Mobile Refugee Support

Being on the Move, in Exile, Displaced aren’t just terms. They are a reality people have to live through, a reality that places a very real physical, emotional and mental toll on people.

We hear harrowing accounts everyday of what it means to be on the move, to have no other choice but to cross a border, the Channel, on the back of a lorry or on an inflatable boat.

It’s the walking for hours, it’s the waiting in the cold dead of night on a beach, it’s the running after a lorry or away from the police.

It’s the pain, violence and trauma inflicted on men, women and children during their journeys to what they hope will be sanctuary.

As humanitarian aid workers there is little we can do, little support we can offer when it comes to that reality. As much as we do everything we can to make their time on this border more bearable, we listen, try and comfort and make sure they know we stand with them. But their experience of displacement is theirs and we can never pretend to know or understand.

All we can do is watch them leave to “go try” and hope, beyond hope they will cross or return, safely.

It has rained for weeks. Night temperatures are around 8 degrees, which is mild for this time of year. Except 8 degrees, when you and all you own is wet, feels like a lot less. There are still well over 2000 people surviving in the camp around Dunkirk. That includes families, women, young children. But also lone teenage boys some as young as 12 and men who feel the cold and harsh conditions just as much as everyone else.

In these dire circumstances there is still no other support, care or compassion but what’s offered by NGOs. No running water, no shelter, no state organised food distributions, no medical support.

Every single NGO working in the camp is stretched to its limits at the moment. The demand is so high for the most basic vital supports. Shelter, sleeping bags, warm clothes, water, food, medical care. All vital when thousands of people are sleeping rough. The reality is none of us have enough to meet the need. That leads to huge pressure during distributions and our volunteers having to make impossible decisions about who we can give to. Saying no is always difficult and heartbreaking. It shouldn’t be in our power, who are we to make any of those decisions.

It may be a strategy by the French state to leave people in inhumane, unsanitary, cruel conditions. It might be their plan to squeeze NGO’s to their limits. If it’s their strategy, it’s one that kills. And it will kill again this winter. We are sure of it.
Because so many people surviving here, with none of their basic needs being met, in increasingly cold conditions, is dangerous. It’s life threatening. And existing in the mud, with no regard for their human dignity will push people to take dangerous journeys across the Channel, just to get out of here.

We continue to witness and stand defiant of the cruel border regimes that put people in these situations. In solidarity with displaced people always, we will continue to stand with them and to give as much as we can, for as long as we can.

Storm Ciaran hit Northern France this week. Three gymnasiums were open to offer shelter but with a total capacity for approximately 200 people and a camp population estimated at around 1800 people, the measure was grossly inadequate.

As we arrived at the distribution area on the day of the storm there was a small crowd of people waiting. It was easy to see and appreciate that those waiting in the strong wind and heavy rain really needed help with shelter and warmth.

Our services and processes are well established, they have been fine tuned to be as efficient and effective as possible. This also means that on a particularly challenging and trying day for those in camp, like a storm day, we are able to adapt our services and how we deliver them to the situation.

On Thursday as the storm raged on, our team worked fast to provide what relief we could to those standing outside. The unclaimed clothing parcels, from the orders taken the day before, were taken apart and each person offered a dry piece of clothing. We distributed tarpaulins, blankets and tents to those who didn’t have any. We also brought a stock of emergency blankets and socks to give some relief.

A couple of people needed extra care as they showed signs of mild hypothermia. We are quite used to spotting the signs as the weather turns colder and wetter. We have an emergency box in the van with basics to help warm someone up fast. Dry layers, hand warmers, hat, snood, gloves and big jackets. Encouraging the person to remove all of their wet layers and changing into dry clothes, we can then sit them in the van with the heating on.

No one should be left homeless and exposed to the elements through a storm. It is a deliberate failure of the authorities not to offer sufficient emergency measures for the population in camp. They advertised "staying home" and "away from woodlands" while leaving hundreds of men, women and children to survive outside with no adequate shelter or provision for their safety. The aftermath of the storm has been brutal. With destroyed tents, flooded ground and water logged bedding. Any support you can offer would be greatly appreciated.

