems. Munir speaks about Sudan, his home country, where he, with the help of friends and family, founded a grassroots organization providing aid to people in North Darfur. He now works here in the camp as a coordinator for an NGO. Once, he arrived as a refugee himself.
“I have always spoken out publicly, which is why I had to flee. Even though I witnessed people being murdered and women being raped at the start of the civil war when I was just six years old, and even though I have always felt inferior because of my background, my heart still bleeds for the people of Sudan, especially in Darfur. More than 20 million people are living in camps. I am here now, unable to return, but I want to do something for them. Emergency aid, of course, but above all, I want to give people—especially women—the opportunity to learn a profession.”
The need for vocational training is often mentioned here. Various initiatives have been launched, but they are far from sufficient. The situation is becoming increasingly complex. While Lesbos is primarily seen as a transit point from which people must move on, the question of where to? is becoming harder to answer.
A policy solely focused on keeping refugees out is not only morally reprehensible—it is also shortsighted. Just like in the Netherlands, there is a need for workers here too. On this island, there are jobs in hospitality and olive farming. However, with a government that does nothing in terms of training and with organizations here struggling more and more to secure funding, the challenge remains. Still, ideas abound—from barista training programs to awakening the artist in both young and old.
But not everything happening here is positive. Refugees are being hired for disgracefully low wages to help build the new camp. A now-resigned minister even referred to this camp as a detention center. When it will open, what exactly it will be, and what consequences it will have for the NGOs currently operating in the camp—no one knows. It is located far from inhabited areas, and its impact remains uncertain.
What I see, hear, and experience here only strengthens my belief that we cannot sit idly by in response to Trump, Vance, Musk, Faber, Wilders, Klever, or their statements and disastrous policies. It is up to us to raise our voices, in whatever way we can—just like Munir, and like so many others here and around the world.
As Remco Campert beautifully put it:
Resistance does not begin with grand words
Resistance does not begin with grand words
but with small acts
Like a storm beginning with a soft rustling in the garden
or a cat suddenly bursting with energy
Like great rivers
beginning with a small spring
hidden deep in the forest
Like a blazing fire
kindled by the same match
that lights a cigarette
Like love beginning with a glance
a touch, something noticed in a voice
Asking yourself a question
That is where resistance begins
And then—asking that question to another.
Munir Bassi