So this right here is the tiny village of Elle, close to Lista. It's right at the southernmost tip of Norway. And on January 2 this year, an elderly guy who lives in the village, he went out to see what was cast ashore during a recent storm. And on a patch of grass right next to the water's edge, he found a wetsuit. It was grey and black, and he thought it looked cheap. Out of each leg of the wetsuit there were sticking two white bones. It was clearly the remains of a human being.
Isto de aquí é a pequena aldea de Elle, preto de Lista. Está no punto más ao sur de Noruega. E o 2 de xaneiro deste ano un ancián que vive nesta aldea, foi ver o que a marea trouxera nunha tormenta recente. E nunha morea de herba xusto á beira da auga, atopou un traxe de neopreno. Era gris e negro e pensou que parecía barato. De cada perna do traxe estaban a saír dous ósos brancos. Eran claramente os restos dun ser humano.
And usually, in Norway, dead people are identified quickly. So the police started searching through missing reports from the local area, national missing reports, and looked for accidents with a possible connection. They found nothing. So they ran a DNA profile, and they started searching internationally through Interpol. Nothing. This was a person that nobody seemed to be missing. It was an invisible life heading for a nameless grave. But then, after a month, the police in Norway got a message from the police in the Netherlands. A couple of months earlier, they had found a body, in an identical wetsuit, and they had no idea who this person was. But the police in the Netherlands managed to trace the wetsuit by an RFID chip that was sewn in the suit. So they were then able to tell that both wetsuits were bought by the same customer at the same time, October 7, 2014, in the French city of Calais by the English Channel. But this was all they were able to figure out. The customer paid cash. There was no surveillance footage from the shop. So it became a cold case.
E normalmente, en Noruega, os mortos identifícanse rápido. A policía comezou a buscar entón en informes de desaparecidos pola zona, en informes nacionais e buscou accidentes con posibles conexións. Non atoparon nada. Entón fixeron un perfil de ADN e comezaron a buscar internacionalmente a través da Interpol. Nada. Era unha persoa que ninguén parecía botar a faltar. Era unha vida invisible que ía acabar nunha tumba anónima. Pero despois dun mes, a policía de Noruega recibiu unha mensaxe da policía holandesa. Un par de meses antes, atoparan un corpo, cun traxe idéntico, e non sabían quen era esa persoa. Pero a policía holandesa conseguiu rastrexar o traxe grazas a un chip RFID que tiña cosido. Así que puideron saber que os dous traxes os mercara á vez o mesmo cliente, o 7 de outubro de 2014, na cidade francesa de Calais na Canle da Mancha. Pero iso foi todo o que conseguiron desvelar. O cliente pagou en efectivo. Non había gravacións da tenda. Quedou coma un caso aberto.
We heard this story, and it triggered me and my colleague, photographer Tomm Christiansen, and we of course had the obvious question: who were these people? At the time, I'd barely heard about Calais, but it took about two or three seconds to figure out Calais is basically known for two things. It's the spot in continental Europe closest to Britain, and a lot of migrants and refugees are staying in this camp and are trying desperately to cross over to Britain. And right there was a plausible theory about the identity of the two people, and the police made this theory as well. Because if you or I or anybody else with a firm connection to Europe goes missing off the coast of France, people would just know. Your friends or family would report you missing, the police would come search for you, the media would know, and there would be pictures of you on lampposts. It's difficult to disappear without a trace. But if you just fled the war in Syria, and your family, if you have any family left, don't necessarily know where you are, and you're staying here illegally amongst thousands of others who come and go every day. Well, if you disappear one day, nobody will notice. The police won't come search for you because nobody knows you're gone.
