Europe’s sanctuary movement: Why churches enter immigration debate
On the outskirts of one of Germany’s wealthiest cities, inside a tangle of Brutalist-era high-rises, several 20-something housemates sit around a coffee table filled with their favorite snacks, telling war stories. They have traveled from Afghanistan to Iran to Turkey to Greece to Macedonia to Serbia to Hungary to Austria to Germany to Denmark to Sweden, and then back to Germany.
“Like tourists,” says Taara, a young mother with a ready laugh, as she kneads her newborn’s feet.
Except they are not tourists. She and her husband Zemar have slept in the woods, gone hungry for days, been tear-gassed in refugee camps where security officials “used the stuff like water,” and, tightly holding hands, fought their way onto trains at stations that felt more like “Hunger Games” sets than transit points. They have fled the Taliban and the prospect of death, and left those they love in search of safety and asylum in Europe.
Now, they are living in a safe house.
The migrants (whose names have been changed to protect their identities) have received sanctuary from a German church and, for the past year, they have been living together with another family on church grounds. It is a comfortable space with macramé wall hangings, modest pine furniture, donated baby toys, and colorful homemade construction paper chains from a recent birthday celebration.
But there is potential danger beyond these walls, which is evident in the rules tacked up beside a schedule for German language lessons: Keep the address secret. No guests. No barbecuing. And if you step outside, it is at your own risk.
The group is being protected as part of a growing sanctuary movement
