A volunteer working with Sienos Grupė (Border Group) describes his routine of helping migrants at the Lithuania-Belarus border. In addition to trying to save people from freezing to death, he has to convince border guards to see them as people and not to push them back into Belarus.
Irregular migrants continue coming to Lithuania (and Poland) via Belarus, albeit in smaller numbers and with less media fanfare. Many of them spend days in forests, wandering on foot in freezing cold and with no food. Lithuania’s official policy is to push them back into Belarus and only accept asylum applications at the embassy in Minsk and official border checkpoints.
Over 4,000 migrants, mostly from the Middle East and Africa, have crossed into Lithuania from Belarus last year. Over 8,000 have been turned away since the Lithuanian government instituted pushbacks last August.
Sienos Grupė is among the non-governmental organisations that send volunteers to help migrants at the border. Below, one of them, Andrius, describes one night from his work. It was posted by Sienos Grupė on Facebook and translated from Lithuanian.
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Let me tell you what a volunteer’s trip looks like, from the moment they go to the forest to when they return.
I work as a psychologist. The day before the call, I was working with a class of students. Seventh graders, three refugees from Ukraine. The children cannot communicate with each other, the Ukrainians from the eastern part of the country are lost, they have only been in Lithuania for a few days, they don’t know how to go about in a new country with people speaking a foreign language. Teachers are exhausted and frightened. A lot of emotions, uncertainty, misunderstandings.
In my spare time I coordinated help for a Syrian man who was rescued from the forest by fellow volunteers from the Wall Group. He was in hospital, but could have been pushed into the forest at any time. The man was exhausted and possibly had a broken arm. We had to work quickly, to fill out the paperwork, to keep track of his changing location. I was under constant stress and time pressure. I didn’t get any of my own work done.
After work, I walked the dog. I was on duty in Kaunas. No one else was available or had their own transport. I knew that about 50 people were being pushed back from the border every day. The chances of me being called up are quite high.
Before I went to asleep, a volunteer texted that we had a group of six people. Four children. Two people can’t walk anymore, one of them a 12-year-old girl. All half wet, possibly frostbitten feet. We only had the location, we didn’t know if they were still there, in what condition. Tajiks, they speak only Russian. Two foreign volunteers headed there from Vilnius with dry clothes and food. I came from Kaunas. I knew that when we would be calling border guards and the ambulance, we had to have someone who could speak for them and communicate in Lithuanian and Russian.
We did not find the people in the location we were given. This is often the case, because GPS services can be inaccurate in forests. We searched for over an hour. Our hands were freezing. We knew that time was important. It was not clear whether the border guards, when they came, would not push them all into the forests of Belarus. It has happened before, it always depends on the person in charge.
We can’t find the people, the tension builds up, I can feel my colleagues starting to get annoyed, I’m angry with people for not being able to send their location. I want to eat, but I don’t know when I’ll get to eat or warm my hands...
More than an hour later, we meet a man, seemingly in his late 50s, barely able to walk. We walk with him through the forest to where his sick kids are. A loose dog comes running from somewhere, but it does not bite. Okay, we keep walking.
We can see the people. First thing to do – decide whom to help first. I know that the ones who need help the most are the ones who scream the least. I’m overtaken by fear – six people, we need to act fast. Can I cope? I turn to the father of the family. He says “Help...”.
Then the autopilot kicks in. I give instructions. One of us is making warm soups and tea – they need warming up. The other is changing clothes. I feel immensely grateful that I am not alone and that my fellows follow my instructions, even though I don’t fully know what to do myself. The most important thing is to warm people up. Half of their clothes are wet and have been for three days. I check everyone’s medical condition and decide whom to help first.
The 12-year-old girl is in the worst condition. It’s difficult to change her, we can’t move her, she moans. She is lying all wet on the cold ground. It’s dark as hell. We are working with torchlights. My hands are no longer freezing, I simply don’t feel them.
The father says the girl’s kidneys are failing, she can’t hold urine, can’t walk. Next, a 7-year-old boy. I see frostbitten feet, exhaustion. His tissues are soft, superficial frostbite – bad, but I can move on to the next one. I leave him for my colleagues to change.
Next are two older children, about 14-17 years old. Both have swollen feet from being in wet shoes. They are moving, talking. Tea for them, waiting their turn to change. Then the mother, a Tajik woman of about 40. She moans and shakes all the time. I examine her legs. She cries out when I touch her calves. Shit, I think, a fracture. I move on.
At the same time, I’m translating things for my fellow volunteers. Things from the rucksacks get lost in the dark wet grass. I look for something, I prick my hand with something. The mother is unwell, it’s not clear what happened to her legs. I change her, give tea, warm her up.
In my head, I’m rehearsing how to call an ambulance and border guards. I can’t get the location – the phone is showing another place. I put together a plan. I know that at least two people are not going to get out of here on their own two feet.
Finally, the father’s turn. He is always helping to change the others, answering questions about their health. At the same time, I notice that he is hungry, he is shoving food into his mouth. He says he ate one day ago. I examine him – maybe his feet are frozen, I don’t understand anymore.
That’s everyone. Time to call an ambulance. The plan is there. There was a dog – that means there’s a house and an address. We walk through the woods along a forest path – sure enough, there is a house. I get the location, call 112. I feel how much I want to eat, but at the same time I feel nauseous. There is no food – I light a cigarette. The emergency call centre gives the standard questions, says they will call an ambulance and border guards. I don’t know exactly how far we are from the border. We can get fined if we are too close. It doesn’t matter. Help is on the way.
