Another Calais Jungle piece

Unfortunately, this Wednesday Word from early in 2016 is still very topical because today all the talk in France is about dismantling the Calais Jungle once and for all. But where will the people go?

You may remember that just before Christmas I spoke on Wednesday Word about a visit I made to the refugee camp in Calais. Well, on the weekend I went for a second time, again with a friend and a car load of clothes and food kindly donated by people in my church and the Raglan community.

In an attempt to organise what’s become known as “The Jungle”, large parts of it have been bulldozed, leaving an expanse of wasteland as big as several football pitches. A makeshift shack that serves as a mosque sits incongruously in the middle. The authorities weren’t allowed to demolish that particular structure. When all else has been lost, very often religious faith remains and it’s good to see it respected.

One result of the demolition work means the people there have much less space than before. The Sudanese friends we made previously are still in their little encampment but there are many more similar groupings, based on country of origin, in even closer proximity than before. And we saw rows of White shipping containers – cold, impersonal and regimented – surrounded by a daunting security fence where people sleep six to a room on bunkbeds.

On this visit we went further into the Jungle and spent time with a group of Iranians, singing with them – a few Christian songs as well as popular stuff like ‘Blowing in the Wind’ and ‘Take me home, country roads.’ I think I know now what a medieval town must have looked like. Tramping feet have established main thoroughfares among the shanties and tents, where rudimentary shops have been hammered together from random bits of wood.

It’s one thing to see all this in the media but quite another to look at it close up. This came home to me forcibly while a group of men were rummaging around in the boot, looking for shoes especially. One of them, an Iranian, turned to me and said, ‘One humanity; different destiny’.

How right he was. I’m back in Wales with my family and my safe, settled community and my hot and cold running water. The news cycle moves on, what with the effort to save jobs in Port Talbot, the revelations about tax havens and now the enforced return of some refugee seekers from Greece to Turkey. Governments need the wisdom of Solomon in these times!

Unlike me, my Iranian friend has had to flee persecution because of his Christian faith and is in the exile of a camp which for all the daytime conviviality is still a dangerous place. Yet, we are connected. I should have known that already. After all, the Bible tells us that God has made from one blood all nations of humankind.

Calais Jungle

This year I’ve been able to make four trips to the Calais Jungle and I’ve had the chance to reflect on these visits on a couple of occasions on the radio. This is the first of those talks given not to try to influence the debate but to raise awareness.

It’s been shocking weather for some people and we’ve seen images of people having to abandon their homes in Cumbria and seek shelter elsewhere. Well, the weekend before last a friend and I made a trip to Calais to take food and clothes to other people who’ve had to abandon their homes. Quite a few people in our village have been concerned about the plight of the refugees and when I made an appeal for supplies the response was immediate and enthusiastic.

It so happens that I have some American friends working in a church in Boulogne and they go into the camp every week to meet with a group of nine or ten Sudanese people fleeing what amounts to a genocide in Darfur.

So on the Saturday morning we loaded up with bin bags full of jumpers, jeans, coats, shoes, socks and gloves, rice and cooking oil and were soon edging our way through the police cordons to the outskirts of the camp where six thousand people live in quite squalid conditions. It was sunny as our new friends, full of smiles and hugs came to meet us with a shopping trolley. The bright weather meant the atmosphere was happy with plenty of people playing football and children riding bikes but the same afternoon the torrential rain and winds spread the puddles into a muddy morass.

It has long been my experience that the most generous people are often those who have the fewest of this world’s goods. There is a meeting tent in this part of the encampment and it was a moving experience to share a meal prepared by the refugees and to sing with them. It’s the first time I’ve played a twelve string guitar with only five strings but the music was sweet.

Opinions will differ about what should happen to the Calais camps. There is no doubt that the conditions are insanitary and the place is unsightly. Some of those living there are in the process of applying for asylum in France while others take tremendous risks trying to reach Britain. Just after I came back, I heard that a Sudanese boy we had met had been killed on the motorway trying to reach Britain.

Our American friends have found it impossible to ignore this need on their own doorstep. For my part, I consider that Calais is on my doorstep too and that’s why I’m planning another trip in the spring. Tomorrow is a National Day of Prayer for Refugees in honour of Human Rights Day. That’s great, but there needs to be action, too. The Bible says, ‘Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If you say to him, “Go, I wish you well, keep warm and well fed” but do nothing, what good is it?’ That’s a great question.