Escoitamos esta historia, e chamounos a atención a min e ao fotógrafo Tomm Christiansen e por suposto preguntámonos o obvio: quen eran estas persoas? Daquela, nunca oíra nada sobre Calais, pero levoume dous ou tres segundos darme conta de que Calais é coñecida por dúas cousas: É o lugar de Europa continental máis próximo ao Reino Unido e moitos migrantes e refuxiados están nestes campamentos e intentan desesperadamente cruzar ao Reino Unido. E velaí unha teoría plausible sobre a identidade das dúas persoas, teoría que a policía tamén postulou. Porque se calquera de nós con vínculos firmes en Europa desaparece da costa de Francia, a xente saberíao. A nosa familia e amigos denunciaría a desaparición, a policía buscaríanos, os medios saberíano, e habería imaxes coa nosa cara nos farois. É difícil desaparecer sen deixar rastro. Pero se escapaches da guerra en Siria, e a túa familia, se aínda a tes, non sabe necesariamente onde estás, e estás aquí de forma ilegal no medio doutros miles que van e veñen cada día. Ben, se desapareces un día, ninguén o saberá. A policía non te buscará porque ninguén sabe que desapareciches.
And this is what happened to Shadi Omar Kataf and Mouaz Al Balkhi from Syria.
E isto é o que lle pasou a Shadi Omar Kataf e a Mouaz Al Balkhi de Siria.
Me and Tomm went to Calais for the first time in April this year, and after three months of investigation, we were able to tell the story about how these two young men fled the war in Syria, ended up stuck in Calais, bought wetsuits and drowned in what seems to have been an attempt to swim across the English Channel in order to reach England. It is a story about the fact that everybody has a name, everybody has a story, everybody is someone. But it is also a story about what it's like to be a refugee in Europe today.
Tomm e máis eu fomos a Calais por primeira vez en abril deste ano, e despois de tres meses de investigación, puidemos contar a historia de como estes dous mozos que escaparon da guerra de Siria, acabaron atoados en Calais, compraron traxes de neopreno e afogaron no que parece ser un intento de nadar a través da Canle da Mancha para chegar a Inglaterra. É unha historia sobre o feito de que todos temos un nome, todos temos unha historia, todos somos alguén. Pero tamén é unha historia sobre como é ser un refuxiado hoxe en Europa.
So this is where we started our search. This is in Calais. Right now, between 3,500 and 5,000 people are living here under horrible conditions. It has been dubbed the worst refugee camp in Europe. Limited access to food, limited access to water, limited access to health care. Disease and infections are widespread. And they're all stuck here because they're trying to get to England in order to claim asylum. And they do that by hiding in the back of trucks headed for the ferry, or the Eurotunnel, or they sneak inside the tunnel terminal at night to try to hide on the trains.
Aquí comezamos a nosa procura. Isto é en Calais. Agora mesmo, entre 3.500 e 5.000 persoas viven aquí en condicións pésimas. É considerado o peor campamento de refuxiados de Europa. Acceso limitado a alimentos, acceso limitado á auga, así como á atención médica. As enfermidades e infeccións esténdense. E están todos atrapados aquí porque intentan chegar a Inglaterra para poder soliticar asilo. E inténtano agochándose detrás de camións que van ao ferry. ou ao Eurotúnel, ou cóanse de noite dentro da terminal do túnel para intentar agocharse nos trens.
Most want to go to Britain because they know the language, and so they figure it would be easier to restart their lives from there. They want to work, they want to study, they want to be able to continue their lives. A lot of these people are highly educated and skilled workers. If you go to Calais and talk to refugees, you'll meet lawyers, politicians, engineers, graphic designers, farmers, soldiers. You've got the whole spectrum. But who all of these people are usually gets lost in the way we talk about refugees and migrants, because we usually do that in statistics.
A maioría van ao Reino Unido porque coñecen a lingua, e pensan que será máis sinxelo comezar de novo as súas vidas alí. Queren traballar, queren estudar, queren poder continuar coas súas vidas. Moitos teñen boa formación e son traballadores cualificados. Se vas a Calais e falas cos refuxiados atoparás avogados, políticos, enxeñeiros, deseñadores gráficos, agricultores, soldados. Hai de todo. Pero nunca dicimos quen son cando falamos de refuxiados e migrantes, xa que o adoitamos facer en estatísticas.