I know that those who are hurt may be taken to hospital and those who can walk may be pushed out into the forests of Belarus. It does not matter that they are family. Ok, we are working on that now. There is a chance to fill out the paperwork for the Strasbourg Court for interim protection measures so that they are not pushed out of Lithuania. We will have an answer within one or two days. If they go into hospital, they will have a chance to stay here, recover and rest.
The dawn is breaking. We’ve been waiting for two hours and no one has come. We don’t know who will come, whether they will feel for these people, whether they will want to help, or whether they will just follow the letter of the law. It is not clear why they are not coming. I smoke a lot.
Finally, the border guards appear. Three of them. One asks me about the situation. The others pick up automatic weapons. I ask, “Who are you going to shoot at?” I see that they are lost, they look down.
It turns out that the ambulance has not been called. I call 112 again. They say the border guards should have called. Then they connect me directly to the ambulance. I explain everything again. The border guards are asking questions, they are in a good mood. I know that now is the chance for them to see these refugees as people, not statistics or agents of Belarusian warfare. I relate their story, describe how they feel. I repeat the same words: kidneys, cannot move, frostbite, cannot walk, wet for three days, children...
We stand and smoke... I say, let’s take the children to the car. They agree. They drive the car closer, turn on the heating. The father carries his 7-year-old child in his arms. Who can walk are already in the car. The father kneels down at his daughter who cannot walk.
We are standing, smoking. I know I need to talk to the border guards, to build a rapport so that they don’t separate the family. The shift commander will decide. I’m not cold anymore, I don’t want to eat anymore, I’m just nauseous. The commander arrives. No ambulance. It’s three hours since my first 112 call.
OK, now questions and answers with the shift commander. I must build a rapport, show them as people, not statistics. I’m saying the same thing over the same thing. We’re standing, smoking... They say one of us will be taken to a border checkpoint because they don’t have a passport. I try to persuade them not to do it. I fail. We stand there, smoking.
Six in the morning. I keep checking how the girl is breathing. It starts to snow. We put blankets on the rest of the people outside. An ambulance shows up. Only one car, they won’t take everyone at once. They examine the people. I realise that no one of the border guards, the police or the medics speak to the migrants directly. Here is my opportunity – if I can get them to talk, maybe a relationship will develop, maybe there will be more compassion and they won’t separate the family. I encourage them to give questions directly, they speak Russian. A conversation develops. They give the girl and her mother medicine.
Now we need to talk to the doctor. She decides who goes to the hospital. She says she’ll take three, the others don’t need hospitalization, they can get treatment elsewhere. I explain that the border guards will take them to the forest, that they have no way to get treatment. I say something else. It doesn’t work. Three are taken to the hospital, three to the border checkpoint.
I am constantly being questioned. Or have small talks with the officers. They don’t talk to my fellow volunteers because they only speak English. Somehow I’m taken for the leader of the group. I feel like everybody – the medics, the officers, the father, my fellow volunteers – come to me with their questions. I feel lightheaded.
We are moving. The mother and the daughter are anaesthetised, put on a stretcher. They also take the child with frostbitten feet. The others are picked up by the border guards. They also take the volunteer who was without a passport, to fill out a report.
Two new men appear, one of them without a uniform. He shows me a badge, introduces himself as “criminal police”. I look at the badge and think: “How cool, like Volker the Texas ranger”. I feel pressure and aggression from him. He doesn’t keep his distance, stares straight at me. He pulls me aside, his tone is harsh, he gives the impression that he “knows more”. I understand the mechanisms of psychological pressure and manipulation. I know what will happen. I’m given a tough talk about how I am harming my country.
I go back, we pack our things, follow the police to pick up our friend from the checkpoint. I start to feel tired and hungry again. I still feel nauseous.
I return to Kaunas alone. On the way, I give an interview to a journalist. I help other volunteers to prepare documents. I realise that I did not get all the information I need. I get frustrated, I should have asked something or said something, but I didn’t do it. It’s 200 km to Kaunas. Twice I catch myself losing grip of the steering wheel. It is terribly scary.
I’m back home. I’m answering the phone. I sleep for three hours. I pack my rucksack – there is no one else be on call, I may need to go to the forest. But somehow it’s alright. I feel I have a bit of a cold. I’m numb, can’t focus my thoughts. I want to cry.
In the evening, I get a strange email and don’t realise what it is – until my colleagues tell me that it’s here, a positive decision on interim protection from Strasbourg!
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The Border Guard Service (VSAT) has described the episode in its daily statements to the meda:
“On Tuesday morning, six undocumented persons, who introduced themselves as a family and citizens of Tajikistan, were discovered near the border in Lazdijai District. Two female migrants, who claimed they were underaged, 12 and 17, and an adult woman complained about health issues. They were taken to Alytus Hospital in an ambulance accompanied by border guards. Meanwhile, an adult man with two minors, who did not have health complaints, were temporarily accommodated at a VSAT facility nearby.
“On that same day, according to information available to the VSAT, medics stated that the underaged foreigners faced no health risks and did not require treatment. It was decided to leave the adult woman in hospital overnight for observation, the other two migrants stayed with her.”
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