“If not us, then who?”
It was a simple question, really, albeit a rhetorical one. But, at the time it was asked, I had no clue how to respond. In fact, I had no idea it was even a question, seeing as my grasp of the Polish language is about as strong as my ability to juggle; non-existent.
But ever since that throwaway comment was translated to me moments later, it has failed to stray far from my thoughts.
The person doing the musing was Ewa, a charming, middle-aged woman living in a little hamlet of a town called Bolestraszyce, a short drive away from Poland’s border with Ukraine.
Me and my SBS colleague, cameraman Chris Colquhoun, had been invited to meet Ewa and her husband, Maciej, at a home belonging to one of Maciej’s relatives, which has become temporary accommodation for Ukrainian refugees.
Maryana waits for the train. Picture: Omar Dehen
The couple, married for 20 years, decided to open the doors to the vacant home, as well as their own apartment, to families who had fled their homeland days earlier, in a desperate bid to do something, anything, to help.
As I met Ewa and Maciej, sitting down and speaking with them through the help of a translator, I was immediately struck by an innate sense of warmth emanating across from me.
While we were divided by language, we felt quickly connected in a way that didn’t require words. The way the pair looked at each other and spoke to the families they had opened their doors to, the passion in which they spoke as I asked them why it was important to support refugees.
These were people who cared for others and were proud to be part of this ever-growing collective doing the same.
They didn’t want a cent, nor did they want recognition. They wanted to help shine a more personal spotlight on the situation, and hopefully inspire others to act.
Anna and her daughter. Picture: Omar Dehen
“You can’t just stand and watch it from afar,” Ewa had told me.
“If not us, then who?” she then added, referring to their vast community of local volunteers supporting humanitarian efforts on the border – offering people anything from shelter, a warm meal, or even to drive them to a nearby city or country. At one stage we even saw a man offering refugees a ride to, and board in, Denmark.
“It’s a massive relief,” Maciej had told me.
“I know I am doing something good.”
Maciej and Ewa weren’t alone with such sentiments, either. Far from it.
Since we’d arrived on the Poland-Ukraine border a week earlier, everything had felt immense; the number of Ukrainian people escaping a devastating, escalating conflict, the desperation and uncertainty of their situation, their courage and strength, as well as the generosity and support building around them.
As scores of refugees crossed into border towns, so too did volunteers and aid workers. Some people had even driven across Poland, Europe, or even flown in from the United States and Canada, to provide some sort of assistance. At the Medyka border crossing, for example, dozens of aid tents sprung up in a matter of 12 hours so people who had literally taken their first steps into Poland were immediately given assistance.
Families at table. Picture: Omar Dehen
Often it was the little things, like the police officers passing out blocks of chocolate to children as they entered the country, to the Indian diaspora volunteers who’d packed multiple lunch bags of bananas and cookies to give to people. One man passed over a bouquet of roses to a stranger walking off the platform at Przemyśl train station, a key transit point for refugees.
As for the people fleeing the unfathomable who granted us some of their time, each one we met had a different, yet equally harrowing tale; from the mother who hid in her Kyiv bathroom with her daughter and cat for four days before finally deciding to escape, the woman who broke down in tears when asked about her husband she had to leave behind in Ukraine, to the teenage girl named Tetiana, who tapped me on the shoulder so she could make an impassioned plea for the war to end so her family could return home.
The resolve these displaced people were showing came instinctively, painfully, and it came at an unfortunate price. Forced to sacrifice and say goodbye to everything, and in some cases everyone they loved, Ukrainians were trekking through sub-zero temperatures, for days on end, into the great unknown – a place they did not want to be - because their home was no longer a viable, safe option.
Then there are the children, who make up more than half of the total number of Ukraine’s refugees, further punctuating just how vulnerable the people fleeing this war are.
A man offering a free trip to Denmark, and board. Picture: Omar Dehen
As is the blissful joy of youth, most of the children we saw were oblivious to the enormity of the situation around them. We regularly observed toddlers joyfully playing with rocks on the side of the road (a character trait shared by my own 16-month-old twins), young girls practising their dance steps while waiting for a packed bus to take them into town, or rugged up, rosy-cheeked newborns who wanted nothing more than to snuggle into their mother’s arms.
As with any humanitarian crisis, these children could have been anyone’s children. This could have happened to anyone, it just so happened to be them.
It was easy to understand the lengths parents would go to to ensure their safety, even if it meant leaving behind the nation they loved so dearly.
A family at the railway station. Picture: Omar Dehen
“Love and family are universal. It’s in everyone, man. We’re all the same,” Chris said to me one evening as we drove back to our motel. It wasn’t exactly the first time he’d expressed such a thought, or the first time it had crossed his mind, yet its poignancy remained the same.
When I reflect on my time in Poland, I’m reminded of other people I’ve met while covering refugee crises; the fallout of the wars in Syria and Afghanistan, visiting camps in central Africa filled with unaccompanied South Sudanese children who were separated from their parents due to civil war.
I’m reminded of the prevalence of such trauma, and the constant inequities in our world.
Children at the railway station. Picture: Omar Dehen
Filippo Grandi, the UN’s High Commissioner of Refugees, who I’d interviewed on the Polish border, urged people not to forget any of the more than 80 million refugees in the world. He commended those showing unwavering solidarity with the Ukrainian people, but also hoped we would remember that, unfortunately, this horrible situation was one of many.
I tend to agree with him. I have met some truly inspiring people in the past week; people who I have at times wound up sharing a bittersweet laugh with, both of us wishing we had met in better times, despite knowing we never would have crossed paths if it wasn’t for this terrible moment in our history.
It might sound cliched, but throughout my career, I have seen the best in people during the worst of times. Poland was no different, in fact, it was more widespread than I had ever witnessed.
Now I am certain that the next time I meet such positive forces in the world, Ewa’s words will again be ringing in my ears.
“If not us, then who?”
