Archivio mensile:ottobre 2015

Calais ‘new jungle’ under attack

There are well over 6000 people in the ‘new jungle’ now, numbers have more than doubled in just over a month. 6000 is the government’s estimate, and is almost certainly a gross underestimate. Some volunteers who are on the ground daily. distributing humanitarian aid. reckon there may be well over 7000 people, maybe more than 8000 even, nobody knows exactly how many, it is impossible to count. New people keep arriving every day and in numbers.


The biggest influx is of Kurdish from Kirkuk (Northern Iraq), that was the safest part of Iraq, but now everybody is fleeing ISIS. Very numerous are the families with young children and babies. I spoke to a man who was a peshmerga: his brother was killed in combat, after that he has been too traumatized to keep fighting. Most of the families are Kurdish but there are others, from Syria including a father with a disabled child, he was hoping that in England the boy can be cured; from Afghanistan including a family with 6 children, the oldest a teenager the youngest a baby; Iraqi Arabs, Iranians including three lone fathers with very young children whose mothers have died or have disappeared. There are Black children in the camp but not many, most of the little Africans stay in the Jules-Ferry centre with their mothers, but there are no facilities for single fathers and families who do not want to be separated. So hundreds of children and women sleep out in the jungle. When I first saw all these kids I had to go away because I wanted to cry: I have seen children and babies in the jungle before, but never that many! Later I returned with a drum, a guitar and some other instruments, the kids loved it and started playing. Some Kurdish grownups had a sound system and started to dance, a toddler was teaching a baby how to do the Kurdish dance and it was so lovely and funny. The recent creation inside Jules-Ferry of 200 more places for women and children in heated tents. where they have no privacy, has done nothing for families who do not want to be separated, nor for single fathers. Luckily a team of volunteers mostly from Ireland built many small houses in what is now the family camp in the jungle.

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There is a lovely kitchen nearby providing free meals, hot drinks, music and good vibes. Next to the family camp a new Protestant church, not beautiful like the famous Orthodox church, just a green tent for the moment, offers some protection to the Eritrean and Ethiopian women who are camping in the church’s precincts – most sleep in small houses with other single women or with their husbands, all lovely people. Places in the Jules-Ferry centre are never sufficient, and sometimes women are asked to leave because they have been there longer than three months, or they have been absent for more than 24 hours – they get counted and controlled 3 times per day, or they fall foul of the discipline somehow. For women who arrive alone, especially at night, the jungle is a very dangerous place, sexual assaults are very common. I personally have no evidence of women being forced into prostitution, but I know for a fact prostitution is widespread, that is, they are forced into prostitution by extreme poverty and there is no protection whatsoever for women and children other than that offered by their husbands, fathers, brothers and communities. Even if they sleep inside the Jules-Ferry centre, any time they go out they are in the jungle! Women are forced into unhealthy relationships with men who do not love them and often abuse them, especially when they are drunk: they have to take a boyfriend to avoid the attention of all other men. With the cold coming conditions are hardening, children are falling sick. There are also fights and tensions in the family camp, some Kurdish are saying the camp is for Kurdish – despite being thought as international by its creators; two Afghan families have moved out to try get some peace. The fastest growing slum in Europe gets bigger and bigger, the bigger it gets the more crowded it gets, the dirtier it gets, the place gives me the creeps and makes my stomach churn. No safety, no hygiene, not enough shelter, not enough food, not enough water points or rubbish collections. The University of Birmingham published a study and they found E-coli in the drinking water over acceptable limits, but we are walking in a sea of raw sewage, every time you take off yours shoes you touch them with your hands, children touch everything and put their hands in their mouths, and diarrhoea is widespread, not surprisingly. So are scabies, lice and there have been quite a few cases of TB. The shanty town is build on a former dump and near to two factories classed Seveso.

