The Final Frontier

Tibor Varga has been distributing aid to refugees and migrants
since 2011 for Eastern Europe Outreach. Photo by Róbert Pölcz.
This article was recently published in V4Revue along with original photos by Róbert Pölcz. 

"It's not always the piece of bread or food or clothing they want, but some kind of relationship," said Tibor Varga, a 59-year-old Protestant minister. He was standing on a quadrangle near a railroad crossing in Horgoš, a village in Serbia a few kilometers from the Hungarian border. It was a damp and blustery afternoon in mid-September, and the crossing was crowded with hundreds of people from Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Nearly everyone was traveling light, with just a backpack, duffle bag, or plastic shopping bags.

Close by were two vans and a car, their trunks and hatches stuffed with food, clothing, and other essentials. At the front of a line for garbage bags was a tall, gangly youth whose eyes were magnified by thick glasses. He stood still without reaching for a bag; after several minutes a volunteer noticed him, apologized, and gave him one.

A couple of paunchy, older Serbian men handed out bread and tins of sardines. One of them wondered out loud what might happen if Hungary should manage to seal off the border. "Things must be very bad where these people are coming from," he said, and then began a dialogue with himself: "Of course things were bad for us, too, during the war, but we stayed."

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