So you have 60 million refugees globally. About half a million have made the crossing over the Mediterranean into Europe so far this year, and roughly 4,000 are staying in Calais. But these are numbers, and the numbers don't say anything about who these people are, where they came from, or why they're here.
Hai 60 millóns de refuxiados no mundo. Cerca de medio millón cruzaron o Mediterráneo cara a Europa este ano. e aproximadamente 4000 están en Calais. Pero estes son só números, e os números non din ren sobre quen son estas persoas, de onde veñen, ou por que están aquí.
And first, I want to tell you about one of them. This is 22-year-old Mouaz Al Balkhi from Syria. We first heard about him after being in Calais the first time looking for answers to the theory of the two dead bodies. And after a while, we heard this story about a Syrian man who was living in Bradford in England, and had been desperately searching for his nephew Mouaz for months. And it turned out the last time anybody had heard anything from Mouaz was October 7, 2014. That was the same date the wetsuits were bought. So we flew over there and we met the uncle and we did DNA samples of him, and later on got additional DNA samples from Mouaz's closest relative who now lives in Jordan. The analysis concluded the body who was found in a wetsuit on a beach in the Netherlands was actually Mouaz Al Balkhi. And while we were doing all this investigation, we got to know Mouaz's story. He was born in the Syrian capital of Damascus in 1991. He was raised in a middle class family, and his father in the middle there is a chemical engineer who spent 11 years in prison for belonging to the political opposition in Syria. While his father was in prison, Mouaz took responsibility and he cared for his three sisters. They said he was that kind of guy. Mouaz studied to become an electrical engineer at the University of Damascus.
E primeiro, quero falarvos dun deles. Este é Mouaz Al Balkhi, sirio de 22 anos. Soubemos del cando estivemos en Calais por primeira vez buscando respostas á teoría dos dous cadáveres. E despois dun tempo, escoitamos a historia dun home sirio que vivía en Bradford en Inglaterra, e levaba meses buscando desesperadamente ao seu sobriño Mouaz. E a última vez que alguén escoitou falar de Mouaz foi o 7 de outubro de 2014. A mesma data en que se mercaron os traxes. Así que voamos alí e falamos co tío e tomamos mostras do seu ADN, e máis tarde conseguimos mostras do familiar máis cercano de Mouaz que vive en Xordania. A análise concluíu que o corpo encontrado nun traxe na praia en Holanda era Mouaz Al Balkhi. E mentres faciamos toda esta investigación, coñecemos a historia de Mouaz. Naceu en Damasco, capital siria, en 1991. Criouse nunha familia de clase media, e seu pai, no medio, é un enxeñeiro químico que pasou 11 anos en prisión por pertencer á oposición política en Siria. Mentres o pai estaba en prisión, Mouaz responsabilizouse e coidou das súas tres irmás. Dixeron que era ese tipo de persoa. Mouaz estudou para enxeñeiro eléctrico na Universidade de Damasco.
So a couple of years into the Syrian war, the family fled Damascus and went to the neighboring country, Jordan. Their father had problems finding work in Jordan, and Mouaz could not continue his studies, so he figured, "OK, the best thing I can do to help my family would be to go somewhere where I can finish my studies and find work." So he goes to Turkey.
Uns anos despois do comezo da guerra siria, a familia fuxiu de Damasco e foi ao país veciño, Xordania. O pai tiña problemas para atopar traballo en Xordania, e Mouaz non podía seguir cos estudos, así que pensou: «Vale, o mellor que podo facer para axudarlles é ir a algún lugar onde poida rematar os meus estudos e encontrar traballo». Así que marcha a Turquía.
