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[EN]
Apocalypse Fails To Materialise,
Raising Questions About The Authorities Instead.
Despite, maybe even partly because of, the barrage of demonizing rhetoric from the authorities and anti-immigrant media in the preceding weeks, and massive and aggressive policing, this weekend's trans-national demonstration in Calais may have won a significant public-opinion victory for No Borders and the 1,000+ migrants trapped in the Calais area by the British border controls that now operate on French territory. The main demonstration, on Saturday, passed off without a scrap of trouble, making the government's massively expensive and disruptive response look hysterical and foolish.
:: Migrating from one repressive regime to another::
We met quite a few of these men - the Iranian and Afghani bits of "the jungle" were just on the other side of the autoroute from the camp. The men I spoke to were all Iranians, and all had left Iran because of the regime. None had much inkling of the regime awaiting them in Britain, should they succeed in getting onto a lorry undetected and surviving the journey.
One of the No Borders people who'd been at the camp all week thought that some of the agents/traffickers may actually encourage them to try for the UK, to get even more money out of them. But many of them clearly want to come because they already speak a bit of English, or have friends or relatives in Britain, who are waiting for them.
One man we spoke to, in his forties, is a member of the Communist Tudeh party. He had to live on the run for a year, never in his own home, before deciding to leave Iran, leaving his young daughter in the care of his elderly parents. He thought he would be able to get asylum in Britain and then send for her. But he has been fingerprinted not only by the French police (several times) but also by the UK border police (I suppose when attempting to get into the fortified area around the ferry terminal - which is now effectively UK territory for the first time since the middle ages). So even if he gets onto a truck and survives the journey his application for asylum will not even be considered, and he would be returned to France (as the first safe EU country he'd entered) under the Dublin Convention. We tried to explain that he could be better off applying for asylum in France, and found some activists from Lille who were keen to help him. But his heart had been set on England; and he knows no French ...
Also met a nice lad of just 16 years old. No living relatives; parents both dead; speaking quite good English. And another man in his forties or late thirties with a kind, weatherbeaten face, and his foot smashed and in plaster, after some kind of run-in with the police. And others - tantalizing glimpses of rich and poignant stories, and fragile hopes that powerful forces they know little of are determined and well-equipped to smash.
The authorities now want to bulldoze the jungle. Their only answer to these men's needs is to obliterate them. After they have obliterated them, the next plan is a UK-style immigrant-prison, operated on behalf of the UK by Frontex (the EU border enforcement agency), in which UK laws will apply, permitting indefinite imprisonment (which is not allowed under French law). So the UK will not only export its borders into France, but also its own legal regime.
:: Intimidation at huge public expense, but it doesn't fool the public ::
We were nearly deterred from going to the camp by the intimidating stream of propaganda (including some spectacular lies) from the press and the pro-Sarkozy mayor of Calais, Natacha Bouchart, and the unbelievable police response: more than 2,000 police, including the feared CRS, were drafted in from all over France and they seemed intent on provoking any response from the protesters that would justify wading in.
When we got to the camp on Friday, the area was ringed by roadblocks and most people were being searched as they went in and out, sometimes repeatedly. (We ourselves weren't : perhaps a benefit of being white and middle-aged). A helicopter clattered overhead from early morning till late at night, at some considerable cost. Lines of police vans and, occasionally, squads of CRS in full riot gear lined a nearby autoroute slip-road overlooking the camp. The day before, a number of people had been arrested simply for handing out leaflets in Calais town centre. One of the first people we met, a friend from Yorkshire, had just been roughed-up by police on his way to buy toilet paper for the camp at a nearby supermarket: without challenge, a cop rammed him against the wall with a hand to the face, handcuffed him and threw him into their van, saying "we're not your English bobbies!" He was sure he was going to get badly beaten, but after ten minutes he was released - these cops were going off shift.
On Saturday we drove to the demonstration's start-point where trade union and party delegations (Sud, NPA and CNT), had assembled to wait for the No Borders group coming on foot from the campsite. We waited for them for two hours while they were held up and searched at roadblock after roadblock. Eventually the combined demonstration set off, about 1,300 strong according to local media, surrounded by more than 2,500 police of various kinds - plus water-cannons at strategic points - almost the only things moving in Calais that day.
We didn't go with them, certain there would at least be tear-gas and we weren't up to running, so we went to the beach - which we had almost to ourselves, the town being almost completely closed off, with police at almost every street intersection (and, being all from other towns, none of them were any use for directions).
Some cafes were open however, and the proprietress of the one where we had lunch was thoroughly on our side. Indicating the shuttered cafe next door she said: "C'est fou! C'est de la politique! C'est notre ami Sarko - un beau petit salopard!"