We are preparing the warehouse for winter. This means putting away warm weather specific items and taking out cold weather specifics. Whether it be with clothes, shoes or sleeping bags, everything in the warehouse is organised by type and by season to ensure we distribute our stock as efficiently and effectively as possible. The population in camp being so high and the weather resolutely colder we can’t help but notice that our stock of warm clothing is at an all time low.

Three times a week we take clothing requests from the men and teenage boys in camp. We take between 30 and 40 orders each time, which when the camp is this busy barely scratches the surface of the need for clean, dry, warm clothes. On top of this we work in partnership with and to provide a full change of clothes to patients receiving treatment for scabies.
At the moment there are many items we cannot fulfil requests for because we don’t have enough in stock. Trousers and joggers in size S and M, waterproof jackets and warm coats, gloves and snoods, hoodies and fleeces, rain ponchos…

We take a separate list for shoes. We give 30 to 40 pairs of shoes every week, to those with no shoes or broken shoes. That also barely scratches the surface when so many in camp arrived in warmer weather, have been unable to cross and now face the wet and the cold with nothing but summer clothes and shoes.
As of today we have enough size 42 and 43 shoes and boots for two days of orders. After that we won’t be able to equip people until we receive new stock.

There are many ways you can help displaced people stuck on this border. Collecting clothing and shoes for men and teenage boys in good condition and appropriate for the harsh living conditions of the camp is one of them. You can also donate funds to our fundraiser to allow us to purchase suitable items at bulk prices. The link is in our bio.

As the weather turns cold, warm clothing and dry shoes become vital basics to survive here. We want to be able to keep offering people dignity and agency over what clean, dry clothes they need. Can you help us do that?

Last Thursday the French state carried out a large scale eviction. At the time an estimated 1800 people were surviving here. Just the day before they had evicted one of the largest living sites in Calais forcing people into buses to the shelters.

The french state calls these evictions “sheltering operations”, under the pretext of offering the option of going to an accommodation centre. This week the reality that this is just an excuse became very clear.

Before any eviction officials will usually visit the living sites or fly a drone over them to “count tents”. They are therefore very aware of the number of people present and the rough demographic. For example, at the moment there are a large number of families with young children.

On Thursday morning it was raining and the temperature had dropped dramatically overnight. Having been evicted from their tents and then seeing them, the bedding and many personal belongings going into skips and to avoid standing in the rain with no shelter, many people made the decision to get on the buses to the accommodation centres.

Here is where the intentions of the French officials becomes clear. 5 buses were filled and then everyone was told there was no more space. Over 150 people who had made their wish clear to go to a centre, were left standing in the rain with no shelter option. Many of those were families.

Carrying out an eviction on the day the weather turns, destroying the only shelters people have (i.e tents) at a time when 1800 people are surviving here, knowing full well there isn’t sufficient space in the accommodation centres is not “a sheltering operation”. It’s not “keeping people safe”, it’s not “protecting children from sleeping rough”. It’s a calculated move to render life even more difficult. It’s leaving men, women and children homeless, outside, in the rain, with no solution.
It’s trampling people’s fundamental rights and their dignity. It’s state violence. It’s unacceptable.

As a team we responded after the police had left. Re-equipping those who chose not to or couldn’t go to the accommodation centres. We distributed 200 tents trying to ensure as many people as possible got what they needed.

A little update from the ground:

Living sites are now very spread out as people have gone deeper into woodlands and wastelands for some semblance of protection from constant evictions. The site where we and other organisations would setup was churned up by the authorities making it inaccessible. Many alternative distribution sites were blocked off. This has meant complications finding distribution sites with sufficient space to operate safely.
With easy access to services at the forefront of our minds we took the decision to go back to the area we were in this time last year. It’s now a central strip where members of the communities setup little shops and "restaurants". Being there means we are easy to find for anyone who needs to access our services.