In Turkey, he's not accepted at a university, and once he had left Jordan as a refugee, he was not allowed to reenter. So then he decides to head for the UK, where his uncle lives. He makes it into Algeria, walks into Libya, pays a people smuggler to help him with the crossing into Italy by boat, and from there on he heads to Dunkirk, the city right next to Calais by the English Channel. We know he made at least 12 failed attempts to cross the English Channel by hiding in a truck. But at some point, he must have given up all hope. The last night we know he was alive, he spent at a cheap hotel close to the train station in Dunkirk. We found his name in the records, and he seems to have stayed there alone. The day after, he went into Calais, entered a sports shop a couple of minutes before 8 o'clock in the evening, along with Shadi Kataf. They both bought wetsuits, and the woman in the shop was the last person we know of to have seen them alive. We have tried to figure out where Shadi met Mouaz, but we weren't able to do that. But they do have a similar story. We first heard about Shadi after a cousin of his, living in Germany, had read an Arabic translation of the story made of Mouaz on Facebook. So we got in touch with him. Shadi, a couple of years older than Mouaz, was also raised in Damascus. He was a working kind of guy. He ran a tire repair shop and later worked in a printing company. He lived with his extended family, but their house got bombed early in the war. So the family fled to an area of Damascus known as Camp Yarmouk.
En Turquía, non o aceptan na universidade, e logo de deixar Xordania sendo refuxiado, non lle permiten volver. Así que decide ir ao Reino Unido, onde vive seu tío. Chega a Alxeria, camiña por Libia, págalle a un traficante de persoas para cruzar a Italia en barco, e dende aí vai a Dunkerque, a cidade próxima a Calais pola Canle da Mancha. Sabemos que intentou cruzar a Canle sen éxito polo menos 12 veces agochándose nun camión. Pero nalgún momento, debeu perder calquera esperanza. A última noite que sabemos que estaba vivo estivo nun hotel barato cerca da estación de tren en Dunkerque. Atopamos o seu nome nos rexistros, e parece que estivo alí só. O día seguinte, foi a Calais, entrou nunha tenda de deportes un par de minutos antes das 8 da tarde canda Shadi Kataf. Os dous compraron traxes de neopreno, e a muller da tenda foi a última persoa que sabemos que os viu vivos. Intentamos pescudar onde Shadi coñeceu a Mouaz, mais non o conseguimos. Pero teñen unha historia similar. Oímos falar de Shadi grazas ao seu curmán, de Alemaña, que lera unha tradución árabe da historia que se fixera de Mouaz en Facebook. Así que falamos con el. Shadi, un par de anos maior que Mouaz, tamén se criou en Damasco. Era un home traballador. Tiña unha tenda de reparar pneumáticos e logo traballou nunha imprenta. Vivía coa súa extensa familia, pero bombardearan a súa casa ao comezo da guerra. Así que a familia fuxiu á área de Damasco coñecida como Campamento Yarmouk.
Yarmouk is being described as the worst place to live on planet Earth. They've been bombed by the military, they've been besieged, they've been stormed by ISIS and they've been cut off from supplies for years. There was a UN official who visited last year, and he said, "They ate all the grass so there was no grass left." Out of a population of 150,000, only 18,000 are believed to still be left in Yarmouk. Shadi and his sisters got out. The parents are still stuck inside.
Yarmouk foi descrito como o peor lugar da Terra onde pode un vivir. Son bombardeados polos militares, sofren asedio atácaos o ISIS e levan anos sen provisións. Había un oficial da ONU que foi o ano pasado, e dixo: «comeron toda a herba así que xa non quedaba herba». Dunha poboación de 150.000 crese que só 18.000 están aínda en Yarmouk. Shadi e as súas irmáns escaparon. Os seus pais aínda están atrapados dentro.
So Shadi and one of his sisters, they fled to Libya. This was after the fall of Gaddafi, but before Libya turned into full-blown civil war. And in this last remaining sort of stability in Libya, Shadi took up scuba diving, and he seemed to spend most of his time underwater. He fell completely in love with the ocean, so when he finally decided that he could no longer be in Libya, late August 2014, he hoped to find work as a diver when he reached Italy. Reality was not that easy. We don't know much about his travels because he had a hard time communicating with his family, but we do know that he struggled. And by the end of September, he was living on the streets somewhere in France. On October 7, he calls his cousin in Belgium, and explains his situation. He said, "I'm in Calais. I need you to come get my backpack and my laptop. I can't afford to pay the people smugglers to help me with the crossing to Britain, but I will go buy a wetsuit and I will swim." His cousin, of course, tried to warn him not to, but Shadi's battery on the phone went flat, and his phone was never switched on again. What was left of Shadi was found nearly three months later, 800 kilometers away in a wetsuit on a beach in Norway. He's still waiting for his funeral in Norway, and none of his family will be able to attend.
