Refugee crisis hits home on a sunny Greek isle
It’s early afternoon, mid-August, in a grocery store across from Vounaki Park on the Greek island of Chios. Patrons are lining up for the cashier, and I am behind the person who is ringing up.
We are all caught in our individual time bubbles: Some are rushing to finish shopping and get on the last bus leaving for the villages. Some are seeking to prolong their stay in the air-conditioned environment, trying to avoid the 90-degree weather outside. I am looking forward to getting out and tasting the sea-salt air mixed with the aroma of pine trees in the park – an unforgettable sensation.
Greece is sinking in the abyss of her widely publicized bankruptcy, yet the stunning beauty of the country – like a mother’s kiss – soothes even the most distressing tensions. After all, the same beauty enchanted even the Homeric gods.
Suddenly, a pair of kids zips along the line to the cashier, piercing our individual time bubbles as they go. They cut to the very front, and we all look at them. That’s when time stands still, as their arrival resurrects a different nightmare in summertime Greece: Most of us know it as the Syrian refugee crisis.
The two boys look disheveled and scruffy; one is 8 and the other 6 years old, or thereabouts. They each hold a vanilla ice cream cone. With their big brown eyes open wide, they look at the cashier. She looks right back at them.
No words are exchanged. No common language exists, yet none is necessary. The boys raise the vanilla cones above their heads, breaking the direct line of sight between them and the cashier. The older boy lowers his eyes to the ground. The younger peeks hesitantly from the side. The cashier turns around, seeking support from the people in line.
Some of us nod. She turns and looks approvingly at the kids. The younger boy nudges the older. They lower their cones, look up and tilt their heads with a smile. They grab each other’s hands and run outside. We are all still numb.
Time is restarted by impromptu whispers: “Have you heard? They rescued 60 more in the Voukaria port this morning.” “I heard 40 or so still sleep in the cemetery across the monastery.” “Those kids must be in the park for, what? Two weeks now? Do they have any family?” “My neighbor gave them clean clothes on Monday.”
The conversation drives away the numbness.
The person at the front of the line asks the cashier to add the ice cream cones to his bill. He pays, grabs his bags and leaves the grocery store, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What kind of despair would force any child to flee his home?” “What kind of despair would force any parent to let this happen to his children?”
The refugee situation is often presented as a political and/or financial crisis. It seems to me it also is a humanitarian one.
I exit the grocery story and stroll around the park across the street. I find what I am looking for, and so have the two boys: They are sitting under a pine tree enjoying their ice cream, temporarily comforted by the beauty of the location and the kindness of the people. For this fleeting moment, they look happy.
Reality will sting back once the ice cream is eaten.
Antonios Finitsis, Ph.D., is an associate professor and chair of the Religion Department at Pacific Lutheran University.
This story was originally published September 19, 2015 at 8:56 AM with the headline "Refugee crisis hits home on a sunny Greek isle."