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The the two charities Medicins du Monde and Secours Catholique took the French government to court over the unacceptable conditions in the camp, and the verdict will be delivered next Monday. The charities are asking for the new jungle to be closed down, and all people re-housed in empty buildings to be requisitioned for that use. In the meantime, they are asking for 25 extra water points, as 6 are not enough for over 6000 people. Health care is insufficient and collapsing – cazeneuve has promised ONE more doctor and one psychologist, for all those people! They are asking for more toilets, showers, rubbish collections and more food, one meal per day for 2500 people is all the Jules-Ferry centre provides at the moment, people queue 3 hours for that only meal, and if people are not starving it is only because international volunteers feed them. But, in order to harass also the volunteers and render distributions more difficult, the police are now blocking access to all vehicles, except for the few associations who are allowed to work in the Jules-Ferry centre. This abusive restriction is also being legally challenged. It looks like an attempt to hinder humanitarian aid and separate people in the jungle from their supporters.


Police presence in the camp is massive and very intimidating, and since the last visit of the minister of interior cazeneuve more police have been drafted to Calais for a total of over 1000. They are surrounding the jungle and they are particularly active on the motorway and Eurostar. Mass arrests have began since the minister’s visit, mainly of people trying to cross. People are deported from Marck airport by private jet, pretty much daily now, to detention centres all over France, in a futile attempt to empty the jungle. Usually they are released by the judges after a few days because these procedures of arrest and dispersal are illegal, and make their way back to Calais: of course they are not given any money or any train ticket, so it may take a few days, and a few nights sleeping out with nothing. In the meantime families are separated, and the most vulnerable left to fend for themselves. A husband contacts the association who does legal support in the detention centre, not for himself but because he is desperate to let his wife and two children know where he is. A young man has been separated from his 12 years old brother, who has been left on his own, does not have a phone and does not know anyone in the jungle. Another brother is desperately worried for his sister, who is 15 and alone in the jungle. Every day local volunteers and associations get many calls to help finding family members who have been separated.

A more effective and less cruel way to empty the jungle is to give accommodation to people who asked for asylum in France: 300 and then 400 asylum seekers for a total of 700 have been moved this week to accommodation centres around France, in ex-summer holiday camps etc. Most are Sudanese but there are also Eritreans, Afghans and others. Though I am very happy they are out of that hell, I am concerned that France has a very high rate of refusals of asylum claims, 74%, and numbers of refusals are increasing. Eritreans are usually accepted, Sudanese are often refused, more than half of them, and less than a quarter of the Afghans are accepted. Before, refused asylum seekers were mostly left in limbo, now they are looking for ways to deport them.

The dream of cazeneuve is to bring numbers down from 6000 to 2000 – of course it is a dream because there are many more than 6000 already, new people keep coming and thousands of people are arriving in Greece and Italy daily, it is a flow that does not seem to stop. Imperialistic wars in the Middle East, Africa and Asia are creating the biggest refugee crisis since WW2, with over 60 millions of people displaced: the majority remain internally displaced, some 20 millions fled their countries, most are rotting in refugee camps in neighbouring countries, the bravest are risking their lives in dinghies and leaky boats just looking for a life – not a better life, they had a good life in their countries before their countries got destroyed and/or they had to flee for their lives. Calais makes school: there are jungles popping up everywhere now, and new fences, and organized institutional abandon of refugees fleeing the most terrible situations, governments absent except for building fences, hotspots and detention centres and sending police to stop and deport people; big NGOs absent or complicit; volunteers trying their best to provide the bare essentials and often they can not, people end up gong hungry and sleeping out in the rain with their children on the Greek islands and all the way through the Balkan route.
Plans to empty the Calais jungle are being implemented for real: it is not going to work, but it is going to cause more unnecessary suffering. Of course, suffering has been used as a deterrent against refugees since 2002, when the camp at Sangatte, run by the Red Cross. was closed down to deter people from going to England, and people had to go self-catering, in squats and woods they ironically named jungles. Police were employed to brutalize people, gas them, beat them, destroy their shelters, papers, family photos, arrest them again and again for no reason,just to make their life so miserable that they eventually leave Calais. I fear all this is now starting again on a much larger scale, and in a place that has been chosen by the police for being out of town and out of sight – it was cazeneueve’s plan, the government told people to go in the wilderness where they will be ‘tolerated’ – but are not going to be tolerated for much longer. According to the creep cazeneuve, Calais “does not have the vocation to host so many people” – but no solutions have been offered except to those who renounce their plans to go to England and apply for asylum in France. Three centres for orientation are to be opened in the future but outside Calais, where people will be pressurized to apply for asylum in France. A camp is to be build in Calais, in the worst part of the jungle that floods every time it rains. 1.500 people will be allowed to sleep there in containers. It is not clear what the new camp is going to be, but it is clear it is not going to be nice, in the map it looks like an internment camp of the thirties. Works are to begin on Monday and red metal pools have been put in place already, suggesting the new camp will be surrounded by a tall fence. 400 people who are already living there are to be evicted. Everybody who has some experience of Calais seems to think that evictions could continue after that. 300 women and children are allowed to sleep inside Jules-Ferry for up to three months. Some asylum seekers have been or will be given accommodation. What will happen to all the others?