Así que Shadi e unha das súas irmás fuxiron a Libia. Isto foi logo da caída de Gaddafi, pero antes de que Libia caese nunha total guerra civil. Nesta última pseudoestabilidade en Libia, Shadi comezou a facer mergullo e seica pasaba a maior parte do tempo baixo a auga. Namorouse por completo do océano, así que cando finalmente decidiu que non podía estar máis en Libia, a finais de agosto de 2014, esperaba atopar traballo como mergullador ao chegar a Italia. A realidade non era tan sinxela. Non sabemos moito sobre as súas viaxes porque tiña complicado comunicarse coa súa familia, pero sabemos que lle costou. E a finais de setembro, vivía na rúa nalgún lugar de Francia. O 7 de outubro chama ao seu curmán en Bélxica, e explícalle a situación. Dixo: «Estou en Calais, necesito que me collas a mochila e o ordenador. Non podo pagarlles aos traficantes de persoas para cruzar ao Reino Unido, pero mercarei un traxe de neopreno e nadarei». O curmán, por suposto, intentou dicirlle que non, pero o móbil de Shadi descargouse, e nunca se volveu acender. O que quedou de Shadi atopouse case tres meses despois, a 800 quilómetros nun neopreno nunha praia de Noruega. Aínda espera polo seu funeral en Noruega, e ninguén da súa familia poderá asistir.
Many may think that the story about Shadi and Mouaz is a story about death, but I don't agree. To me, this is a story about two questions that I think we all share: what is a better life, and what am I willing to do to achieve it? And to me, and probably a lot of you, a better life would mean being able to do more of what we think of as meaningful, whether that be spending more time with your family and friends, travel to an exotic place, or just getting money to buy that cool new device or a pair of new sneakers. And this is all within our reach pretty easily.
Moitos poden pensar que a historia de Shadi e Mouaz é unha historia sobre a morte, pero non estou de acordo. Para min, é unha historia sobre 2 cuestións que todos compartimos: que é unha vida mellor e que estou disposto a facer para conseguila? E para min e para moitos de vós unha vida mellor significaría ser capaz de facer máis cousas con significado, aínda que iso poida ser pasar máis tempo coa familia e amigos, viaxar a un lugar exótico, ou gañar cartos para comprar un novo aparello chulo ou un par de tenis novos. E isto é doado de acadar para nós.
But if you are fleeing a war zone, the answers to those two questions are dramatically different. A better life is a life in safety. It's a life in dignity. A better life means not having your house bombed, not fearing being kidnapped. It means being able to send your children to school, go to university, or just find work to be able to provide for yourself and the ones you love. A better life would be a future of some possibilities compared to nearly none, and that's a strong motivation. And I have no trouble imagining that after spending weeks or even months as a second-grade citizen, living on the streets or in a horrible makeshift camp with a stupid, racist name like "The Jungle," most of us would be willing to do just about anything. If I could ask Shadi and Mouaz the second they stepped into the freezing waters of the English Channel, they would probably say, "This is worth the risk," because they could no longer see any other option. And that's desperation, but that's the reality of living as a refugee in Western Europe in 2015.
