Trieste’s Humanitarian Crisis: At the Crossroads of Migration

It’s a hot summer night in Trieste, Italy. The air is still, with not a breeze stirring as the city slumbers. But in the shadows of its central piazza, there’s no rest. Underneath the trees of Piazza Libertà, where weary people on the move gather, volunteers from local humanitarian organizations arrive with supplies in hand. Their mission tonight, like many others, is simple but crucial: offer a moment of solace in the midst of chaos.

"Sara, did you take the chai tea?" asks Bianca, one of the volunteers.

"Yes, I did. Don’t forget the colorful chalks; we might need them if another family with kids shows up tonight," she replies.

Chalk and uncertainty

The volunteers are part of No Name Kitchen, one of several local aid groups providing support to the growing number of displaced individuals sleeping outdoors in Trieste. Just two nights earlier, two families—one with two young girls, the other with an infant boy—had arrived at the piazza, exhausted after days of walking and travel. Like many others, they were hoping to catch a morning train to Germany. The station, however, remains closed until 4 a.m., forcing many of these individuals to wait in the open air, fearful and uncertain. 

The children, meanwhile, just want to play.

A Kurdish little girl with her mom eating a snack, waiting for the train station to open. (Photo: Carmen Critelli)

That night, the volunteers had pulled out a box of colorful chalk. The children's eyes lit up, and soon, the cold stone floor of the piazza was transformed into a vibrant canvas of homes and family portraits. Now, Sara, Bianca, and other volunteers are back—carrying not only tea and food, but also the chalk that has become a symbol of hope for the displaced families passing through the city.

On the right Sara, one of the volunteers of No Name Kitchen playing with a kid. (Photo: Carmen Critelli)

Piazza Libertà, located just in front of Trieste’s Central Station, is a crossroads for many following the Balkan migration route. It has become a temporary resting place for individuals and families en route to other parts of Europe. But what was once a place of relative safety has turned into an open-air shelter after a controversial decision by local authorities.

On June 21, Trieste’s mayor ordered the eviction of "Silos," a derelict building that had long served as an unofficial refuge for people on the move. Since then, between 50 and 120 displaced people—many of them families and unaccompanied minors—have been forced to sleep outdoors in Piazza Libertà, exposed to the uncertain weather. Their conditions grow worse with each passing night. 

After the eviction, several people were transferred to different camps in Italy. No Name Kitchen decided to pay them a visit and ask how they are coping with this new reality.

Filling the Gap Left by Authorities 

In the absence of adequate governmental intervention, local and international organizations have stepped in. Groups like Linea d’Ombra, founded in 2019, have been critical in providing first aid, medical care, food, and clothing to those passing through Trieste or stuck in limbo along the Balkan route. Every evening, they organize food distributions and medical aid and try to foster a community-based network that migrants can trust.

Lorena Fornasir, one of the co-founders of Linea d’Ombra, medicating a wound. (Photo: Carmen Critelli)

Similarly, the international movement No Name Kitchen offers both humanitarian aid and advocacy, addressing the brutal realities of violent pushbacks faced by people on the move as they attempt to cross into the European Union. These efforts are supplemented by the volunteer organization DONK, the International Rescue Committee (IRC), and Diaconia Valdese, all of whom work to identify any needs and provide necessary support.

The Italian Consortium of Solidarity (ICS) and the network of associations surrounding it have been pivotal in monitoring asylum access and offering legal aid. Meanwhile, the Comunità di San Martino al Campo offers more than just legal support. At its day center, also known as Chai Khana - in Pashto meaning tea house - the community can find warm clothes, have a shower, some tea, and cookies. A small but significant gesture of humanity in an otherwise harsh environment. ASCS (Associazione Scalabriniana per la Cooperazione allo Sviluppo) and the non-profit group ResQ also send volunteers to assist these organizations, ensuring that there are always hands to help, ears to listen, and hearts to care.  

A need for systemic change

Yet despite the combined efforts of these groups, the needs are overwhelming. Thousands pass through Piazza Libertà each year, their bodies worn from the violence, injuries, and diseases they suffer along the way. Scabies, sprains, and untreated wounds are common, reminders of the dangers they face on their journey.

Many arrive with little understanding of their rights. Without precise information on how to seek asylum or access proper reception services, they are left in a precarious legal and humanitarian situation.

Typical objects to be found in Piazza Libertà on a typical night. (Photo: Carmen Critelli)

The fact that local institutions have largely ignored this crisis only adds to the weight these organizations bear. In the absence of state support, volunteers like Sara and Bianca continue to do the work that should be shared by national authorities. Their efforts, though vital, cannot substitute for the structural change that is urgently needed. The chalk drawings on the ground offer moments of joy, but they cannot paint over the deep-seated problems of a broken system.

As the volunteers arrive at the piazza, it’s already past midnight. The city sleeps, but for the migrants here, sleep is fleeting, interrupted by the reality of an uncertain future. These individuals, many of them families with small children, wait in the shadows of Europe’s doorstep, hoping for a chance to rebuild their lives. 

For now, the volunteers will keep returning, carrying chai tea and chalk. But until systemic change is made—until the rights of these displaced individuals are recognized and protected—these efforts will remain a temporary fix for a much larger, ongoing humanitarian crisis. 

This crisis underscores the wider challenges faced by migrants at Europe's borders, where humanitarian needs often clash with political policies. Trieste, once a city of refuge, now stands as a stark reminder of Europe’s growing struggle to reconcile its borders with its humanity.