Which I think translates as, "a right little shit".
... and probably represents a wider body of Calaisien opinion now than it did this time last week.
Camp Stories II
23rd June 2009
A hum of excitement fills the deck as we prepare to set sail from Dover. Travellers and tourists congregate, each clutching a camera, in preparation for that magical moment when the white cliffs of Dover rise majestically across the sea: a romantic moment to be captured forever. Memorable for a different reason, the same sight holds a deeper significance for some. Those stowed away below deck, balanced precariously on planks beneath trucks or locked inside airless containers. I sit in the summer sunshine enjoying a soft sea breeze. What about them? What about the people who make that self same journey to flee persecution, torture, death; People without travel documents, destination unknown? They make the same journey, but in a different world.
Are we so stretched? Are we so short of space in the UK? People are willing to risk their lives to be here. They have suffered untold horrors at the hands of their fellow human beings. They are desperately in need, but we cannot offer them sanctuary. We do not want them to reach our shores; we do not want to see their desperation, or to hear their painful stories. We do not want to know their hunger or the hardships they have had to bear; we do not want them to exist. So what do we do? We send them back without even a fair trial – luckily for the overcrowded UK we signed an agreement that stated we could (Dublin 2 agreement).
By not allowing people to even ask us for sanctuary, are we not condoning the horrors of the Taliban regime and other persecutors? How can we turn our backs on these people? Are they less than us, less than our mothers and fathers and brothers and children? Can one human being’s life be worth less than that of a fellow human being? Perhaps then it is fear that prevents us from welcoming them: fear of losing our place in society; fear of losing control of the society that we know and understand; fear of losing money, jobs, homes; fear of the influence they may have over our children?
With a greater need for help than you or I may ever know, do you think that they will steal from the hand that saves them? Do you think that you only stand to lose from offering people sanctuary? From the greatest act of charity? Imagine. A person comes knocking on your door. Frightened, hungry and tired. He has nothing. He is helpless. He is being chased by a group of men with guns. Do you let him in, or do you shut your door on him and hope he’ll go away? Do you save his life, or are you afraid to try?
24th June
An immigrant is not an annoyance. Each and every person has fled his or her country in order to create a better life. They have left behind all that is familiar, all that they know and love, and stepped into a world that far from improving their worlds often causes greater distress, greater hardship and greater danger. Days, weeks and months pass, with no belongings but the clothes on their backs. And finally they reach the last frontier before the Promised Land, the final hurdle before their dreams are realised: Calais. Here they sit in limbo land, in a litter-strewn park on the side of the main highway that leads to the port. Known as ‘The Jungle’ this scrubland becomes a home for hundreds of people waiting, making daily sorties to the highway to meet with smugglers, find a hideaway on a truck and make the final leg of their journey. Dodging policemen and immigration officials whilst also evading the dangers of walking along a busy highway under cover of darkness, their lives are constantly at risk in this desperate search for safety.
We set up camp in the park nearby. Night falls. My adrenalin infused slumber is filled with images of people scattering for the lives as trucks thunder by on the main highway to the port, horns blaring. Police sirens rise and fall on the cold sharp wind. Campers talk into the night. From time to time a paranoid shout ‘Police! Police!’ rings out before dying down again.
Morning sunshine and relative peace; I strain my ears, and for the first time notice birdsong over the constant rumble of the rush hour traffic. Strimmed nettles, pallets and folding tables create a canteen bordered on two sides by trees. I find a patch to sit and sip my black coffee. French, English, Kurdish, Iranian, Dutch, Hungarian….. Slowly the area fills with the hubbub of a new day. I wonder which of the migrants gave it a go last night; who was on the motorway; who ran from police; who came face to face with a sniffer dog or the barrel of a gun? A nausea rises from deep in my gut: here I sit in the comfort of knowing that whatever risk I may take in being here, conscious or otherwise, it is not my life in scrutiny, it is not my life in danger; that is a feeling I have never even come near to knowing. Yet these men are in constant danger, constantly in fear for their lives, at risk of torture, surrounded by death and danger and uncertainty with no respite, no time to breathe and relax. Yes, they have escaped their own country; the Taliban; generations of persecution; rape; torture, but are they any safer here in France? Stories abound of people going missing from ‘The Jungle’: ‘five people disappeared last week – we don’t know what happened’, ‘yes, we don’t know what happened to him…he just disappeared’. A common story. And the question goes unanswered: ‘ was he detained, deported, did he cross the border, did he die trying?’……who is watching…who knows?