There have been a few “try days” as always. On those days people walk out of camp with barely a backpack of possessions and make their way to where they’ll attempt the crossing to the UK on an inflatable boat. It never gets easier to see groups leaving, families with very young children, men with hopes for a future and lone teenagers just looking for a safe place. We watch them leave and we know the risk they are having to take. Just this morning a young Eritrean boy no older than 18 drowned when the inflatable boat he got on to cross capsized. He’s the 5th victim of this border in 2 weeks. We have no words.

Every “try day” is followed by those days where people return from the beaches saying “no chance”. They recount the violence the police meets them with. Violence which seems to have grown exponentially in the last few months. They show us bruises, tear gas stains and the soaking clothing they are still wearing.

Between missed attempts and new people arriving daily the camp has been very busy. As a small team we have tried to keep up with the demand from new arrivals for their basic needs to live through their time on this border. Tents, sleeping bags, clothing, shoes.
People are on edge, scared they’ll stay stuck here as the weather changes, anxious to find the most basic shelter in a tent and a sleeping bag.

Through it all we stand with them. In boundless solidarity.

In the last few weeks this border has killed again — predictably, heartbreakingly.

Last night, a man drowned in the canal beside the camp. He had no identifying documents on him. We don’t know the circumstances of his drowning. The canal is somewhere people use to wash in the absence of any showering infrastructure. Already last year someone drowned.
We do know the man who drowned yesterday was loved; there’s a family and friends somewhere that will be anxiously wondering why they aren’t hearing from him.

Last week a young woman from Eritrea died on a beach in Calais. In circumstances unclear, she found herself in the water during an attempt to reach the UK on an inflatable boat. Her husband jumped in after her and brought her back to the beach. His efforts to reanimate her were in vain. The pain he now must live with is unimaginable.

Two weeks ago, a young man was found dead along the motorway near the camp after being hit by a car. He has, as yet, not been identified. There has been no widespread investigation by French authorities. Other than organisations working to try and identify him so his family can be told the tragic news, no one among the authorities cares.

We say our borders kill and they do. But perhaps as a statement it shifts responsibility away from those with the power to make change and onto an inanimate, most of the time invisible, entity. Borders.

However, borders have been designed the way they are by people with power. The systems in place have been thought up by politicians, over decades, as tools to scapegoat, dehumanise and kill those found to be unworthy.

When human beings are harmed, vilified, traumatised and killed on our borders, the responsibility lies at the feet of real people. People with names and addresses who choose to uphold, enforce and expand racist systems of oppression.

Every time another death is announced here, our hearts break and fill with rage. How many more lives will we commemorate before we can finally see all lives as worthy of peace, dignity and sanctuary?

Each of the 379 people (whom we know of) who have died on this border since 1999 deserved to live.

They deserve to live.

“I left South Sudan in 2016
If I went back now my mother wouldn’t know me.
I went to Sudan first, and then to Libya
I tried to cross the sea 3 times
They caught me 3 times
So I went to try and cross into Tunisia
The police there caught me, they beat me and broke my arm.
They cut my hair, before I had long hair
I tried to cross into Tunisia 5 times
The 5th time I succeeded and I crossed the sea to Italy.
Now I am in France.
I tried to stay in Paris but I was sleeping in the street.
The police are bad here. But not as bad as other places I have been.
I’ll try and go to the UK
I came to Europe for my future
But now I feel stuck”

We often speak of the violence suffered by displaced people in their countries of origin. Rarely do we fully consider the violence and trauma inflicted on their journey. By police, border guards, military personnel. Those who use their mandates to inflict harm and violence gratuitously.

In Northern France the violence is in evictions, in tear gas being used on the beaches on men, women and children when the boat has already been slashed. It’s in the stop and searches and police visits to living sites at all hours.

The kind of trauma left by so much violence can’t be processed until someone feels safe. There is so much evidence that safety is neither real nor perceived in many so called “safe first countries”.