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I therefore appeal to the international solidarity movement to become more political: it is not enough to provide humanitarian aid; it is great, it is vitally important, but it is not enough, and a different effort is needed if we want to shelter and protect our brothers and sisters. We must oppose, by all means necessary, government policies that attack, oppress and dehumanize refugees and other migrants. We must defend the right to life and safety from inhumane and degrading treatment. We must defend the right to move.


More photos here:


Entry III: The Sinking of the Nameless: Recollections of a Volunteer/Journalist

Powerful first hand account of the tragedy in Lesvos, 28th October

by Marienna Pope-Weidemann


Great tragedies are supposed to have name. The Titanic, the Lusitania… Their dead live forever in the stories we tell about them and the living fight for change in their memory that they might not die in vain. This is just a boat of ‘migrants’ that sunk in the Aegean, another number, another regrettable spat of collateral damage in the border war. But not to us, the ones who were there when the rescued came into harbour. Not to me. Last night was the most traumatic of my life. Back home, I spoke with confidence about how ‘borders kill’ – but now I’ve seen it with my own eyes and I will never forget the sinking of that nameless ship.

Official Count So Far: 11 confirmed dead (5+ children) & at least 40 still lost at sea

My friend Ashley and I were supposed to drive back across the island of Lesvos to Mytilini yesterday, but every couple of kilometers along the beach we saw another dinghy coming in without enough volunteers to meet them, so we stopped, and stopped, and stopped again. The sky was blue but the sea was furious, the wind was biting. Freezing children bundled into cars, battles for access to the bus, ambulances called for the sick… it’s chaotic and distressing, but it’s the daily reality on the beaches here and it’s remarkable how quickly you adapt, find a way to be useful and to cope. We were not prepared to cope with what was coming.

Another two-storey wooden boat that just made it to the beach

We hadn’t eaten all day so we decided to stop at the port in Molyvos to grab some food. We were a few bites into our bread when the sirens started: the coastguard was coming in from a rescue. We ran to the water, where volunteers, locals and medical teams were converging, armed with emergency blankets. Rumours flew that this was a bad one. We expected people who’d been in the water, but had no idea the boat that went down could have had 300 souls on board.

Later that night, I would meet Gabriel, a photographer I knew from Skala who’d seen it happen from the cliffs. He was the one to call the coastguard. He showed me two photographs, taken he said just a minute apart. The first was a blurry image of a two-storey wooden boat – the kind that started appearing on the beaches during last week’s storm, left at terrifying angles on the beach with broken windows and emergency blankets fluttering from the railings. In the second photograph, the boat was gone completely; all that remained was a pool of orange life preservers, shining in a great expanse of blue.

