t never occurred to Sarah Husseini that one day she might think of Moria camp with something approaching affection. The 22-year-old Afghan spent two years in the infamous holding facility on Lesbos and, throughout, her young daughters were “sick, sick, sick”. But then she, her husband Ali and their two toddlers were instructed to board a ferry to Piraeus and their world changed. “The UN told us ‘the government wants you to leave, you have papers now, you can’t stay here any more’,” she says, explaining why she has ended up semi-destitute in central Athens. Husseini is among the growing number of recognised refugees who, without home or shelter, have found themselves seeking solace and shade under the mulberry trees of Victoria Square – the victims of plans to relieve overcrowded island camps and other reception centres across Greece. In the coming months, more than 11,000 men, women and children, awarded recognised refugee status by Greek asylum authorities, will be “evicted” from organised accommodation to non-assisted living facilities. The centre-right administration describes the “exits” as a crucial first step to self-sufficiency and ultimately the integration of refugees. “These are people who have gained refugee status and should be fending for themselves,” the migration ministry’s secretary general, Manos Logothetis, tells the Guardian. “If they are pampered, how are they going to ever find a job and become part of society? There has to be a limit.” Husseini, whose family fled Iran, is in many ways already a case study in self-reliance. In Moria she trained as a hairdresser, eventually working in a beauty salon set up in a container in the camp. When she reached Athens, she searched for other women who could help, striking lucky when a fellow Afghan, granted housing in the capital on account of having diabetic children, gave her and her daughters a place to sleep at night. But days are spent in the sweltering heat of Victoria Square, with most of her worldly belongings in a plastic bag waiting for news from her husband, Ali, who is desperately house hunting as the family makes the transition to independent living. “In Moria, everyone talks about Victoria as the square you must go to,” she says, rearranging her colourful headscarf. “So now this is where I wait, under the hot sun while Ali looks for apartments, which is very difficult when no one wants to rent to refugees. In Moria, at least I had a job. Today I can’t think of work until we have somewhere to stay but at least at night, because of my babies, I can go to my friend.” The sight of men, women and children camping in Victoria has evoked the chaotic scenes of 2015, at the height of the refugee crisis, when thousands of displaced Syrians passed through the plaza, most en route to other parts of Europe, before border closures made exiting Greece an impossibility. “No civilised state can be proud of this,” says Lazaros Petromilidis, a founding member of the Greek Forum of Refugees. “And this is just the beginning. Soon we could be seeing these shameful scenes in every square up and down the country.” In May “important announcements” began being posted by authorities in Aegean island camps urging successful asylum seekers “to respect this rule so that we can create caravan space for the people that stay in tents”. The estimated 1,500 refugees ordered to leave the camps are just the tip of the iceberg. Others who have also been told to make the transition are hosted in facilities, including hotels, on the mainland, while at least 4,000 are accommodated in EU-subsidised apartments under the Estia scheme administered by the UN in conjunction with local authorities and NGOs. The housing programme, which also provides cash assistance, is deemed vital for the elderly, vulnerable and those with medical conditions. The Greek minister of migration and asylum policy, Notis Mitarachis, says 60 of the 93 hotels hosting asylum seekers will close. There are fears that refugees are being asked to leave organised accommodation before being given “effective access” to employment and social welfare schemes to which, under Greek law, they are entitled. “All of this highlights the lack of emphasis placed on integration,” says Stella Nanou, of the UN refugee agency (UNHCR) in Athens. “With a little bit of help, a little push, refugees could really give back to the community but it’s a two-way process. Efforts need to be made to support refugees and that hasn’t happened when authorities have had to focus on bolstering reception facilities and the process of asylum claims.” Keerfa, Greece’s premier anti-racism organisation, has called the evictions a “crime against humanity”. “We’re talking about pregnant women, vulnerable people, who have been forced to spend their energy surviving in the horrible conditions of places like Moria,” says Petros Constantinou, the group’s national coordinator ahead of nationwide rallies staged in support of the refugees and the Black Lives Matter movement. “They’ve never had the chance to learn Greek in language class, let alone integrate properly.” Constantinou, who is also a municipal councillor in central Athens, says Keerfa has proposed moving the refugees to abandoned buildings in the capital and Thessaloniki, the main metropolis in the north of the country, as part of a “massive social housing programme”. Until this year, Greece had been Europe’s main entry point for asylum seekers crossing from Turkey. In 2019, authorities recorded more than 70,000 arrivals, a 50% increase on the previous year. At last count, 36,000 men, women and children were registered on Lesbos, Samos, Chios, Kos and Leros, islands facing the Turkish coast, in holding centres designed to host a sixth of that number. The majority are from Afghanistan, Syria and Somalia, according to the UNHCR. The Athens government anticipates migratory flows rising once restrictions on public movement, enforced as a result of coronavirus, are relaxed in Turkey. Petromilidis says that in contrast to past years, when most people wanted to head to other parts of Europe, more are voicing the desire to remain in Greece. “The time has clearly come to focus on integration,” he says, bemoaning the fact that only one project to date offered recognised refugees the opportunity to integrate into Greek society. “The Helios programme, run by the IOM [International Organization for Migration, a UN body], enables them to learn Greek and even pays their rent, but it covers a very short time, just six months, and that is simply not enough.” Not far from Victoria Square, Nabas Khoshanaw and his wife, Sawen, are typical of refugees who have embraced Greece. Both are signed up to the social security system, have tax numbers and are learning the language. The Kurdish couple fled what they describe as a “very good life” in northern Iraq after Nabas, a former police officer, claims threats were made against his older daughter after he intervened to save a young woman from being the victim of an “honour” killing. That was almost three years ago. Following a stint in a nearby squat, home for the family of five has, for the past 14 months, been a small flat on the fourth floor of a rundown building off gritty Vathis Square. “We love Greece too much and we want to stay,” says Nabas, who has also enrolled in English and German courses in the hope of improving his chances of finding work. “My older daughter and my son are in school and kindergarten and they both speak Greek. They love it here, too.” In May the couple were told their time was up: they would have to vacate the EU-funded apartment to make room for others. The order has had a devastating effect, plunging Nabas and his wife into depression and setting off a frantic search for accommodation that has so far proved futile. “There is no apartment that is cheaper than €450 (£406) and that is before all the bills and food for my family and nappies for the little one,” he says, sitting crossed-legged on a grey blanket engraved with the insignia of the UN that takes up much of the floor. Coronavirus has further added to the challenges of finding a job that could now help him cover the costs. “I earn between €10 and €15 a day working in a barber’s shop that belongs to a Pakistani down the road,” he says. “Now I don’t know what tomorrow will bring even if I also understand the government in a way.” Sawen, a public notary in Iraq, breaks the silence. “This is our home,” she says. “It is small and it has a big problem with damp which affects us all. But it is what we have, and what we love and what we know.”