The Polish government erected a wall on its eastern border. The objective: to stem the migratory flows orchestrated by the dictatorship Belarusian. But the need for the device leaves some doubtful, since the obstacle has already been circumvented by many candidates for exile. Concern also wins environmentalists.
It is a small village with no history, like many others in rural Podlachia, a region in the very east of Poland, with its pretty wooden houses, its Orthodox church with its golden bell tower and its surrounding fields. Opaka Duża, on this July evening, is bathed in mist. Only a bark in the distance breaks the silence of the countryside. But at the end of the muddy road leading to the village, the rural setting stops abruptly. It stands there, like an iron curtain of the XXIe century at the gates of the European Union, with its steel bars surmounted by barbed wire: the wall erected by Warsaw on its eastern border.
Thursday, June 30, the national-conservative government of the Law and Justice party (PiS) announced with great fanfare that it had completed its construction, which had begun five months earlier. With the aim of “separating us from the dark dictatorship” of Alexander Lukashenko, as Polish Interior Minister Mariusz Kamiński said at the end of June. Because the Belarusian autocrat, for almost a year now, has been accused of having opened a migratory network under cover of tourist visas granted to thousands of candidates for exile, mostly from the Middle East. Under the auspices of Moscow, he would thus seek revenge for the Western sanctions imposed against his regime. His fraudulent re-election in August 2020 was marked by an unprecedented uprising in Belarus, stifled in repression.
Stretching over 187 kilometers, the structure, which is just over five meters high, must eventually be equipped with detection devices and cameras. But the ruling PiS was not satisfied with barricading the eastern flank of its border. To deal with what he describes as a “hybrid war” led by Minsk, a state of emergency was declared in September 2021. Opaka Duża was thus one of the 183 localities which, along the 418 kilometers of the Polish border -Belarusian, were subject to an exclusion zone. And this, until June 30th. For ten months, therefore, it was this entire border section a few kilometers wide that was put under glass, without access to the press or to NGOs. Only residents and law enforcement, present in their thousands, were allowed to enter.
Without outside assistance, and in the face of often exhausted and chilled migrants, many local residents, like Joanna Pawluśkiewicz, became helpless. “Almost no one here was prepared or trained for such humanitarian work, we were left to our own devices. “Barely a year ago, for this resident of Teremiski, a town located not far from the Belarusian border, walking in the forest was part of the” daily routine “. “I haven’t been going there for four months because I’m terrified of finding dead bodies,” admits the instigator of the Nie dla muru (“Against the wall”) movement. At least sixteen people have lost their lives, and the toll could be much higher. But the response of the Polish border guards, since the beginning of the crisis, remains that of almost systematic refoulement, despite international conventions on the right of asylum. Despite the fact, too, that Lukashenko’s henchmen, quick to use violence, often prevent any backtracking. A dissonant policy in the face of the generous reception of Ukrainian refugees in Poland. What indignant Joanna Pawluśkiewicz. “People are dying in the forest, it’s our obligation to help them. There are families with children, pregnant women, some of whom miscarry in the forest. »
“At least we have peace”
The calm that characterized the region, known for its agrotourism, gave way to a ballet of military convoys, which has certainly diminished since the lifting of the exclusion zone. But the roar of helicopters and the comings and goings of military vans and soldiers, rifles slung over their shoulders, are still part of the daily lot of border villages. Something to deter tourists, especially in Białowieża. Usually numerous to survey this village adjoining the primary forest of the same name, they are rare this summer. An absence confirmed by Olimpia Pabian, 47, behind her counter which offers small cakes and local beers. In his establishment – the former tsarist station of Białowieża converted into a cozy café – the tables on his terrace are all empty on this sunny morning. “The season will not be good”, diagnoses the shopkeeper, who nevertheless says she has “got used to” this martial atmosphere. His cafe is next to one of the few military camps scattered all over Białowieża, covered with camouflage nets.
A little further on the main street, Mirosław Pilucik also admits that the local economy is suffering. Due to a lack of customers, this beekeeper is struggling to sell his jars of honey, which are well displayed on his stall. However, the militarization of the border reassures him. “At least we have peace. I saw on television how the migrants behaved at the border…” Not far from there, another shopkeeper, who refuses to give her name, admits for her part “having closed [s]has been house-locked in recent months”. Here, like a divided Poland, government action divides. Banners “in support of our men in uniform” were hung here and there.
A hundred or a hundred kilometers to the north, similar messages are unfolding in the streets of the village of Kuźnica, a PiS stronghold. “For us, the presence of the army is a guarantee of security,” says the mayor of these approximately 1,700 inhabitants, Paweł Mikłasz. Ironed shirt and well-trimmed mustache, this worker by profession proudly points to the wall that stretches out in the clearing, on the edge of Kuźnica: at the height of the crisis in November, it is there, on the other side of the structure , that some 3,000 people had gathered according to Warsaw, the majority of Iraqi nationality. The place, like a symbol, no longer has makeshift camps at the foot of its conifers, and the barbed wire has given way to the wall that the authorities promise to be waterproof. “The wall helps a lot, despite its high cost. He arrested these people who are not refugees, but economic migrants who want to go to Germany. »
The wall already bypassed
Still, the border infrastructure of 1.6 billion zlotys (442.6 million Canadian dollars) would experience failures. Because, after a certain lull in recent months, the number of attempts to cross the border is skyrocketing, report the humanitarian organizations at the border, which are again in high demand. “The barrier makes crossing more difficult, but not impossible”, with or without sensors, believes Katarzyna Wappa, an activist from Hajnówka, a town about twenty kilometers from the Belarusian border, who has been helping exiles since the beginning of crisis. Some would dig holes, go through the swamps, climb the structure, sometimes helped by Belarusian soldiers to get around the obstacle.
However, the face of the crisis seems to have changed compared to last autumn, according to Monika Matus, spokesperson for Grupa Granica, an organization which has assisted nearly 11,000 people in eleven months. The majority of exiles now come from African countries, and have often transited through Russia. “This border is becoming one more migratory route towards Europe, in addition to the Balkans and the Mediterranean. The Belarusian authorities don’t even need to orchestrate the whole thing anymore, there is a demand and people who make it a lucrative market. »
The merits of the wall are also disputed by environmentalists. Because the unique ecosystem of Białowieża, the last low-altitude primary forest on the European continent straddling Poland and Belarus, is now split in two. A site listed on the UNESCO World Heritage List since 1979. “One can think that a barrier of this scale risks damaging the cross-border continuity of this forest, while brown bears had crossed the border in recent years says Katarzyna Nowak, researcher at the Białowieża Geobotanical Station. This threatens to disrupt genetic exchanges and isolate animal populations. Starting with the lynx, a protected species in Poland for 27 years. But, for the time being, it is impossible for scientists to accurately measure the extent of the environmental consequences of the wall: it is forbidden for anyone to approach it within 200 meters.