Aid for Ukraine: love and logistics - Dani Garavelli

IN the Hindu Temple in Glasgow’s West End, Pauline Lambie is counting baby bottles and beakers as she places them one by one in a giant bag. By the time I arrive, she has reached 100. We survey what remains - a mish mash of plastic drinking vessels in a see-through container - and agree it looks like a “guess the number” contest. Later, as I watch other bags being loaded onto a lorry, she will shout the final tally - “600” - to me as she passes.

Lambie - one of around 100 volunteers who have come and gone throughout the day- is carrying out her inventory in a sea of jumble. Almost every square inch of floor is covered with blankets, towels, clothes, toys, all of which have to be sifted and sorted. Every room in the temple, including the kitchen, is the same.

Lambie had not set out to offer her services. But she had passed the building in the morning and realised they were required. Thanks to her and others, the foyer is now stacked with goods packed and ready for transportation to the Polish/ Ukrainian border. They are all clearly marked: 20 x pillows; 50 x blankets; 50 x sleeping bags and so on.

It’s an uphill struggle. At the entrance, a cardboard sign reads: “No more donations.” Yet, at 5.30pm on Thursday, there is a steady stream of people turning up with fresh loads. Distressed by images of suffering, they are desperate to give. Some are unhappy to be turned away. And the volunteers are reluctant to stamp on their generosity. And so those who express disappointment are allowed to add their bags to the pile, regardless.

Helping Ukraine Campaign at Hindu Mandir Glasgow. Picture: John Devlin/JPIMedia

Outside, I meet Kasia Sebastainowicz, 33, who kick-started this humanitarian venture. A single mum to a five-year-old boy, she knows what it feels like to be scared. She left Poland as a teenager after the death of her mother. By the age of 16, she was working with street children in Azerbaijan.

When Putin invaded Ukraine, her aunt and cousin, who still live in Poland, drove to the border and brought back two families to live in their homes. Thousands of miles away in Scotland, Sebastainowicz wanted to contribute too. She decided to drive a transit van full of goods to her homeland to help families like hers who had taken in refugees.

She approached her friends Gillian McCallum, a former political adviser, and Akshay Goenka, who runs a career development company. McCallum posedt a tweet asking for donations and, within 24 hours, 200 people had sent emails of support. Goenka asked the Hindu Temple if they could use the building as a base and set up Facebook and JustGiving pages. The donations began to pour in.

It quickly became clear this aid operation would require more than a transit van. Goenka contacted Stuart Nicol Transport and the company agreed to supply some lorries and drivers. He says he hopes other haulage firms will also come on board.

International aid charity Glasgow The Caring City has sent a second phase of requested aid to the Ukraine/Poland border. Picture: Craig Foy / SNS Group

“We have already raised £7,000,” says Goenka. “Now we are looking to Scottish businesses to donate larger chunks because, while the trucks and the drivers will be provided by our haulage partners, we will be paying for fuel. And we have worked out it will cost £2,000 a trip.”

Sebastainowicz, an office administrator in Wishaw, is overwhelmed by the response to her plea. “I was crying when I read all the emails,” she says. “It’s like a dream.” She is in tears when the first of three Stuart Nicol lorries arrives and a chain of men hoist the sacks on board. But it’s not long before the vehicle is full and only the tiniest of dents has been made on the stockpile.

“We expect to clear 40 pallets tonight," Goenka says, "but there are more than 200 pallets here.” I ask him if he is daunted by what he and the others have taken on. “Yes,” he replies. “And I am nervous. I have a massive weight on my shoulder. If this fails, who takes responsibility?“

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Hindu Mandir Glasgow. Picture: John Devlin/JPIMedia

The war in Ukraine is showcasing the best and worst of humanity. Every night, the news brings fresh horrors: babies born in bunkers, a nuclear power station shelled, families ripped apart. But we are also seeing great acts of kindness: Poles travelling to the border to pick up those who have fled; Germans meeting refugees off planes at Berlin airport; people opening up their homes and hearts in the darkest of hours.

Here in the UK, there is a limit to what individuals can do. While EU countries are allowing all Ukrainian refugees to stay for three years without claiming asylum, the UK government visa rules have been relaxed only for those with close relatives already living in Britain. Last week, SNP defence spokesperson Stewart McDonald urged Home Secretary Priti Patel to fix the gap after speaking to a Ukrainian friend who wanted to come to the UK but has no family here.

Elsewhere, Gavin Price, who owns the Schiehallion Hotel and Fountain Bar in Aberfeldy, has offered employment to two Ukrainians. He has promised to cover the cost of flights, accommodation and work visas, but has been told the paperwork could take up to three months to sort out. SNP MP Pete Wishart has taken up his case. “Surely we must be in a position where we could set this red tape aside,” he told Parliament last week.

Unable to open up their homes, Scots have been finding other ways to express their solidarity. Up and down the country, churches, shops, schools, nurseries and scout groups have been delivering goods to centres like the Hindu Temple or the Ukrainian Club in Edinburgh. Such gestures are a powerful antidote to all the hate. But they also expose the dilemmas at the heart of humanitarian efforts.