Calais: Between Migration and Solidarity

As I wrapped up my first year in Menton and embarked on a 16-hour train ride to the very north point of France, Calais, I had an intuition that the experience would be life-changing. If the first year of Sciences Po had taught me anything, it was definitely how to find  ways to leave Menton, and France in general. So, the prospect of having to spend an extra month in France for my parcours civique was probably as thrilling as sitting through four hours of Jean-Pierre Filiu’s Question of Palestine. Painful, but somehow worth it in the end.

War zone or just a regular town?

When I first announced to my family that I would be doing my parcours civique with Care4Calais, a British organization that provides non-food items to refugees, most of my relatives acted as if I was about to become a war photographer in Sudan. Despite them, I managed to not have any image of Calais in mind before actually arriving. So what was Calais really like?

Maybe it was the breeze of fresh air when I left the crowded, non-air-conditioned carriage of my train, or perhaps it was the image of finally having a bed to sleep in that made me instantly fall in love with my new short-term home. 

When I got out of the train station, I mostly could see young male migrants sitting on nearby benches.. Some of them I later recognized as I started volunteering. Contrary to the well-intentioned warnings from my family members, they were unfettered by my presence and were more interested in conversations with their friends. 

Give North of France a chance

While dragging my suitcase around town, one of the first things that caught my eye, was Hotel de Ville de Calais. This breathtaking building towers over the rest of the city highlighting the striking contrast of once a wealthy region with today’s reality, because the rest of the city centre essentially resembles a ghost-town. 

For context, the North of France has historically profited from coal and textile production. During the economic recession in the 1970s the region took a hit. The main source of wealth was coal and textile but both of the industries started diminishing as the coal ran out. Not to mention, that the region was, and still remains, underfunded by the government. 

In 2015, for example, around 18.1 % of the city’s population lived below the poverty line. The average for France at the time was 14.2 %. Its portrayal in the media as a city struggling with migrants did not help its image, especially as the town mostly profited from tourists from the UK. Despite the dismal situation some of the citizens find themselves in, they still feel empathetic towards refugees. 

For example, the owner of the restaurant Mirador said: “I don't blame the migrants, they aren't aggressive and I do feel sorry for them, but I want to retire. My restaurant has been on the market for two years, but not one person has expressed any interest. I am 70 years old and penniless. Here in Calais, we are all on our knees.”

Coming to Calais, Mirador was one of the first places I saw and thought of having lunch at. But as I learned on Google maps it was closed as well as most of the other restaurants in Calais. As someone who experienced France, mainly in Menton, where shops are open even on Sunday due to the number of tourists, this was a shock. The only place I could eat my lunch at on Monday was a fast-food place, the chain called O’Tacos. One of the first discoveries I made during this “life-changing” journey was that the French have their own tacos. 

The House of Horror

I chose to stay in a house that accommodates some of the volunteers for Care4Calais. That being said, I did not expect the place to be luxurious—I have stayed in my fair share of hostels to know better. However, the fact that the place did not have walls or more specifically plaster-covered the insulation was a little concerning. Not to mention the occasional mold. Yet, there is no better bonding topic than paying 20 euros per night for a housing that was almost, quite literally, falling apart. Still, as someone privileged enough to be able to afford it, it was really the least I could do to contribute to the economy of the city. 

Elitist friendships

To make up for all the things the house did not provide, I got to live under one roof with people so like-minded and funny as were my housemates. Most of them volunteered with me, making it feel like a coincidental summer camp. Somehow, this experience managed to cure my absolute dread of summer camps. Collective dinners, ice creams on the beach, hour-long walks home, beers in La Betterave (the best bar in Calais) not only made us closer but allowed us to share tough days at work, our personal life or the stupidest little things you can imagine.

In a true non-elitist nature, the people I became the closest with were mostly students from other Sciences Po campuses. Whether it was the proximity of our beds or internalised elitism, having people of roughly the same age to share Calais with, turned out to be a necessity. Because hardly anyone can grasp the magical dimension of playing football in heavy rain with the refugees. 

