Poland/Belarus ǀ In the freezing nowhere — Friday

Curmi Abu can no longer walk. The old woman is sitting on a rain-soaked tarpaulin in the forest near Narewka. It's outside the exclusion zone sealed off by Poland's army on the border with Belarus. Two of her seven grandchildren snuggle up to their grandmother. Body to body, in wet jackets and trousers, they seek the warmth of the other. Her breath forms clouds of steam in the November chill. Curmi's four-month-old granddaughter sits next to her grandmother on her mother's lap. The child looks out of deep eye sockets at an absurd scene. A cluster of camera crews from Japan, North America and Europe aim flashing cameras at the people trembling in the dirt in front of them.

With Poland denying the international press access to a restricted zone three kilometers deep, information about what is happening is fragmentary, filtered by authorities on both sides of the border. Officially, it is said in Warsaw that around 4,000 migrants gathered on Belarusian territory last week and tried to break through the border fence with logs or use spades to break a path under the barbed wire. That's why more military are being pulled together. The government in Minsk is now accusing Poland of using live ammunition, to which Warsaw has not reacted. The Belarusian military should put a stop to the refugees. Apparently, two armies aim their weapons at each other, while thousands want to climb a border fence in the middle. The Poles say that near the towns of Krynki and Białowieża, the migrants are building battering rams from logs with the help of Belarusian soldiers. Like construction brigades, they were handed spades and other tools to dismantle the border fence. There is no evidence for these claims, but there are tales like that of Anwar Abu, the son of Curmi Abu, the old woman on the forest floor.

Polish pushbacks

Belarusians in uniform took his family to the border on October 24, reports Anwar. He could not say whether it was the army or the border guards. With his elderly mother, they didn't progress very quickly, the Belarusians kept pushing them. Arriving at the border fence, they were suddenly helpful. "They cut the barbed wire for us with wire cutters," said Anwar. But before his family of nine was allowed through the hole to the other side, the adults would have had to hand in their smartphones. In the freezing nowhere, vital devices that could be used to navigate a path or ask for help were lost. Without orientation, the Kurdish family got deeper and deeper into dense forest until the strays met Polish soldiers who offered them hot soup and tea. They were friendlier than the Belarusians, says Anwar. But they soon put the family in a military jeep and drove them back to the border, they should have got out and walked back to Belarus.

Many lawyers specializing in asylum issues openly call such actions pushbacks, which are prohibited under international and EU law. They point out that states can decide to accept or reject asylum applications, but they are obliged to do so through due process. However, this year the Polish Sejm declared the immediate return after illegally crossing the border to be legitimate. Since the verdict of the Polish constitutional court at the beginning of October, parts of EU law have been considered incompatible with the Polish constitution.

All in all, his family went back and forth between Belarus and Poland nine times in just over two weeks, according to Anwar Abu. Finally you were lucky, found your way out of the exclusion zone unobserved and hid in a hollow covered with leaves. From now on, nine people camped under the open sky, without tents and under damp blankets that were covered with hoarfrost early in the morning on the November nights in eastern Poland. “We couldn't light a fire to warm ourselves. That would have given us away,” says Anwar. "The drinking water ran out too, so we only drank dirty water from the forest." Without smartphones, without money and without hope, the family was left where they were stranded and sooner or later would have found a grave on frozen leaves they have not been found.

Ana Alboth from the Polish aid network Grupa Granica thinks of her own two children as she puts hats on the heads of Anwar Abu's daughters and sons and punches them in the cheek. Helpers in orange vests distribute Red Cross blankets and heat foil. There are bags with protein bars, with nuts and dried fruit. The children grab it, their faces twist into a smile. Ana Alboth tells a group of helpers from Poland and Germany over mushroom soup in a restaurant in the city of Michałowo the state of the family when they were found: grandmother Curmi could no longer get up. After days without food and with little water, the children could hardly be spoken to. Miraculously, two women from Syria who knew Grupa Granica's number had turned up. They gave their smartphone to Anwar Abu so he could ask for help. An activist from Grupa Granica then called Ana Alboth, who had just sealed an alliance with German aid organizations like Leave No One Behind and Seebrücke Germany, who had come to the Polish border area by bus from Berlin. They had 14 boxes of life-saving equipment for their Polish partners.

Ana Alboth recognized what an opportunity the presence of these guests meant for the Kurdish family. She also asked journalists to go with her to the stranded people. "This increased the hope that this family could apply for asylum in Poland and would not be sent back again." At the same time, Grupa Granica informed the Polish border guards about the coordinates of the location.

On the way from Michałowo to Narewka, the vehicles of the helpers and journalists passed Polish military transporters. Helicopters roared in the sky, sirens screamed in the distance. There are no more rooms available in the hotels in the region because the government in Warsaw is accommodating a lot of staff there, helpers said. In fact, one could not help but get the impression that Poland was rallying for war. Maybe it's not just about the migrants with their spades and wooden battering rams. Grupa Granica's Mateusz Janicki says he has a queasy feeling about this march on the border. “In Poland nobody believes that Putin and Lukashenko are meeting and that Moscow does not know exactly what is planned in Minsk. Many fear there is more to it all. And I know from conversations what it is like in the hearts of our soldiers. They follow their orders, but they are just as exhausted as us helpers.”

Turn around, keep walking

The border officials appear rather annoyed in the face of the assembled world press when they show up at the location of the emergency camp of Anwar and Curmi Abu, provided by Grupa Granica. Some hide their faces behind balaclavas, others show petrified expressions. They rudely herd reporters and cameramen aside and ask Anwar Abu and his family for their passports, which have become sodden by the wet. Two border guards try to get Curmi Abu up, but the old woman keeps collapsing under their hands. Finally, a stretcher is brought in, Curmi is lifted onto the stretcher, and then dragged away with all her misery. The rest of the family stand up and pick up whatever clothing is scattered on the forest floor. Then, wrapped in thermal blankets, they set off behind the uniformed men. The helpers do not leave their side. The journalists with their cameramen form the end of this march of rescue, out of the forest. A Polish TV reporter can't hold back her tears. She is hugged by a colleague.

Ana Alboth isn't sure if she'll be successful. "It may also be that they take the badly injured old woman to the hospital and send the rest back to the exclusion zone for pushback." It's not uncommon for families to be separated, she adds.

The cold also creeps through the journalists' clothes. The socks in the boots are clammy and damp after only a few hours in the forest. Everyone is happy when the vehicles can be boarded again after the ambulance and the SUV of the Polish border guards have left northern Iraq with the family. Ana Alboth prepares with her people for another long night. You'll be trekking through the forest again with infrared lamps, backpacks full of thermal blankets, and thermos flasks for hot tea. You would have met people without shoes, says Ana. She fears the night will come when she stumbles over dead bodies. "We receive calls from migrants from the exclusion zone who ask us what they should do with the dead they find." So far, she has been spared such a find. "It's particularly bad when we come across children that we would like to take somewhere warm, but we're not allowed to do that. We give them hot soup, have to turn around and keep walking. Here in Poland there is a glaring difference between morality and law.”

The next day shows itself in bright sunshine. This promises a clear starry sky and temperatures below freezing for the coming night. The bus of the German aid organizations is back to Berlin. He had no migrants on board.