Ten or fifteen children came off that first rescue boat, which headed immediately back out to sea. I threw my camera around my back and put my arms out to receive a young Syrian boy from the coastguard. He couldn’t have been more than nine years old. I ran for the medical team, transfixed by his face, that looked so peaceful but for the dullness of his skin and the blue in his lips. I lay him down by a doctor, who was already working on a little girl, so I got my first crash course in CPR. It was terrifying. I was so afraid of hurting him, of doing something wrong. 30 chest compressions. Hold the nose. Two breaths until the chest rises. (Please, look this up on YouTube if you’re coming out as a volunteer.) His mouth was freezing. Sometime into the second round another medic arrived and we worked as a team. The boy started coughing up water, and once he was breathing right we stripped him of his wet clothes. Then the medic was gone again.

I’ve been an atheist all my life. But that was when I started praying.

I wrapped him up and lifted him onto my lap, tearing off my jacket and covering his body with mine. I don’t know how long we sat there. I glanced over and saw Ashley holding a little girl by her ankles while the medics tried to get the water from her chest. Every time I saw a medic I had them check him. They were overwhelmed with critical cases and they said he was okay. But he didn’t look okay to me. I was rocking him back and forth, talking constantly in English and my pathetic amount of Arabic, trying to keep him awake. I’ve never felt love as desperate and immense as holding that boy in my arms. I don’t even know his name, but I will never forget his face.

A good friend warned me recently that you cannot be a volunteer and a journalist. Journalists do not get involved. I thought about that a lot as I held this boy, who in that moment had only me in the world, and watched photographers circling like vultures, getting in people’s way, shoving their lenses where any decent human being must surely know they don’t belong. And all I could think was: If it’s true you have to choose, I don’t want to be a journalist anymore. Finally the ambulances came, and in a few minutes he was bundled in the back and whisked off with the others. From what I hear, it sounds like he didn’t make it. They’re saying most of the children died. They had been in the water too long.

We thought it would be over then, but I was woken from my daze by the second siren; the coastguard was back with another boat full of people. I took an Afghan woman from the boat. She gripped my neck like she was still drowning, but had no concern for herself. “My mother, my brother!” She screamed. I tried not to think of my own mother drowning. “Boats are still coming,” I told her in English. I knew she understood but she made no response. “We have to care for you now.” At first she wouldn’t let me. I sat her down and blanketed her before working on the clothes. “Please, please, my mother is a good woman.” I nodded. “So many people who come here are good,” I said.

Her name was Sultana. She was alone now, she kept saying. We got her changed, shaking and crying, and in that moment feeding her water was the most beautiful thing I have done in my life. The local priest had opened the church for shelter so I took her inside. Recovery position. Coughing up the last of the water. I took her name and promised I’d look for her family, that she should stay where it was safe and I’d come back for her. She kissed me and kissed me. I did come back for her, but she was gone, and in the chaos I couldn’t find her again.

Nameless5There was one more boat after that and fewer people this time. By now, the coastguard had given up the search. Locals had opened their tavernas and cafes for shelter, making caldrons of tea while elderly Greek women rocked motherless babies in their arms. There were so many families split. I ended up working with a translator to help the International Rescue Committee (IRC) compile a list of names. I was dealing mostly with the mothers. They were relieved to have someone asking after their children. Typically they stayed calm while they spelled each name and gave the age of each child. Then when it was done, and the helplessness set in, they broke down and wept and beat the floor. I held them as they cried, feeling useless. One of them, a beautiful Syrian woman called Shorooq who I’d helped change before, had lost her husband and all three children. But she was one of many.

When the translator left I hid in an alleyway where no one could see me and sat down to cry. It didn’t last long – it couldn’t. I wiped my face, stood up and went back. The first person I ran into was a volunteer asking for help with another mother. She sat in a doorway with her wet clothes still on, refusing everything, even water and sugar tablets. She would take nothing until we found her two month old infant. I spent a long time trying to figure that one out. Once she recognised me as ‘the person on the phone’, her eyes started following me wherever I went. Every time I took a call, there was hope in her eyes. I started gesturing ‘no news’ as quickly as possible.

