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I travelled to Hungary in late summer 2015 to report on yet another bleak scene in the unfolding refugee crisis. Thousands of refugees were sleeping rough at Budapest's Keleti station, with the Hungarian government having stopped trains to western Europe.

I arrived alone, at short notice, without a plan and without a translator. I found a young literature student called Majd from northern Syria, here with his brother's family and children. Majd spoke good english and had a spark about him – a sense of humour and stoicism about their situation – so I stuck around with him for a bit.

But I had a familiar feeling and challenge. I'd been reporting on this subject for years, and now the world's media where here too. The depressing news was relentless. How to tell these stories in ways that touches people's hearts, that humanizes the refugees and that doesn't just present them as victims?



Then something special happened. It began as a rumour passing around the crowds sitting down at the station. People began packing up their things and picking up their children. Majd told his family, and then he told me: We are walking. To Austria.

As we set off I met another young man, an electrician from Damascus called Mahmoud. He had lost a leg in the war, and was setting out on this journey of almost 200 kilometres on crutches. I'll never forget his reaction when I asked him if he knew how far it was. “I don't know,” he said, and then he broke out into beaming smile, “but we are walking.”


Mahmoud, and his incredible smile, as he contemplates walking 200 kilometres on crutches

I knew at this point that my job was simple: I just had to stay with them until the end.

What followed was a series of transformations – in those who ceased being just “refugees,” waiting for help, to taking their destiny into their own hands. A transformation too in how they were seen and treated by many of the Hungarian people who came out to help and support them.

And the power of seeing this and capturing it also led a to a transformation in me. Not only was I documenting what I felt was a historic event, but I was taking part in it. I walked every step they walked, ate the same food, slept on the same street, and at one point even walked a few miles in Majd shoes. Mine had been giving me blisters, and he insisted.


Majd and family bed down for the night by the side of the motorway


The refugees have been walking all day, as night begins to fall

I learned so much about sharing on this walk, so much about the power of being part of a group, and about the need for people to act with dignity, whatever their situation.

I'm happy the film captured this. And the reaction showed me that if the Alan Kurdi picture was the moment people were shamed into feeling sorry for refugees, this was the moment many people started admiring them.



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We Walk Together is nominated for Best Documentary on Current Affairs at The Grierson Awards 2016.  
John Domokos for The Guardian; first shown: theguardian.com

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