'The world arrived on our doorstep'

In the early 1990's, Eric and Philippa Kempson left their busy lives in England in search of the simple life. They wanted the freedom to create and sell their artwork, and take an active role in raising their daughter. So they settled down on the idyllic Greek Island of Lesvos, surrounded by rugged hills on the island’s north end and the Aegean Sea just down the road. For 26-years the Kempsons had the quiet life they desired.

That all changed in 2015.

It began early one morning while Philippa was taking their daughter to school. They spotted some people getting off a small boat near their home in Efthalou Beach. They could tell they were from somewhere else: the women wore full-length attire and headscarves, the men carried young children and lugged knapsacks, and everyone was frantically trying to get their footing on the slippery rocks. That chaotic scene is etched into Philippa’s mind.

Thus began an historic migration of refugees from the war-torn lands of Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. More than two-years later, the migration hasn't stopped.

“It started from what was a few boats a week,” recalls Philippa, “to a few boats a day, to ten boats a day, and at the maximum we had 200 (in one day).”

It’s estimated that more than 1.3 million refugees have arrived in Greece since 2016, most fled their war-torn homes in Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, seeking asylum in Europe or abroad.

“The world arrived at our doorstep, after years of an insulated life,” says Philippa. “You cannot as a human drive past people in need like that. You just can't do it. So we stopped and we started to help.”

The refugees come from Turkey, which looms large on the horizon just over 4 miles across the Aegean, where smugglers take them to islands like Lesvos, Chios, or Samos. The conditions are often treacherous due to rough seas. The boats are ill-equipped and overcrowded. Some have never seen the ocean. Most don't know how to swim. Many never make it.

“We’ve actually watched people drown with no way of helping because there's no rescue boats,” says Eric.

“You can't describe the emotion of what goes on on the beach,” says Philippa. “The smells, the fear, unconscious women being dragged off boats because they hyperventilated through sheer panic. And then the dragging people out of the water. The dead. The kids…”

“It was horrific,” says Eric. “It was a war zone.”

Over the past year the flow of refugees has slowed, but in recent weeks there has been an uptick in arrivals from Turkey. With the help of a friend who is part of a network of phone operators who provide emergency support to people crossing, Eric has charted the numbers. Recently, he posted on Facebook that in July 2017 alone there were 1,152 new arrivals. An increase of 22.29%.

While in recent weeks tension within the Moria refugee camp, where most of the new arrivals are funneled, has risen. There have been at least two fires reported inside the former prison, and there have been a number of hunger strikes by refugees protesting poor conditions.

The Kempsons live on a remote tip of the sparsely populated island near the village of Molyvos. When the crisis was in full effect and thousands of refugees were arriving each day, there were very limited services available. So they jumped into action setting-up a network of volunteers to keep watch for approaching vessels, and to greet boats as they arrive. They distribute dry clothing, blankets, and water as the refugees come ashore. They have become a defacto “Red-Cross,” their driveway is lined with bins filled with donated clothes, blankets, and shoes.

“We thought at the time, we can (manage) until all the help comes from governments and Europe and the European Parliament,” Eric says. “We just jumped in and helped and we just done the best we could hoping all the agencies will come.”

This island has dozens of volunteer groups proving much need aid and support for the refugees. Adil Izemrane, the founder of the volunteer-based relief organization Movement on the Ground, based inside Kara Tepe, one of the two main refugee camps on Lesvos, says that the Kempsons’ work is legendary on the island.

“They were one of the very first responders,” says Izemrane. “Often times it was just the two of them, as thousands a day arrived. They’re a great symbol of the resilience of the local community.”

But the Kempsons have been disappointed by the lack of support from government agencies and NGOs, the fact that people are still drowning is mind boggling to them. As recently as July 27, a boat off the coast of Turkey capsized. Seven people died, including two women and five children, 18 people were on the boat.

The Greeks are known for their generosity, and many here will tell you that the island has been receiving refugees for years, and there are many examples of extraordinary compassion. In the nearby village of Skala Sikamnias, two of the village’s residents Stratis Valamios and Aimilia Kamvisi, earned a Nobel Peace Prize nomination in 2015 for their efforts to save thousands of refugees and migrants who washed ashore. Mytileni restaurant owners Nikos and Katerina Katsouris have been serving dinner each night to refugees from the nearby Moria camp for free. For months now the couple has opened their harbor-side café, fittingly called “Home,” so total strangers could enjoy a relaxing meal in a friendly environment.

“99% of the people on the island have been absolutely fantastic,” says Eric. “The people have been absolutely incredible. (Except) just the very few which you get anywhere in the world.”

But a number of the local residents are not pleased with the influx of undocumented foreigners that have flooded the island and taxed its already limited supply of services. As a result, the Kempsons say they have been vilified by some people in the local community, and on social media, for encouraging the refugees. And a few have publicly confronted them. Eric has videotaped a number of these confrontations, they can be seen on his YouTube channel. In one of the videos, a local resident is complaining about the debris left behind on the beach by the refugees. Another is complaining about the illegal use of their land by the volunteers.

“People seem to be under the sort of misconception that if you don't help they wouldn't have come,” says Philippa. “We've actually been told that if we'd let more of them drown at the beginning then it would have stopped them from coming. It's bizarre that rescuing people can be taken as encouraging them.”

Within a 10-minute drive, high up in the rugged hills behind their home, is a stark but symbolic reminder of the past 3-years, where thousands of discarded life jackets and deflated rubber rafts have been dumped across an otherwise empty field. It's a stunning cemetery of sorts, in a bright array of oranges, blues, and blacks that cover the scenic mountain landscape.

“This is the Lifejacket Mountain or the lifejacket graveyard,” says Eric, as he picks up an inflatable child’s swimmy, clearly not designed as a life preserver. “This is the only thing that gets to me... even with everything that I've seen and done out here, when I stand here even now and look at this, it gets to me.”

The Kempsons may have come to Lesvos for the simple life, but their current status is far from simple. They say they have sent their daughter back to U.K. as they felt it was no longer safe for her on the island. They have filed legal action against an online bully, and they have continued to advocate tirelessly for refugees on the island with their own online reporting on Facebook and Youtube.

Despite everything, Eric says they feel obligated to finish what they have started and do as much as they can.

“It doesn't stop,” he says. “The media stops publicizing it. But it doesn’t stop.”

Thomas E. Franklin is an Assistant Professor in Multi-platform Journalism at Montclair State University in New Jersey, and an independent freelance multimedia journalist and filmmaker