Then the news came: there were two very small babies at the hospital, but it looked like they wouldn’t make it, and we couldn’t bring the mother to the hospital because the police weren’t letting anyone in. She had been rescued at sea, so she was ‘in detention’ until she registered and got her papers. No papers, no hospital, they said.

In my shell-shocked state of mind, and with the mother’s eyes always on me, I became fixated on this singular injustice. While I assisted the other volunteers, I kept returning to it. I argued with the police. I argued with the sole UNHCR staff member. No one with the power to do anything seemed willing to try. I was haunted by the notion that the presence of its mother might make the difference between life or death for that baby. At the least, she was being robbed of her chance to say goodbye. My rage became unspeakable.

Suddenly, like an alien from another planet, good news appeared for the other mother: ‘Sharooq family found.’ They’d been dropped somewhere else and were being driven back. I grabbed a translator and headed to where I’d left her. It sounded like it was all of them, but we didn’t want to risk it so we told her all we knew was that some relatives were coming. She started crying again, kissing my hands, refusing to let me go. I decided to wait with her, as much for my sake as for hers. I needed to see something good happen.

We held each other as we waited and I listened to her pray. Every time a van came she was moving with impossible speed, despite her exhaustion, her nose pressed against the windows looking for her babies. In the third van, her husband came, carrying her youngest, 2 year old Razan, in his arms. There Nameless4were no others.

She fell to the floor and screamed, thumping his legs as she wept, still gripping my hand. This wasn’t what we’d been waiting for. It was almost worse than nothing, as though in the presence of this little child all she could see was the absence of the other two, the death of her hope. I told her more people were coming, that names were still being found, children were still in the hospital. It was possible they were alive. But I didn’t really believe it, and neither did she. Her daughter, Maram, was six. Her other son, Malak, aged three. Eventually, she took Razan in her arms like she would never let go.

I left them grieving together and went to give the other mother some answers. I couldn’t bear to see her waiting any longer. I explained there were babies at the hospital receiving intensive care. We could not bring them to her, or take her to the hospital to identify them. I was sorry. At the very least, I would find someone to help see her to Camp Kara Tepe in the morning, to be fast-tracked for her registration papers. Naturally, I went to the UNHCR guy. As calmly as I could, I told him I accepted there was nothing to be done for her tonight, and that she knew it too, but please could we just talk about what would happen tomorrow, so I could tell her something. Anything. He stared at me and made vowel sounds. “Please, can you take her name at least? We can have someone look for her tomorrow, make sure she gets where she needs to go?” He shook his head. “Registration is the police’s responsibility.” I asked him exactly what his responsibility was. He ignored me.

Now I was really incredulous. I felt sure he could do something, or at least try. Anyone with phone numbers and the will could have done that. “You know the police will not listen to her, even if they understood Arabic,” I argued. “Please, can we talk together and try to figure out how to do our best for her?” He walked away from me, but with the help of the IRC, we formulated a plan to have them collected in the morning and another family member fast-tracked so she didn’t have to go to the hospital alone. I think I knew then she would be going to identify the body. I don’t have words for how that conversation felt.

I spent the rest of my time in a waterfront café, getting a few people fed while Ashley used her smartphone to help people contact their families back home. Across the table from me, a volunteer from Drop in the Ocean, an incredible Norwegian organisation, was comforting a teenage girl named Sara whose entire family had been lost at sea. She wouldn’t take any food. An LCD TV screen shone down on us from the ceiling, showing adverts and a basketball game: a window to another universe that never seemed so unreal. Then the news came on, and we watched images of ourselves from the hours before. It was so surreal.

Eventually we found somewhere to stay. We talked a little, just to hear each other’s voices I think, and I cried quietly until I fell asleep. This morning I was straight on the laptop looking for coverage, which was a typically disappointing experience: all superficial reports that a few ‘migrants’ have drowned off Lesvos.

