It's 12 o'clock at night on a ferry boat crossing the Aegean Sea, engines throbbing deeply

through the walls and floors.

All the refugees are sleeping. Five hundred men, women and children from

Afghanistan, Iran, Syria, all in the back of the boat. Families under blankets on the sofa units in the carpeted lounge, young men and boys

and the hard boots on the semi-open deck above, some sleeping sitting up with their heads down

on the table. The boat drops towards the

water, then rises up, rolls and drops again. There are white caps on the waves. The

moonlight breaks through openings in the clouds.

They come from places where cars exploded in the street.

Bombs fell on houses.

People were shot for no reason. Their heads cut off. After fleeing

their homes, they were hunted like animals as they crossed borders illegally at night

on foot. Some were caught and beaten and thrown in jail. Yesterday

they rode an overcrowded rubber rafts across six miles of open water from

Turkey to the Greek island of Lesbos. Probably the first of

Leesbos, probably the first time they'd ever even been in a boat

and had scared the hell out of them

and cost a thousand dollars at peace.

But today they paid only fifty50 to ride on this luxurious ferry across the same body of water

and everybody's cell phone is plugged in and they can order cheesecake and watch movies and cushioned recliners.

Now they're safe in the European Union.

No one's going to beat them up or put them in jail, but it's hard to tell if they know this or if they

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