Today we received a full HGV of festival salvaged tents and sleeping bags from HertsforRefugees with the expert logistics support and transport by Hope and Aid Direct (Group). We will share much more about this in the coming days. For now we want to share our huge gratitude to all our friends who came to help with unloading. Our current team of MRS volunteers, a team of 6 of our friends who came especially from the Netherlands, Angus and Mark from Herts For Refugees without whom the salvage wouldn’t happen and the team from Hope and Aid Direct. When we come together we really can move mountains. Today, that mountain was a huge amount of tents and sleeping bags which will allow us to provide shelter and warmth to displaced people surviving on this border for the coming months.

To all involved, at every step, THANK YOU!!

In community we find one of the most powerful antidotes to the hostile “them and us” rhetoric.

The community spirit we encounter in camp, people organising to prepare meals with only rudimentary equipment and ingredients, the sharing of what little ressources are available, the care shown when someone is ill or has just arrived. In a place that is hostile and dehumanising by design, community is where a little joy and hope is found.

We have often spoken of the care that is shown to us by the community, as we work everyday to find the common ground, to refuse the “them and us”.

Community is also found within our team. Our volunteers come together as strangers, with a common wish to do what’s possible. With an openness to learn and understand but ultimately moved to action by common values.

And then there are the hundreds of communities that come together, to act in solidarity, to support, to welcome. Communities that gather to salvage tents, to raise funds, to collect donations. The communities that fight for unconditional and dignified welcome of displaced people in the place of their choosing. The communities made of people of all walks of life, miles away from each other who come together to answer a question, help someone out, give a bit of time, of energy, of money.

Solidarity is a verb and it gets conjugated with community, through community.
When people are in community then fear grows smaller, “othering” becomes so much harder, it looses its power. It’s an antidote to loneliness and despair and it allows roots to grow.

The better world we wish to see is rooted in community.

Thank you to our extended community. To all those of you that pull on that strong yet invisible thread that links each of us to one another.

There have been many very wet days this summer. It makes everything harder and more bleak for displaced people here.

When it rains, it’s a choice between leaving your tent to access basic aid such as food, water, phone charging, clothing, bedding,
knowing you’ll get wet, or missing out on all those services that make things slightly more bearable.

When it rains nothing can dry, not your clothes, not your shoes. Often tents aren’t made to sustain continuous rain and it gets in. And then bedding is damp. Sleeping becomes impossible.

Wet conditions lead to an increase in skin conditions, in respiratory infections. It affects people’s mental health of course.

We must remember this is France, Europe in 2023.
Where men, women and children in exile are left homeless with no shelter and daily denial of their fundamental rights.

We stand in boundless solidarity with the communities we serve and in defiance of our hostile environments that put people’s lives at risk and strips them of their right to peaceful and safe lives.

“I lost my phone in the water last night. I can’t contact my family.”

“I have no news of my brother. He is on the way. I don’t know if he’s OK.”

“This is my daughter. All I have is this picture. I miss her. She is learning English now.”

“If there is a problem on the boat, who do we call?”

The dread felt when there is no news, a feeling we can all relate to. No news of a loved one, no news on an application, a dead phone battery when you need maps or access to some important data.

Connectivity and digital access for displaced people on the move is vital. Just like our smartphones are extensions of ourselves at this stage, so they are for people in exile. Phones are the only link to loved ones at home and those ahead; they’re a precious photo album, a translator, a source of information on conditions along borders and asylum policies, they’re a news source, a compass, access to music and some light entertainment.

MRS started off, all those years ago, with on-site phone charging. Many extension leads plugged into a generator were the only source of power for displaced people in the camp at the time. That then grew into providing wifi connectivity with Jangala

Nowadays other organisations also bring charge to the distribution area so we don’t always need to. Being a small grassroots organisation offers us the flexibility to adapt services at a moment’s notice. The camp is busy at the moment and so charge is set up next to our van every day.

Regardless of whether our charge station is set up we still have wifi, we have SIM cards, we troubleshoot people’s connectivity issues and help them get credit, we charge powerbanks overnight, we can give charging cables and ziplock bags to protect phones from water. When phones are donated to us it means we can give one to someone who has none.

