This article was published by IRIN News.
![]() |
Shezie and Ravina from Afghanistan listen to the correct pronunciation of the months of the year in English, at the 66th Middle School of Athens |
A bystander
outside the 66th Middle School of Athens nowadays witnesses two events
when the bell rings at 2pm: scores of Greek children pour out of the
three-storey building onto a asphalt football pitch, and out of the school
gates. Silence descends for about 20 minutes before coaches pull up and
disgorge dozens of refugee middle schoolers. They are barely distinguishable
from their Greek colleagues. Boys and girls band together. They wear the jeans,
sleeveless duffle jackets, sport shoes and backpacks universal to 13-15
year-olds. There is not a headscarf in sight.
The great
difference, teachers say, reveals itself in the classroom. “When the bell has
rung, they want you to stay on and explain something,” says English teacher
Maria Liakopoulou. “When it’s the last period on Friday, they often demand more
homework,” adds maths teacher Dimitra Anatoliti. “And they want us to write
that they’ve done well in their exercise books.”
The enthusiasm
is evident to anyone familiar with the feigned boredom of youth. Refugee students
spring out of their seats to race each other in long multiplication on the
blackboard, and the class cheers them on. When called upon to read the months
of the year in English, a small class of Syrians, Afghans and Iranians eagerly
takes turns.
“You’re not
going to have bored kids in class. They are kids who make demands, want things
and are motivated,” says Alexandra Androusou, a professor of education science
at Athens University, who helped draft the education ministry’s after-hours
programme for refugees.
“They have
suffered unspeakable and unspoken things… To go from a war zone and get to Greece
and see people drown on the way, settle in a camp and also go to school, makes
them very knowledgeable about life. No child raised in the Western world has
this knowledge. But this also means they are very demanding.”
Androusou led
teams of her university students in a yearlong project at the Elaionas refugee
camp, from which the 66th school draws its students. They witnessed
the refugees in a much more raw state. For instance, at first many parents
didn’t let their children out of their mobile homes.
Androusou’s team
– or commandos, as she calls them - performed a pied piper trick. “They went
around the camp playing musical instruments to announce their presence and
children would come out of their mobile homes and follow,” she says. “In the
beginning, many of the doors didn’t open. By the middle [of the year], all the
doors opened, children would be pushed out, and the parents would thank us.”
The team took some
70 children, aged 5-15, under its wing. There was no common language. Many had
never been to school and couldn’t draw straight lines with a ruler. They ripped
the paper they were given. Collaboration on group projects was next to
impossible.
By playing
games, the team gradually formed a relationship of trust and began to introduce
Greek and English words. It also instilled basic discipline. “The children
needed rules and boundaries and wanted them….
because boundaries at this age allow creativity, they allow access to
knowledge,” says Androusou. By the end of the year the children were able to
arrive on time, follow instructions and accomplish group art projects.
Androusou proudly displays a sculpted column of clay on her desk as the
pinnacle of this learned collaboration.
Charity and prejudice
Greece now has
a standing population of about 60,000 refugees. At last count, 38,000 were
asylum seekers, and many have applied to move elsewhere in Europe. Staffing
shortages and constant new arrivals mean a long wait before their cases are
decided. This means that an estimated 20,000 children are going to spend some
or all of the current academic year in Greece. When the Syriza government
announced its intention to educate those above the age of six – about 14,000
minors - it produced uproar in parts of society.
Critics of the
plan raised the question of money; but the programme, estimated to cost a
little over €21mn, is being funded by the European Union and is providing some
800 part-time jobs to Greek teachers.
Of greater
immediate concern was the issue of hygiene. In the past few years, refugee and
immigrant populations have helped bring back malaria and tuberculosis, which
had been so marginalised by vaccination and spraying for mosquitoes that
medical schools couldn’t find subjects to teach their effects.
Ilias
Papastavrou, the headmaster of the 66th school, met with parents to
tell them that their school would operate an after-hours refugee programme. “They wanted to know
that the refugees will be vaccinated, as the law stipulates for Greek kids as
well," he says. "They wanted to know that the school would be cleaned after the
evening programme to be ready to admit the Greek kids in the morning."
Many reactions
were worse. Last September, parents at the Panorama district of the northern
port city of Thessaloniki occupied their children’s school so that refugees
could not enter. In Volvi, north of Thessaloniki, parents refused to send their
children to school at all until they were threatened with a court order. On the
island of Chios, activists conducted a poll on whether refugees should be
allowed in their schools, even though no such policy applied there (the eastern
Aegean islands are a legal frontier under this year’s EU-Turkey Statement, not
an area of residence for refugees, and the government is not offering them
education there).
Despite the reactions,
the programme, which includes Greek, English or German, maths, computing, sport,
music and art, is now being taught in 37 schools nationwide. Hundreds of
refugee children living in squats and UN-sponsored rentals in central Athens have
also enrolled in regular morning school, even though they don’t intend to stay
in Greece.
“Some parents
don’t want their children to learn Greek because we don’t need it,” says Somaya
Suleiman, a Syrian mother at a squat in a disused school building in central
Athens.
“[For the
first] two days or three days [my son] hated Greek school because he told me
every morning, ‘Please mom, I’m sleepy, don’t send me… But now he wants, he
likes to go to this school because he has a relationship with new friends.”
The problems refugees
encounter, beyond the academic, are emblematic of broader, European concerns. “Some
people are afraid of me when they see we have [the] hijab,” says Mazia Jemilli,
a remarkably articulate 15 year-old Afghan who plans to be a neurosurgeon.
While waiting
at a bus stop recently, she asked two middle-aged ladies to translate a
recorded message in Greek on her cell phone. “They said, ‘Come, come, we have
to go,’ and they escaped from me, and I said, ‘why do they do like this?’” she
says, tears welling up in her eyes. “They
think we will be terrorists. They are scared of us. I don’t know why they think
like this. We are not terrorists.”
Jemilli says
she has also encountered religious prejudice at her multicultural high school
at Hellenikon, a southern suburb of Athens. Multicultural schools were
established for the children of eastern European refugees after the fall of
communism, but are now increasingly filled with Afghans and Syrians. Her school
holds an organised morning prayer for Christians, but not for Muslims. She
suggested rectifying this. The school has so far refused, on the grounds that
it has students adhering to five religions.
Refugees were a
moving body of humanity throughout 2015. Last February, the police forces of
Austria and the former Yugoslavia closed the Balkan route that allowed them
across as many as six borders to Germany. Once they became a standing
population, they were put into disused army camps, out of sight of most people.
Enrolment in school is now making refugees visible to society.
Although the
Greek school experience is largely a success, neither Greeks nor refugees
forget that work, the ultimate integrator, will be the greater problem in
Greece’s recessive economy. “Even if they appreciate the fact that as a country
we have accepted them as warmly as we can, they know they have no future here.
There are no jobs for them,” says Elli, a Greek volunteer.
Androusou is
mindful of the broader European failure at assimilation. “Europe lost the bet on
integration. It lost its ability to be a place of democracy and the creation of
a common perception of things,” she says in reference to the 2005 Paris
banlieues riots. But she insists that education, rather than the economy, is
the key to a more open society, and believes Greece will manage better.
Ideological racism, she says, is a minority trend here, and parents who
protested against refugees going to school with their children suffered from
ignorance and fear. “I think we’re a little wiser since the waves of
immigration in the 1990s,” she says. “School is the battering ram that will put
these people into society.”