Refugee Crisis: Frigates Silence Humanity at the Altar of Defence

When Compassion Towards Refugees Sinks: With Flares Instead of Light

The treatment of refugees and migrants today is a sharp indictment of how far Western democracies have drifted from the values they claim to uphold. The right to safety, to dignity, even to life itself, is now increasingly conditional—subject to political calculations, border patrol strategies, and public relations campaigns. What once were considered non-negotiable human rights have become negotiable, sacrificed under the weight of nationalism, fear, and the relentless pursuit of political capital. This is no longer just about policy; it's about a deeper erosion of moral responsibility.

In Europe, and notably in Greece, we’re witnessing a shift that borders on the surreal: warships are being used to manage migration. The recent decision by the Greek government to deploy armed naval frigates south of Crete, not to counteract military threats but to deter refugee boats, speaks volumes. These vessels—designed for combat, built for warfare—are now tasked with intercepting overcrowded dinghies carrying people who are fleeing wars, climate disasters, or collapsed economies. The official rhetoric justifies the move as a blow to human traffickers, insisting that smugglers will no longer control who enters the country. But the practical result is clear: more closed doors, more danger at sea, and a symbolic militarisation of desperation.

This isn’t Greece acting in a vacuum. Across Europe, the migration issue is increasingly being folded into the language of security and defence. The European Union’s massive new initiative to increase defence spending—under banners like “ReArm Europe”—includes hundreds of billions of euros earmarked for military build-up over the coming years. Greece, already one of the top defence spenders relative to GDP, has not only signed on but celebrated the move. At a recent NATO summit, the country joined others in agreeing to raise defence budgets even higher, with only minimal dissent from other member states. The political messaging is unambiguous: more weapons, more surveillance, more control—less space for mercy.

But the militarisation of migration policy goes hand in hand with another dangerous development: the normalisation of extreme right-wing narratives. In Greece, this has been reflected not only in political appointments but in public messaging and symbolic gestures. A notable example is the current migration minister, a figure known for both hardline immigration policies and ideological nods to culture-war talking points—such as proposing bans on the Islamic veil in universities, an issue that was never even part of the public discourse. These positions serve little in practical terms, but they contribute to an atmosphere in which being “tough” on refugees is a political asset rather than a liability.

The consequences of this shift are not abstract. Just recently in Crete, a group of over 500 refugees, including women and children, were temporarily sheltered in a municipal sports facility after being rescued at sea. A number of local residents protested outside, going so far as to throw flares into the building where these vulnerable people were sleeping. The symbolism of that act is stark and horrifying: those who fled violence and death were met, yet again, with fear and aggression—even on supposedly safe European soil.

And these are not isolated phenomena. In the United States, Donald Trump’s electoral campaign openly promises mass deportations and the re-establishment of detention centres for undocumented migrants—rhetoric that dangerously mirrors past proposals for mass camps and legal purges. Simultaneously, the humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza, where entire neighbourhoods have been flattened and civilians displaced en masse, adds another dimension to the global refugee crisis. Both cases reveal how populism, conflict, and disregard for international norms are converging to deepen displacement and erode any shared sense of global responsibility.

None of this, of course, addresses the real causes of migration. Wars continue. Climate change displaces entire communities. Economies collapse, pushing people to seek survival elsewhere. Yet the policy response remains stubbornly shallow: build more walls, patrol more waters, turn away more boats. It's a strategy that doesn’t solve anything; it only delays confrontation with the deeper global inequalities that fuel displacement in the first place.

Greece’s choices are just one expression of a wider European—and global—trend. They serve as a reminder that defending borders has now, in many cases, overtaken the imperative to defend lives. We should be alarmed when ships meant for war are sent to meet unarmed civilians on the sea. We should be even more alarmed when that no longer feels strange.

If Europe truly wishes to claim moral leadership, then it cannot continue to trade humanitarian responsibility for political expedience. A continent that once set the standard for rights and refuge must now decide what it stands for in the face of human suffering. Because if frigates and flares are the only answer we have for those knocking at our door, then we are no longer protecting our values—we are abandoning them.