Even your brother could be staying in the ‘Orange squat’

One thing that immediately caught the attention of many volunteers in Calais is how many young boys were living there. The idea of sending my 16-years-old brother across several countries without knowing if he survives the journey makes me nauseous. Not to mention that behind each of these boys is usually a family that made a lot of sacrifices to send him on the way. Yet, these people are still often treated as less than an annoying mosquito you are desperately trying to get out of your house. 

The “real” house these young men live in is called the ‘Orange squat.’ Hearing from people who have, it is inhabited by about 500 people living in tents. The toilets inside are not in the best condition. When I was leaving Calais an unofficial source claimed that Orange squat will likely be evicted some time in September. It belongs to a private owner, who decided— apparently with the light push from the city council— to take the place back. In reality, this means that the boys will go through brutal police eviction. The police will take all their possessions and they will be boarded on buses and driven outside of Calais towards government-run facilities.

For NGOs operating in Calais, it means that they have to stock up as many tents, sleeping bags, and other necessities as possible. Working for Care4Calais definitely made me understand how Sisyphian their work is. 

Waiting as a lifestyle

What I realized during my parcours civique is that the life of migrants is full of waiting. Whether it is waiting to save enough money to make the journey to Europe, or waiting for the asylum claim to be processed, to mundane things like waiting in line for food, clothes, showers, or whatever else they need. Every time I now find myself grumpily waiting at the post office in Menton to send my letter, I remember that having to wait occasionally is a privilege.  In this fast-paced era waiting often feels like a punishment but seeing people having to wait for everything that I can buy in under 10 minutes truly made me understand the real-life consequences of all the privileges I have. 

Despite the waiting, most of the men and women I met remain positive. Whether they were filming Tik Toks, dancing or playing football, they seemed to enjoy every moment to the fullest. I often come back to many of the interactions I had. Once I was distributing clothes and shoes to women and children, and I encountered a young pregnant woman with her son who could not have been more than one-years-old. When we found shoes that were her size, she was overjoyed. “I can run fast again from the police,” she said laughing. The ability to joke in spite of the horrors she must have been through amazed me and horrified me at the same time.

But what about migration?

The reason I did not start my article by focusing on the situation of the refugees is because Calais is so much more than just a politicized space exploited in the anti-immigration discourse. It would be easy to say that its citizens are radicalized nationalists. Especially as in the 2024 parliamentary elections, the region of Pas-de-Calais elected a candidate from the Rassemblement national—a nationalist party that was led by far-right Marine Le Pen until 2021. As always, reality is much more complicated. In 2015 France24 interviewed inhabitants of Calais and it turned out despite their preference for far-right parties they feel solidarity with the refugees. In fact, some of the Calais population provides housing, food, clothes and whatever else is needed despite dealing with poverty themselves.

Between the UK and France

On a political level one of the issues that refugees face is a lack of safe routes. Asylum seekers coming to the UK have no other possibility of applying for a visa than physically arriving in the country on a small boat or by lorry but even this is persecuted and extremely dangerous. 

On the other hand, the Ukrainian asylum seekers have had the opportunity to apply for asylum from outside of the country under the ‘Homes for Ukraine Sponsorship Scheme.’  This shows how much the system in place is rooted in racism. Being white and European changes the dynamics of migration completely.

Yet, the UK and France refuse to take accountability for essentially trapping people in Calais because of their policies. Their newest policy is called the ‘one in, one out’ scheme agreed between Sir Keir Starmer, the UK Prime Minister and Emanuelle Macron, the French President. Essentially, it means that for each person the UK deports back to France, it will accept another person who has not yet attempted to cross the channel. As of September 19th, the first person of Indian nationality has already been deported under the scheme. 

What will be the fate of Calais in the future remains unclear. But whether you are looking to cleanse yourself of Menton, learn more about refugees and their lives, or just desperately need a parcours civique, Care4Calais offers all of that and more. I believe that with every volunteer that comes to Calais the city becomes less of a politicized crossing point and more of a place of solidarity and community that I experienced.