A place of hope and despair
Before the opening of the Red Cross centre
in 1999, migrants used to sleep in the streets.
Postcript:On 15 April, a 25-year-old Kurdish
man, Ali Sharif, died in a violent incident at Sangatte, in
which two other young Kurds were injured. Another immigrant
was shot to death on 5 June in a melee near the port of Calais.
A vast warehouse in open countryside, the Sangatte centre in
northern France is home to hundreds of migrants for whom the
Red Cross is the only link with humanity. Red Cross, Red Crescent
offers a glimpse into the lives of these exiles and the people
who care for them.
Working at Sangatte is not easy. The team of 74 people who
work by turns in this transit centre run by the French Red
Cross can vouch for that. It's not easy because, since the
centre opened in September 1999, the population has swelled
from 200 residents to the 1,500 it hosts today. "At the
beginning, we could give them social support, but not any
more, there are too many people," says Martine, head
of the welcome service.
Hardly a week goes by without some controversy surrounding
these "homeless" people, most of whom have one sole
ambition: to reach the United Kingdom, on which they have
pinned all their hopes of a new life. Many voices have been
clamouring for the closure of Sangatte. Loudest of these is
Eurotunnel, the Franco-British company that operates the Channel
Tunnel, which has twice initiated legal proceedings, but have
been rejected both times by the administrative court at Lille.
The presence of the centre has also elicited the wrath of
local residents, who regularly claim that the constant comings
and goings of foreigners has led to a permanent insecurity
in this region. In fact, no rise in the crime rate has been
registered since the centre opened.
Despite the mostly false accusations of criminal acts attributed
to the immigrants and despite the precarious nature of the
place, the French Red Cross is pursuing its humanitarian mission
on behalf of the constant flow of people who arrive every
day at the centre, often after having travelled thousands
In a little under two years, some 5,000 people (representing
110 different nationalities, mainly Iraqi Kurds and Afghans)
have passed through Sangatte, 80 per cent of whom are single
young men. On their arrival, the welcome service provides
them with two blankets (precious commodities), assigns them
a tent, or a heated cabin in the case of a family, and explains
the rules of communal life: strict hours for showering in
the morning and evening, no alcohol, discipline at mealtimes,
and so on.
On entering the centre, you have the impression of being
in a huge railway station converted into a camp site, with
its "village square" (which consists of a few benches
and a television-cum-video), showers, canteen and prayer space.
In addition, there is a heated nursery, set up for the 80
or so children in the centre. From morning to late evening,
the mothers like to congregate here, care for their offspring,
teach some basics to these children deprived of schooling,
and forget for a while the ever-present difficulties that
have become their daily lot.
A few steps away is the medical service. Here, without respite,
the two nurses (assisted by a physiotherapist and eight volunteer
doctors) try to respond to all the health needs, while caring
for the handful of babies born at Sangatte and accommodated
with their parents in a makeshift nursery. Skin problems,
throat infections, bronchitis, muscular pains (caused by the
cold) - the two nurses are in daily demand. "It's exhausting!
We grumble sometimes, but we carry on anyway," interjects
one of them.
Migrants try to enter the Channel Tunnel near Sangatte.
Driven by desperation
Food is a major fixation. From noon onwards, a queue builds
up in front of the canteen, the route marked out by wire netting.
The first arrivals are there an hour ahead. For the stragglers,
the waiting time is around two hours. Despite these constraints,
things rarely get out of hand. In the kitchen, Nadine has
her team constantly on the go: collecting dishes, heating
them up, serving them, returning the plates. Each day, from
morning till night, 3,000 meals are distributed.
"Here, we are faced with an indescribable mass of despair,
visible and invisible," explains Martine. She calls to
mind several recent scenes: recognizing the charred bodies
on the electrified lines, transporting the wounded to hospital,
the tears of fathers at the end of their tether. "We
only just managed to save a Kurd who tried to hang himself
near the kitchen," she recalls.
Serge is one of four mediators, all expert linguists (including
English, Farsi, Persian and Arabic) recruited by the centre's
director, Michel Derr. His role is to go and meet the "residents"
in their cabins or tents, establish a rapport, collect requests,
sometimes listen to their problems, give advice and inform
them of their rights and the procedures pertaining to their
presence in the centre. "You have to predict, anticipate,
feel the tensions in order to better defuse them, while remaining
true to our Red Cross principles," he says. Caught up
in this daily whirlwind, he takes his role very seriously,
with all its ups and downs. He still has visions of the young
refugees whose feet were recently amputated after an unfortunate
fall. "The sight of those two 20-year-old boys, with
no feet, who are smiling at you - it destroys you!" he
Sangatte is a thorn in the side of the inconsistent European
policies with respect to asylum seekers. Having failed to
find a common political solution to the influx of individuals
and families who squat in the gardens and public places of
Calais, the French authorities resorted to a humanitarian
response. They entrusted the running of this "assembly
point" to the French Red Cross. A real "centre for
refugees" was thus born.
In two years, the situation has improved little. The harmonization
of their immigration policies does not seem to be high on
the list of political priorities of the 15 countries of the
In the meantime there is Sangatte, a place without precedent,
temporary yet fixed, with no real perspective on the future.
Sangatte, where the hordes of sensation-seeking media have
failed to convey a far more complex reality, that of south-north
migration, founded on human distress.
Around 19:00, the warehouse comes to life. The hubbub intensifies
and the atmosphere becomes electric. This is the signal for
a new spate of departures - destination the United Kingdom.
The itineraries are well known: the freight area, where the
lorries congregate, the ferry terminal, or the yawning mouths
of the Channel Tunnel three kilometres away. Despite the dangers
involved - a dozen asylum seekers have died in the attempt,
crushed, electrocuted or drowned - several groups are getting
ready to try their luck once again to end their ceaseless
A woman is sobbing in the half-light. She can't take it any
more. Her husband snatches the four-year-old from her arms
to force her to follow. It is 22:00 before the family vanishes
into the night. For the others, there is a little smile, a
wink before leaving. Most of them will be back the following
morning, their bodies exhausted, their eyes lowered to disguise
the hope that has once again turned to despair.
Pierre Kremer is editor-in-chief of Croix-Rouge, the magazine
of the French Red Cross.
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