‘In that moment, my voice is their only connection to help’
Column Amal Jebreel – Many emergency calls begin with silence. All I hear is the wind, rustling trees, and then a soft voice whispering: ‘We’re in the forest. Can you help us?’ In that moment, my voice is their only connection to help, protection and a chance of being rescued.
Many emergency calls start with silence. All I hear is the wind, rustling trees, and then a soft voice whispering: 'We’re in the forest. Can you help us?' These people are calling from the Greek-Turkish border. Sometimes, they have been walking for days. They are tired, afraid and have no idea what will happen next. In that moment, my voice is their only connection to help, protection and a chance of being rescued. Step by step, I explain to them what will happen next and how they can be found. My clear explanations make the emergency phone line feel like a safe space, at least for a moment.
I always ask how many people are with them. Are there children? Is anyone injured or ill? I write down the names and immediately send the information to our lawyers. They contact the authorities, because that is the only way these people can be rescued. We are not allowed to go to the border ourselves, but I stay on the phone for as long as needed.
I hear fear in their voices but also trust.
A father says his child has a high fever.
A pregnant woman is afraid to give birth in the dark.
A young man asks if his brother might still be alive.
The best moment usually comes later, expressed in one short sentence: 'We’ve been rescued.' It reminds me why I continue to do this work. It’s not for numbers or ‚ files, but for real people with real names and real stories.
But our work is under tremendous pressure. We used to be a large team of interpreters and lawyers, but now only a few of us remain. Not because there is less need, but because projects end and funding disappears. Without support, we cannot continue this work. If that happens, there will only be silence at the border: no voice to answer the call, no lawyer to help, no one to write down their names.
As long as I am allowed to do this work, I will keep answering the phone. And every time I do, I will say: 'Stay calm. I’m here. We’re going to help you.'
Amal Jebreel is an interpreter at the Greek Council for Refugees (GCR), one of our partner organisations. Shortly after writing the column, she and her team were forced to end their work because of budget cuts. Whether anyone will be able to answer the phone calls in the future remains unclear.
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