So I wanted to write this and post it today, a small contribution to the record of what really happened and my way of remembering the Nameless.

From what I could gather from the refugees last night, around 300 people were packed onto two-storey boat that looked like it was built to hold a third of that number. In the rough conditions, the weight was too much, and the top floor crashed down onto the bottom and the whole thing went down in less than a minute. People would have been trapped underneath, the children’s lungs rapidly waterlogged by the force of the water. The irony is, those with vulnerable companions pay extra for the wooden boats, because they’re meant to be safer. So more women and children, more elderly refugees and those with disabilities, went down.

I’ve been thinking about the smuggler than ran that ship, how much profit he made from those extra hundred tickets and paid for with lives. Apparently he escaped in a second boat. I wonder if he’ll be haunted by this catastrophe for the rest of his life. But it doesn’t really matter. As long as this war continues, the refugees will keep coming as sure as the sun will rise.

This morning we returned to the harbour. The sea is calm and life is going on. The tavernas are serving, the volunteers are back out here and a procession of new refugees make their way up the hill to the camp. The crisis is relentless, because the causes of the crisis are relentless.

And as long as the EU refuses to grant these refugees safe legal passage, the smugglers will continue to exploit them. Ultimately, it is our governments with the power, resources and responsibility to act, who I hold responsible for what happened last night; and what is happening in so many nights in so many places across Europe now.

One of the doctors saving lives at the harbour last night, Zakia from the UK, told me this morning that the odds of those children were never good, after being in the water for so long. “Especially here on the island, the hospitals just aren’t equipped to deal with this kind of catastrophe. You need surgeons trained to perform tracheotomies, oxygen, ventilation… To be honest, when they’ve taken in that much water, even if you can get the heart beating again, really the best thing you can do is hold them.” I did that. And that brings me some comfort, but not much.

What we really need, is safe passage for the refugees. Now.

Source: Entry III: The Sinking of the Nameless: Recollections of a Volunteer/Journalist

Mass arrests and illegal deportations to other parts of France, families separated

In Calais things are turning nastier and nastier since the visit of Interior minister cazeneuve . Dispersal flights now leave pretty much daily from Marck airport, and France looks more and more like the Nazis, although it has a ‘socialist’ government. Adults are being separated from minors, brothers from sisters, fathers from their children and wives, leaving the most vulnerable even more exposed to danger.
Mass dispersal to other Detention Centres (Translation of article)
French speakers can read a longer article here:
It started the night before the coming of the Interior Minister in Calais, dispersals to detention centers all over France, but now is continuing on an almost daily basis . Around fifty people a day are being flown from Marck airfield, near Calais.
Wednesday, October 21, 46 people in Nîmes
Thursday, October 22, 50 people in Mesnil-Amelot, near Paris
Friday, October 23, 50 people in Toulouse – Cornebarrieu
Sunday, October 25, 47 people in Metz
Monday, October 26, 50 people in Marseille
Tuesday, October 27, 50 people in Nîmes, again
The pattern does not seem to stop.
What happens next is not yet clear. Those in detention have 48 hours to enter the administrative court, the hearing takes place in the following days. On the 5th date of detention, the Judge of Liberties and Detention decides on the extension of detention for an additional 20 days. (On day 25 of detention, the Judge can make another extension of 20 days, the maximum duration of detention is of 45 days).
So there is something important that is played legally in the first five days, and has so far only played out in Nîmes (arrivals Wednesday) and Le Mesnil-Amelot (Thursday). And things happened in very different ways in these two places.
At Mesnil Amelot, 15 people were released by a judge’s decision, 33 people were released because the prefect of Pas-de-Calais has not requested an extension of the detention across five days (but then why were they deatained?), but the prefect asked for the continued detention of two Sudanese (Why them?). They must see the Judge of Liberties and Detention today (27th October) – there hasn’t been a judgement yet. So this morning 48 people had been released, and the fate of two others was uncertain.
In Nîmes, the opposite is true, Judge of Liberties and Detention issued an order releasing 37 people, and the prosecutor appealed. The judgement of the appeal reversed the decision and the people were held in custody.
So release after five days in Mesnil-Amelot and appeal from a judgment to keep people in detention in Nimes.
The game is to scare the idea might be to release in detention places to send other people there but still keep some people in detention for as lead to evictions.
The game is to scare, the idea being to release spaces in detention, so they can send other people there, but to still keep some people in detention to continue the process for deportation. Uncertainty causes fear, fear of being locked up in detention, fear of being deported.
Those released have only one idea: to return to Calais from France.

