You may have heard something in the media about migrants ‘massing’ in Calais, France, trying to smuggle themselves into the UK. You might well have heard the victory cries of the British government as what became crudely termed the Pashtun ‘Jungle’ was destroyed in September, and assumed the problem was solved.

You might even have picked up on the negative press that the campaign group No Borders has been getting recently, for the simple act of setting up a shelter for destitute refugees during the coldest continental winter in 30 years.

Understanding of this complicated issue is paper-thin in the UK, and the human victims of politicians’ anti-immigrant scapegoating are usually condemned as worthless driftwood, to be kept out of this country by any means necessary.

Until you have spent a few rainy February nights in the Pashtun camp, wrapped in a sodden sleeping bag and running out of things to burn, every inch of you damp and shivering, you cannot understand the suffering of a refugee in Europe. These people have run away from the bloodbath of Afghanistan and many of them have seen their families bombed or shot in the ongoing war between NATO and the Taliban.

We are talking about kids here: roughly half of the Pashtun sleeping out in Calais are aged 16 or under, and some are as young as seven. If a charity gives them a tent to sleep in, the CRS – France’s notorious riot squad – confiscate it on sight. Tarpaulins are slashed and blankets are rendered unusable by being doused in pepper spray. The CRS use intimidation tactics and violence to make life hell for migrants in Calais, acting like racist high school bullies given weapons and a mandate by the French government.

Things are little better for the African refugees living in a disused sawmill, dubbed ‘Africa House’ by its occupants. It is standard procedure for the CRS to raid the place, fill an arrest bus and dump their captives ten or twelve hours’ walk outside Calais, knowing that they have no option but to trudge back in the rain.

Many of these people have seen their villages burned and their families slaughtered by the genocidal Janjaweed in Darfur. In desperation, they burn off their fingerprints as they travel through Europe to prevent identification and consequent deportation. When they finally get to the UK – the destination of many refugees – their stories will be picked apart by officials until some tiny inconsistency is exposed and asylum can be refused.

As a human being I cannot stand by and watch this situation continue. I volunteered in Calais with No Borders activists from all over Europe. The work was hard but rewarding. Most nights we would stay with groups at risk of police terror tactics. A few activists would get a good night’s sleep in a safehouse before doing dawn patrols by car or bike, monitoring CRS activity. When the cops arrived at a place en masse, so would we, and our presence with video cameras would be enough to prevent the worst kinds of harassment and violence, or sometimes enough to prevent a raid altogether.

Still, it was never easy. One night we had to submit to a full search, passport check and stand-up argument with the police to buy the Sudanese time to get away. On another occasion, we managed to guide 20 scared Afghan kids across town to a safer space from under the noses of the CRS, who were preparing to raid their camp, and it took all our efforts to avoid detection.

Daytimes in Calais are more chilled out. We spent each day running errands, teaching English and learning Arabic, and distributing whatever resources we had to offer. We made many great friends that week. ‘H’, the Sudanese human rights activist whose politics forced him to leave his country. ‘A’, the Somali travelling to England to finally see his wife and child who had gone missing from war-torn Mogadishu back in the ‘90s. These people were not charity cases but wonderful, welcoming human beings.

Looking down the streets of Cardiff on a typical night out, I notice the striking contrast. Floods of pissed-up students, falling out of taxis and queuing for the cashpoint. It occured to me that most of my friends in Calais were, at that moment, risking their lives underneath lorries for the sort of opportunities we take for granted. It made me feel alienated from this University, and from the rest of my generation.

I felt a thousand times more at home chain-smoking by the fire in Africa House, drinking Arabic tea and hearing real life horror stories from the mouths of the voiceless and forgotten.

So what can you do about this situation? No Borders is currently the only group doing human rights observation in Calais and always needs as many activists as possible to be out there. It is hugely enriching work and there is room for everyone if they have the desire to help.

Silence is compliance, and anyone who doesn’t stand up and do something to change the situation is giving the CRS carte blanche to bully, brutalise and oppress those who have suffered so much already.