Mais se foxes dunha zona de guerra, as respostas a estas dúas cuestións son terriblemente diferentes. Unha vida mellor é unha vida segura. É unha vida digna. Unha vida mellor é que non bombardeen a túa casa, non ter medo de que te secuestren. Significa ser capaz de levar os nenos á escola, ir á universidade, ou simplemente atopar traballo e sustentarte a ti e aos teus. Unha vida mellor sería un futuro dalgunhas posibilidades comparado a case ningunha e iso é unha forte motivación. E podo imaxinar facilmente que despois de pasar semanas ou ata meses coma un cidadán de segunda, vivindo nas rúas ou nun campamento provisional horrible cun nome estúpido e racista como «a Xungla» a maioría de nós estariamos dispostos a facer calquera cousa. Se puidese preguntarlles a Shadi e Mouaz no momento en que se meteron nas frías augas da Canle da Mancha probablemente dirían: «Paga a pena o risco», porque non podían ver ningunha outra opción. E iso é desesperación, pero é a realidade de vivir sendo un refuxiado en Europa Occidental en 2015.
Thank you.
Grazas.
(Applause)
(Aplausos)
Bruno Giussani: Thank you, Anders. This is Tomm Christiansen, who took most of the pictures you have seen and they've done reporting together. Tomm, you two have been back to Calais recently. This was the third trip. It was after the publication of the article. What has changed? What have you seen there?
Bruno Giussani: Grazas, Anders. El é Tomm Christiansen, que sacou a maioría das fotos que vistes e fixeron a reportaxe xuntos. Tomm, vós os dous volvestes a Calais hai pouco. Esta foi a terceira viaxe. Foi despois da publicación do artigo. Que cambiou? Que vistes alí?
Tomm Christiansen: The first time we were in Calais, it was about 1,500 refugees there. They had a difficult time, but they were positive, they had hope. The last time, the camp has grown, maybe four or five thousand people. It seemed more permanent, NGOs have arrived, a small school has opened. But the thing is that the refugees have stayed for a longer time, and the French government has managed to seal off the borders better, so now The Jungle is growing, along with the despair and hopelessness among the refugees.
Tomm Christiansen: A primeira vez que fomos alí había cerca de 1.500 refuxiados. Estaban a pasalo mal, pero eran positivos, tiñan esperanza. A última vez, o campamento aumentara, quizais catro ou cinco mil persoas máis. Parecía máis permanente, as ONG chegaran, abriran unha pequena escola. Pero a cousa é que os refuxiados levan xa un tempo alí e o goberno francés conseguiu pechar mellor as fronteiras, así que agora a Xungla está crecendo, xunto coa desesperación e a desesperanza entre os refuxiados.
BG: Are you planning to go back? And continue the reporting?
BG: Planeades volver? E continuar informando?
TC: Yes.
TC: Si.
BG: Anders, I'm a former journalist, and to me, it's amazing that in the current climate of slashing budgets and publishers in crisis, Dagbladet has consented so many resources for this story, which tells a lot about newspapers taking the responsibility, but how did you sell it to your editors?
BG: Anders, son un experiodista, e para min, é incrible que no tempo actual de recortes de orzamentos e editores en crise, Dagbladet accedese a dar moitos medios para esta historia o que mostra como os xornais asumen a responsabilidade, pero como llo vendestes aos editores?
Anders Fjellberg: It wasn't easy at first, because we weren't able to know what we actually could figure out. As soon as it became clear that we actually could be able to identify who the first one was, we basically got the message that we could do whatever we wanted, just travel wherever you need to go, do whatever you need to do, just get this done.
Andres Fjellberg: Non foi fácil ao comezo porque non eramos capaces de saber o que iamos poder indagar. Cando quedou claro que realmente podiamos identificar quen era o primeiro, básicamente dixéronnos que podiamos facer o que quixésemos, viaxade onde necesitedes, facede o que necesitedes, simplemente conseguídeo.
BG: That's an editor taking responsibility. The story, by the way, has been translated and published across several European countries, and certainly will continue to do. And we want to read the updates from you. Thank you Anders. Thank you Tomm.
BG: Iso é un editor asumindo a responsabilidade. A historia, por certo, foi traducida e publicada en varios países europeos, e continuará sendo publicada. E queremos ler as vosas novidades. Grazas Anders. Grazas Tomm.
(Applause)
(Aplausos)