A child is looking for his dad, taken away in a police raid

English translation: A man knocks at the door of the association’s office who do legal support in a detention centre, somewhere in France. He is not coming for himself . He tells (*) :

“I was arrested in Calais in a truck. The police took the adults to the police station and left the children. I was separated from my younger brother. He is 12 years old, he does not know anyone in the “jungle”, he has no phone, I’m worried about him. Can you do something? ”

The associations in Calais regularly receive such messages, transmitted by associations dealing with the legal support in detention centers across France, to which are dispersed the exiles arrested in Calais. The police separate adults from those who appear to be minors, boarded the first and second release them not to bother with the procedures. And young people are alone.

These messages become multiply with daily raids since the visit of the Interior Minister in Calais last week (see here, here, here, here, here and here).

“I was separated from my little sister. She is fifteen. I am very worried knowing she is alone in the “jungle”. ”

“My wife and my four year old son live in such a place in the” jungle “. I would like to hear from them, and let them know that I’m fine and that I will soon return. ”

Many of his exiles have already experienced confinement, sometimes for several weeks or months, at other times in their journeys.

(*) This note is based on real situations, but personal details have been removed or altered. This does indeed not put the lives of people on the internet, but to understand a situation.

Quick update

There has been a demographic explosion in the junge in the past month or so, numbers have more than doubled in the fastest growing shanty town in Europe.

With the cold coming people are falling sick, there is a baby who cannot stop coughing. Blankets, clothes and tents are always in short supply, despite such good effort from the international volunteers often newly arrived people end up sleeping with nothing,

There has been a massive and very intimidating police presence in the camp in the last week, following the inauspicious visit of the minister of interior cazeneuve. It is part of a plan to break the jungle down. There has been a mass arrest at the Tunnel, see


More repression, arrests, upcoming evictions

Arabic below




1500 PLACES IN THE NEW CAMP costing 18 MILLIONS EUROS, 400 PEOPLE will be EVICTED to make room in the next days.






So it is likely there will be soon more evictions of the jungle that was ‘tolerated’ by the authorities – but clearly is not going to be tolerated any longer. 300 women and children will be let to stay in the Jules-Ferry centre, 1.500 people will sleep in containers in the new concentration-style camp, where they will have to give their name when they enter and will be controlled all the time.


All deportation centres in France are full. People are also being deported from Calais to other parts of France by private jets, 3 per week in an attempt to reduce numbers in the jungle.

Refusals of people who apply for asylum in France are on the increase, as well as deportations and attempts to deport, even to countries at war such as SUDAN. The Sudanese are particularly targeted, maybe because they are more numerous, 4 Sudanese have been deported to Sudan and others are at risk of deportation.



The association who is collaborating with the government for the new centre and has the contract to manage the Jules-Ferry centre is

La Vie Active 
Director Stephane Duval
Address : 13 Rue Paul Bert, 62100 Calais

مخيم كاليه الجديد، و عمليات إخلاء قادمة

ماذا يقول وزير الداخلية

على أعداد المهاجرين في كاليه النزول من 6000 إلى 2000

مئتان مكان إضافي للنساء والأطفال ليصبح المجموع 300

الف و خمسمائة مكان في المخيم الجديد بتكلفة 18 مليون يورو،
سيتم طرد 400 شخص لإفساح المجال في الأيام القادمة

