Many Afghans risk their lives crossing the Mediterranean to get to Europe in the hopes of being granted asylum. But for those awaiting a decision in Greek holding camps, formal refugee status can come as a burden rather than a relief.
The privilege means immediate loss of access to the camps’ food aid and housing in a country that offers little to facilitate integration. And that has led to a serious hunger crisis, particularly among those granted asylum.
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The asylum process is meant to offer a haven to those who are in danger. But in Greece, many of those granted refuge end up facing a new threat: hunger.
Critics say that this is an intentional policy by the Greek government and the European Union to dissuade migration into the bloc. Authorities deny it, arguing they are caring for those eligible for aid. Regardless of what is intended, asylum-seekers are being pushed into a desperate situation by being deprived of basic aid just as they gain a legal foothold in Europe.
“[The camp is] like a prison – not just because of the fences but because of the lack of food. We don’t have money and we don’t have food,” says Davud Mohammedi, who arrived on the island of Lesbos with his family of five in August. “I spent all I had to come here.”
When Farzana and her family got asylum status in September, it should have made life easier.
After all, they had escaped the Taliban in Afghanistan and reached Greece via the Mediterranean route in early August at a moment when the Greek coast guard was being helpful to migrants.
But while her family feels safe now, the asylum decision created a new problem: hunger.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused on
The asylum process is meant to offer a haven to those who are in danger. But in Greece, many of those granted refuge end up facing a new threat: hunger.
“People who get an asylum decision – positive or negative – stop getting food,” explains Farzana, who like many interviewed for this story gave only one name. “I’ve lost 5 kilos [11 pounds] since getting to Greece.”
Many Afghans risk their lives getting to Europe in the hopes of being granted asylum. For those awaiting a decision in Greek holding camps, formal refugee status can come as a burden rather than a relief. The privilege means immediate loss of access to the camps’ food aid and housing in a country that offers little to facilitate integration.
Critics say this is an intentional policy by the Greek government and the European Union to dissuade migration into the bloc. Authorities deny it, arguing they are caring for those eligible for aid. Regardless of what is intended, asylum-seekers are being pushed into a desperate situation by being deprived of basic aid just as they gain a legal foothold in Europe.
“[The camp is] like a prison – not just because of the fences but because of the lack of food. We don’t have money and we don’t have food,” says Davud Mohammedi, who arrived on the island of Lesbos with his family of five in August and now resides in the Ritsona camp, 43 miles from Athens. “I spent all I had to come here.”
Weaponized food aid?
In 2023, irregular border crossings at the EU’s external border reached approximately 380,000, driven by a rise in arrivals via the Mediterranean region. In Greece in particular, 48,563 people arrived via irregular means, over both land and sea.
Refugee aid organizations and human rights groups say the Greek government has weaponized food and is creating a hunger crisis to deter such arrivals. On June 15, nongovernmental organizations sent a letter to high-level Greek and EU officials in protest of the overnight decision to stop providing food and water to people outside of the asylum procedure living in a closed controlled-access center on the island of Lesbos.
“Food insecurity is part of the deterrence approach of the Greek government and of the EU,” says Lefteris Papagiannakis, director of the Greek Council for Refugees. “A small, but very significant part.”
The deterrence approach, he argues, expresses itself in many ways. In Greece, that includes the deportation of asylum-seekers across borders, making access to asylum difficult and complicated, and an EU-funded policy of putting asylum-seekers in remote locations on the Greek islands while their asylum claim is processed. At the European level, it is manifest in efforts to stem migration flows through bilateral deals like the EU-Turkey deal struck in 2016 or Italy’s recent agreement with Albania.
“It’s part of a larger political approach and a larger political choice,” argues Mr. Papagiannakis. “Whatever you can make difficult, you do it – directly or indirectly.”
Dominique Soguel
In principle, he concedes, it makes sense that protection measures are stronger for asylum-seekers than for recognized refugees. They later theoretically gain the same rights and duties as Greek citizens. But when there is no pathway to learn the language, no access to the job market, and no housing, that logic no longer adds up.
The Greek Ministry of Migration and Asylum denies weaponizing food aid. It argues that only people applying for international protection are eligible for material aid, including food and water. It says it cares for the most vulnerable people by providing food and access to education to children, regardless of their status.
But Greece’s right-wing government has made a series of decisions that effectively strip refugees of the limited safety nets they had. In December 2022, it scrapped its support system for vulnerable asylum-seekers, even though the European Commission was willing to continue the funding. That impacted more than 6,000 refugees.
The European commissioner for home affairs has stated she has raised the issue of discontinuation of food with the Greek authorities on several occasions. But this month, she also said the EU needs an orderly migration policy, including swifter asylum processes like the ones Greece is implementing.
“The message is, ‘Don’t come’”
Doctors Without Borders teams working in Lesbos say they see the consequences of inadequate food. “Our team on Lesbos Island have come across different cases of patients affected by the food provision in the camp, whether it’s insufficiency of food or the quality of the food,” says Fouzia Bara, Doctors Without Borders’ medical coordinator in Greece and the Balkan migration mission.
The NGO is stepping in by providing iron supplements to pregnant women with iron deficiency, attributed to the bad nutrition and general conditions in the camp. It also treats children who have delayed growth, linked to lack of vitamins and access to nutritious foods because of long journeys and long stays in the camp.
Dominique Soguel
And even with the support of charities, food shortages are common. Precious, who was smuggled from Nigeria to Greece, was forced to work as a pole-dancer for many years until she was able to pay off the €50,000 ($54,500) fee for her journey. She recalls a time when Greek charities gave enough that they would encourage her to come in a taxi to take back all the food aid. Now she bemoans getting no more than two pasta boxes during a recent food distribution.
“What we get now is very little, just enough for two, three days,” she says.
“There are many vulnerable cases, including cases of women resorting to survival sex – single and married women – for just €2 to €3,” says Apostolos Veizis, executive director of Intersos Hellas, which conducted 40 food distributions in Athens between February 2022 and October 2023. The bulk of recipients were migrants, asylum-seekers, recognized refugees, and undocumented individuals. Half reported having food just one to three times per week.
“Young children and babies suffer developmental consequences due to lack of food and poor nutrition. Greece is using access to food as a weapon to deter migration while Europe looks away,” Dr. Veizis says. “The message is, ‘Don’t come.’”
There are also collective kitchens like El CHEf in the district of Exarchia, which draws on the support of 40 to 50 volunteers who cook, pack, and serve meals six days a week.
“One of the big advantages of these collective kitchens is that you don’t need to have any documents to have food, whereas other actors do check documents,” explains Valia, a volunteer. “Here we offer solidarity. It is different from philanthropy. We might be in their position one day.”
Among those making giant pots of spaghetti that day is Katerina. Like her peers, she makes a strong distinction between the unwelcoming, vote-seeking policies of the government, and the more welcoming spirit of Greek grassroots communities.
“When you see all these people without access to food, water, home, and health, it is very sad,” she says. “It’s devastating to see Greece and other countries adopt policies that exclude people from life. When you have to survive, you don’t live.”
Jenny Tsiropoulou supported reporting for this story.