Escape - Washed Ashore

If we talk about the refugee crisis, we are talking about Lesbos. Nine kilometers lie between the Greek vacation island and Turkey. Every second of the 800,000 refugees who will have arrived in Europe by the end of 2015 will have covered this distance on a rubber dinghy or small wooden boat.

Logistical chaos on the small island, tireless efforts of the mostly volunteer helpers who fish, warm, feed and house 3300 refugees from the cold sea every day. Abandoned boats and life jackets, ghostly olive groves and bays.

A photo reportage of that place of our time, where human horror and human vitality merge like nowhere else. On the beach there was an elusive atmosphere. Some of those rescued collapsed from exhaustion, remained in shocked rigor, ghostly figures from which life had almost escaped; others seemed euphoric, like newborn.

I also experienced the helpers very differently. Those who had been on site for a longer period of time acted calmly and professionally when a boat came in sight, others seemed completely dilettante, their excitement made the situation even worse.

After my arrival I was amazed: the camps were cleared, the beaches empty. The day before, the Greek government had had all refugees brought to Athens by ferry, rumored on the arrival of a minister who was inspecting the island. Without further ado, the authorities also set up a number of toilet blocks, presumably in order to better represent the supply on Lesvos.