A Rare Place of Resistance
We are standing together on Calais beach, warmly clothed, sand flying around us. We complain about the wind, race each other next to the water, and look out over the sea as two ferries pass each other: one arriving to Calais; the other on its way to Dover. You joke about how you should just hop on the ferry, it is right there. We laugh, but in reality, it is not funny. Reality is that with my passport, I could go on this ferry immediately if I wanted. Reality is that there is no possibility for you to reach the UK legally; no possibility of getting a visa or applying for asylum. We both know your only option. But for now, we enjoy the waves.
After spending almost two months in the summer of 2023 here, I was glad to be back for a few weeks this January in one of Calais’ gems, Maria Skobtsova House.
The house is a rare place of resistance against Europe’s violent border policies. This resistance looks like children playing without care, and a kitchen which sees different cuisines day after day. It looks like joy and laughter, popcorn and home-baked cakes, endless cups of coffee and tea with too much sugar, eating breakfast together and then second breakfast when everyone else wakes up, midnight “dinner” consisting of homemade meshaltet or pizza in between rounds of UNO, and occasional dance parties with songs from Sudan, Iraq, Eritrea, and many other places.
This house is a rarely female dominated space, in a vastly male dominated Calais. Some of the women are travelling with a husband, or a male family member; others have made the journey alone, or with their children. All of them are strong individuals who have had to make hard decisions in their lives.
In the morning, music and joy change to silence and introspection. The blankets children played on become prayer mats, and we pray on that same floor. We pray for an end to oppressive systems, for an end to the wars and oppressive regimes that displaced our guests. We pray for a Europe that sees our guests not as a threat, but as humans, worthy of protection and hospitality. We pray for Sudan and Palestine, where men, women and children are being massacred while the world watches and lets it happen. We remember all those killed by European border policies, some painfully recent, and we pray for everyone who dedicates their life to justice, in and outside of Calais.
Aside from joy, there is anger and grief. At families torn apart, a seven-year-old who can describe the clearly the scenes in Khartoum before his family managed to flee, a tiny two-month-old baby, born in France, who will also attempt the dangerous crossing by small boat with her parents. There is the omnipresent stress about what people’s lives are currently, and what they will look like in the future. And there is the exhaustion and disappointment on peoples faces, as they often return to the house after a failed try, cold and wet.
Above all, I am grateful for a place like this, where we have not given up in believing in the inherent dignity of each human. In this dark and messed up world, we choose to believe that God is present and able, and we dare to dream of a world in which all are equal, and where passports do not define your future.
Margreet Oele