اضافة ثلاثمائة من الدرك ( غير الـ ٢٢٥ الموجودة بالفعل ) و ١٦٠ من عناصر مكافحة الشغب ( غير الـ ٤٤٠ الموجودة بالفعل ) لما مجموعه ١،١٢٥ من الشرطة لحماية المكان ومكافحة التسلل والهجرة غير الشرعية
ولكن هذه التدابير ليست حلا دائما، والهدف هو تسهيل ترحيل الاشخاص من الأرض

يستطيع الذين لا يريدون الذهاب إلى إنجلترا أن يطلبوا الجوء في فرنسا

ستفتح مراكز توجيه قريبا حيث يمكنهم البقاء حتى يمكنهم اعادة النظر وتطبيق للجوء في فرنسا

أولئك الذين يرفضون هذه المساعدة سيكونون خاضعين للترحيل أو عقوبات جزائية

ولذلك فمن المتوقع قريبا أن يكون هناك مزيدا من عمليات الإخلاء في( الغابة ) و الذي كان مقبولا من قبل السلطات ولكن من الواضح لن يتم التسامح مع ذلك بعد الان

سيتم السماح لـ٣٠٠ من النساء والأطفال البقاء في مركز (جول فيري) ، ١٥٠٠ شخص سوف ينامون في حاويات في المخيم الجديد على غرار السجن ، حيث سيكون عليهم اعطاء أسمائهم عند دخولهم وسيتم التحكم بذلك طيلة الوقت
على الآخرين أن يغادروا كاليه بمشيئتهم او حتى بالقوة، وفقا لخطط الحكومة

في يوم الجمعة ٢٣ اكتوبر طردت الشرطة في باريس المهاجرين الذي احتلوا المدرسة السابقة في ( لا شابيل) ، الذين كانوا يقاتلون لعدة أشهر للحصول على مكان للعيش فيه
البعض منهم حصل على مكان ولكن الكثير منهم لم يحصل على ذلك بعد

جميع مراكز الترحيل في فرنسا مليئة_ كما يجري ترحيل الناس من كاليه إلى أجزاء أخرى من فرنسا عن طريق الطائرات الخاصة، ٣ رحلات في الأسبوع في محاولة للحد من اعداد المهاجرين في الغابة

رفض طلبات اللجوء في فرنسا في تزايد مستمر، وكذلك عمليات الترحيل ومحاولات الترحيل، حتى إلى بلدان في حالة حرب مثل السودان وتستهدف السودانيين بشكل خاص، ربما لأنهم أكثر عددا، تم ترحيل ٤ سودانيين إلى السودان، و الآخرين يواجهون خطر الترحيل

دعونا نطلب من الحكومة لماذا يفعلون أشياء سيئة مثل هذه للرجال والنساء والأطفال الذين يفرون من الحرب ودعونا نسألهم ماذا سيفعلون مع الكثير من الآلاف الذين مازلوا يأتوا لأن الرأسماليين والإمبرياليين دمروا بلادهم وقد خلقوا أكبر أزمة لاجئين في التاريخ
والحكومات الأوروبية لا تفكر الا في المزيد من القمع ، والمزيد من الترحيل، و المزيد من الأسوار والمزيد من السجون

Reports from demonstrations at St Pancras 24th and 16th October, Simultaneous demos in Dover and Calais 17th Octalea17th October

The demonstration in solidarity with Calais migrants was met with sustained police violence, nevertheless the activists managed to create a lot of disruption. Around 150 -200 people attended.


Another protest  at St Pancras took place a week before:


Simultaneous demonstrations

Despite the lack of organization and the absence of No Borders and associations the Calais demonstration gathered over 1000 people and turned up very lively when up to 700 people from the jungle broke into the ferry port, gladly followed by their mostly English supporters. Police blocked the people inside the port, lots of tear gas also on the numerous women and children.

In Dover about 500 people marched to the ferry port, blocking the traffic and causing major delays to the ferries.

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