I moved to Lesbos in 2001. This is nearly 80 years old refugee my grandmother arrived on this island from Ayvalik. She stayed there for two years before moving to Pireus. My grandmother was one of nearly 1.5 million Greeks who were forced to flee from Asia Minor in the 1920s.

By 2001, Lesbos' history as a refuge had been almost forgotten by the public, but the island continued to be a temporary stop for people traveling across the eastern Mediterranean, seeking protection in Europe.

In 2015, Lesbos once again found himself at the heart of a large refugee story. War and instability forced millions to escape from the sea. Almost half of those who tried to reach Greek territory arrived on the island.

Lesbos residents find themselves at the center of a globally recognized humanitarian response. At this time, the world began to talk about Greek unity for refugees and immigrants, even if the country was in an economic crisis.

When I think of the unity that flourished in those days, I see hands stretching out along the shores of Lesbos. There are countless moving stories of locals who can do their best to carry food, clothes and blankets from their homes and feed newbie.

When newcomers fill the roads on the island and head toward the registration point, there is no day, no locals give pregnant women, a child or disabled persons we meet on the way to work. The look of gratitude, smiles, tears and endless thanks is memorable. Unity becomes a badge of honor, and stories of victory of humanity and hope are filled with media.

The island has changed - its streets and squares are filled with locals and new immigrants, a scene that is shared by human connection and humanity.

One day, a family of refugees knocked on my door and asked to wash their hands and drink some water. They have been on the road for a few days, sleeping in the park, waiting for the boat to continue their journey. I opened the door and 16 of them came in - 8 of them, one newborn and one paraplegic girl. My little living room was filled; they sat on chairs, sofas, and even on the floor. The kids were asleep before I brought the water, the adults were exhausted, closed their eyes, and succumbed to their tired weight.

I quietly left the room and let them rest. The next morning, they said goodbye and boarded the ferry. They left behind a hand-painted flower and 16 names of "Thank you".

When I think of those days, my mind is filled with images: people in the rain, people in the cold, people in the celebration, and others mourn the dead. That summer, we attended the funeral after the funeral for those who survived the dangerous sea trip.

A Palestinian volunteer once told me: "Nothing is like dying on foreign land and being buried without relatives." When their relatives are not there, we are there. Strangers are not strangers to us. They become our people.

In October 2015, a wooden boat carried more than 300 people sank on the west coast of Lesbos. As the tragedy unfolds, human behavior shines. Locals and volunteers, including fishermen, are eager to help, pull people out of the sea and provide any comfort. In the days that followed, the body was washed ashore and the morgue was filled.

A local woman holds the body of a dead child. It was a little girl whose body was found on the beach in front of her house. She wrapped her in bed sheets and hugged her like her child-everyone would hold any child.

Yet even if the island’s coast becomes a symbol of solidarity, the shifting trend of European border policy has begun to reshape the reality of those arriving.

A few months later, border policies in Europe changed, capturing asylum seekers on the island. The EU-Eu-Turkiye agreement stipulates that asylum seekers stay on the island while authorities assess whether they can return them to "safe third countries."

The agreement shows that the EU is prepared to deviate from the basic principles of the rule of law, border procedures and security of the three countries' concepts of danger to the lives of refugees and immigrants. It represents a frontal attack on international refugee and human rights protection, further promoting people's suffering.

Unfortunately, these policies have been intensified since then and eventually institutionalized on the amendment to the European Asylum System (CEAS), adopted in May 2024. Reform marks a fundamental shift in the EU Rules Book to make worse states and legal protections of discrimination and legal protections, and to strengthen discriminatory treatment on any basis, and emphasize basic isolation and to strengthen discriminatory treatment for anyone.

Back at Lesbos, I looked at the smiles of people and their hopes, and fell into hope around and around Moria Camp, which appeared in 2013 with a significantly smaller facility that never intended to accommodate thousands of people who would stay there later. The mental health of the refugee and immigrant population plummeted, and suicide attempts increased significantly.

As the number of people increases, shocking conditions, shortages, overcrowding and extreme uncertainty creates a desperate daily reality that creates frustration, anger, and sometimes violence. At that time, authorities and the media began to change the narrative. Refugees and immigrants are no longer portrayed as desperate souls reaching the country and suffering in camps. They are now posed a threat to the country.

Unity becomes part of the problem. It becomes a public insult, ridicule. Although NGOs and volunteers were asked to provide food and services and to fill the endless gap in humanitarian aid, authorities also accused them of corruption and crime. Common sense, humanity and solidarity - the structure of social cohesion - becomes the goal. Social growth is divided.

xenophobia policies have prompted xenophobia headlines, rescuers are persecuted, and racist voices occupy public discourse, threatening memory of the islands that once flourished by humanity.

The 2015 incident was portrayed as an absolute disaster and would never happen again. The miracle of solidarity has received global attention, resources and solutions to the enormous humanitarian crisis. The only solution presented deterrence, repression, refugee camps transformed into Prisson's policies and criminalized solidarity and civil society. Polarization deepens violence against asylum seekers, refugees and solidarity workers.

Moria Camp - a place that can only be described as a human rights cemetery - becomes a ticking tick for the island's residents. At its peak, it turned into a large number of tents and sheds without access to drinking water, sanitation or basic necessities.

One afternoon in October 2016, I found myself in Moria, waiting for our interpreters so that we could inform families of their asylum interview dates. As time goes by, dark clouds gather. Around me, people carry their possessions, children play in the dirt with whatever they find, young people drag cardboard and plastic to protect themselves from the coming rain.

In the midst of it all, I watched struggle for survival without one of us enduring an hour. But every once in a while, someone approaches me - providing water, tea or a piece of cardboard to sit on it so I "don't have to stand up." The refugee smile made me feel so safe and cared for, even though everything was achieved.

As the clouds thickened, I moved to help the woman secure the tent with the stones. I bent down to add some people and saw the tent full of kids. How could so many children be suitable for such small tents? I admire her courage and determination to protect them. I smiled at her, there, standing in front of a tent, ready to wash the rain, she held my hand and invited me to share their meals.

How can such extremes adapt to a moment? Dirty conditions, inhuman conditions, hospitality, each other’s needs and the power they give in the most severe circumstances. How to capture demand, dignity, despair and generosity in a moment-the stones they use to anchor the tent also anchor our common humanity?

Back in town, the voices of opposition to refugees and immigration grew louder, and I went to the supermarket. As I stood in line, the woman in front of me turned to me and complained, "We and foreigners are packed. They are everywhere. What will happen to them?" She gestured to a young African woman at the checkout counter.

Other customers nodded. I thought about how to respond as I watched the young refugee woman put several of her items on the counter. Then, she realized she didn't have enough money and started putting back a few apples in the basket.

I looked at the woman in front of me and looked at the scene. Worrying that she would start yelling, I held my breath. Instead, she took the decisive move and picked up the apple. "My girl, I'll pay for it," she said to the young woman who looked at her confusedly. "Take them, don't leave them."

The young woman thanked her, hugged her, and left. I heard older women murmuring, "What can they do? Who knows what they have gone through? But what can we do?"

The column is written on a series of illustrations, which goes beyond the borders, UN human rights, refugee support for the Aegean Sea (RSA), Greek Refugee Commission (GCR) and Picum (a platform for international cooperation on undocumented immigration), which are plans to build a plan for solidarity criminal offenses.

The views expressed in this article are the author's own views and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.