If you would like to support displaced people in maintaining these vital contact links you can do so by collecting phone cables, unlocked phones, powerbanks, or donating to our fundraiser to allow us the funds to maintain digital and communications access services in

This past week we received our first festival salvage stock of the season. It came from our dear friends Sanne Van Alphen and Vanessa van Kleef from
Stichting Moving Stones

They gained access to the grounds of Liquicity Festival in the Netherlands and as a team of 5 superhero women they gathered tents and sleeping bags but also camping chairs and clothing abandoned by festival-goers.

It was raining as they salvaged, making the operation twice as difficult, and it meant the stock was damp going into their van. They drove straight to us and our team took advantage of a dry day in Dunkirk to open up the tents so they would dry. The lines went up in the warehouse to hang the sleeping bags and those that were too dirty went through the washing machines.

Thanks to the tireless efforts of Stichting Moving Stones we took in several dozen tents and sleeping bags. At a time where donations have greatly reduced, every single tent is crucial. One tent is shelter for at least two displaced people.

Festival salvage is so crucial to our operation here in Dunkirk. Without it our stock of tents and sleeping bags would not be able to meet the needs of the communities we serve. We equip new arrivals in camp and we re-equip after every destructive eviction.

For the past several years we have received salvage from UK festivals via the incredible HertsforRefugees. We are so grateful that they are carrying out several salvage operations through the summer. If you are in the UK and would like to join a salvage day please check their socials to sign up.
In August there will also be a salvage operation at a festival in Belgium.

The more tents and sleeping bags abandoned on festival fields we can save from landfill, the more displaced people on the run we can provide shelter to.

This week the Illegal Migration Act was passed in Parliament. It will inflict untold trauma and hardship on men, women and children arriving in the UK seeking sanctuary. The particulars of the bill are sickening; the human rights violations, the destitution and limbo it will throw people in is unfathomable. Its estimated £9 billion cost to implement is unimaginable and defies the most basic logic.

While it might scare people from crossing initially, the reality is, that just like every other supposedly deterring bill passed before, it will not stop people from attempting to reach the UK. Because for those for whom there is no alternative and no legal route, risking everything to reach the UK is a question of survival.

Our work in Northern France will continue. While none of us, out of privilege, will have to experience the direct consequences of this bill. We will make sure that those who will, know we stand with them.
We can’t offer any assurances or guarantees of what their lives might look like when they cross. We never really could anyway. But in the time they spend in the camp we will wield our axes of hope. We will keep our commitment to provide what humanitarian aid we can to make people’s time in the camp somewhat more bearable. We will meet every person with the humanity and compassion they deserve. We will channel our rage into a future where all are welcome, unconditionally.

We’ll operate with hope.

“No chance”

The CRS (riot police) find you hiding in the dunes or slash your boat as you prepare to run into the water and jump on.

Your boat takes on water and you have to call for rescue, knowing well you’ll be left to drift for hours.

You cross a land border or a sea border on your journey of exile but you’re pushed back and you have to start all over.

The police arrest you outside the supermarket, or at the launderette, or just walking along a road and hold you in detention for no reason.

You’re surviving in a makeshift camp and the police come and destroy everything, driving a bulldozer over your tent and stealing your belongings. You’ll have to seek help and a new shelter and bedding before you can sleep tonight.

You finally got an asylum interview hundreds of miles from where you are, but the translator doesn’t show up so it’s all postponed.

The interviewer doesn’t believe you, doesn’t think you are deserving of protection.

You got to the UK but you have been waiting for months, sometimes years in a hotel with no rights. They call you illegal. Say they’ll send you back.

You were born in a place where your passport means nothing - or you never even got one - and freedom of movement doesn’t apply to you.

“I have no chance.”

That’s a sentence we hear a lot from people we meet in camp. For them all this is down to luck, to chance. Because the system is such that there is no logical or reasonable explanation for all the systemic state sanctioned violence, discrimination and hostility imposed on them.

What world are we living in where someone’s human experience, their life, is down to chance?
Not one we are happy to put up with.

In solidarity, in defiance