The futility of the situation is overwhelming. What are we doing? What are the police doing?
Negative media attention is compounded by unclear agendas and incomplete understanding; ‘trying to help’ does not necessarily translate to ‘helping’; meetings by consensus are unwieldy and inconclusive; communication a web of Chinese whispers.
And what of our effect on the migrants? How do they feel about the camp? ‘For now we are safe, while you are here they are not imprisoning us, but we must stay on the camp if we want to be safe; out there is more danger than before; there are more police’. So No Borders presence here in Calais is creating an extra pressure on these men. Right now we offer them the brief respite of a good night’s sleep, friendship, showers and plenty of food and water, but after we leave will there be increased hardship and greater danger for them?
‘When will the border open?’ - the resounding question asked again and again. Hopes lifted if only briefly before they learn that there is no chance….NO CHANCE of the border opening. Not this week, not this month, not even this year. ‘We do not have the power’ I explain. ‘We are here to show you that people care. We want to hear your story and tell the world; tell the people of our country about the atrocities that are occurring each and every day in our own backyard; we want people to find within themselves a compassion for your situation so that when news of migrants is again reported in the papers they will understand that you did not choose this life, you are not here to take from them but merely to save your skin. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I never meant to lift your hopes to the sky then let them crash to the ground. I am not the government; I do not have the power to change the system; showing you that I care and taking your stories home is the most that I can do to change your situation and that of those that follow you.
John’s story - 24th June
When asked to make a statement to the world, the resounding response from our Kurdish and Iranian friends was always the same “we want to be free; we want to be free”.
Describing their situation on the ground today, they said “ we would really like you to be able to see for yourselves the conditions in which we are forced to live: our tents; our lack of washing facilities; the queues for food. Sometimes we cannot even get water to drink. When the police find us with water they empty our containers down the drain, and we have to start again to find some.
“In order to get food from the distribution centre, we have to walk for 40 minutes to get there, and 40 minutes again to get back to The Jungle (our camp). These days we are really scared that the police will catch us. This often happens: they catch us and hold us, often for 24 hours. When we are released they watch us walk down the road, then 10 minutes later, the same policemen catch us again and hold us for another 24 hours. They are trying to make us tired; they are trying to make us despondent so that we give up.
“When they have us in custody, the police don't show us any care. Sometimes they push us about; they don't let us go to the toilet when we need to; they don't give us enough food – even when they detain children they don't give enough food to them.
“When it is raining and the wind blows strong, what should we do? We ask you, “Where can we sleep?”. The ground is soaking wet, there is nowhere warm or dry for us to go. If we get some blankets or covers, the police quickly find them and trash them so that they cannot be used, and again we have nothing. We are scared that they will spray us with tear gas. It hurts our eyes. This often happens, and afterwards we ask ourselves “Why, why does this happen to us?” We are not criminals. We are people just like anyone else. Only we don't have homes. Our country is not safe, we had to flee our homes, and this is what we find.
If you take my fingerprints you can see that I am a clear person, a good person. I have done nothing wrong, I have nothing to be ashamed of. So why not give me a paper so that you don't need to check my fingerprints every 5 minutes. Then you can see that I am clear and I don't need to go again and again to the police station (you know, the walk back to my friends is a long one, and I know the route well). In Italy when they catch you, they do like this: they take your fingerprints, see that you are clear and then give you a document that can last up to 6 months. Then any time you are stopped, you can show it to the police, and they can be reassured that they already know you. The Italian authorities treated us well.
“So then you ask, “Why do you want to go to UK?”. It is because once we are there, if they let us stay, we will have real freedom. This is not the case in many European countries where our movement would still be restricted even if we were granted refugee status. We understand this. Also, they say English people have respect for all of humanity, including foreign people. They will make sure that we have food and shelter. But now we hear that the situation is getting more difficult there, so maybe this is no longer the case.
“So finally to answer the question of what it is that we want from you. We want a FREE COURT. We want you to hear our story, to write about our situation so that people know what is happening here.”
25th June
Why England? You have come so far, yet you will not rest until you reach the UK. Why? What does England hold that the rest of Europe lacks? ‘English people they care; they are good people’ says Ahmed; ‘in England I can get a house, I can get a job, I might meet an English girl’ says Jalal Khan; ‘we will be safe there’ says Karwan; ‘I have an Uncle in Birmingham’; ‘…an Uncle in London’; ‘…a friend in Manchester’; come more replies; ‘in England they have human rights’ says Shafi. This last point hits home with a punch. This is clarification enough. How can a newcomer understand the intricacies of a system so convoluted? How long will he be a victim of the system before he realises the chasm between truth and reality? The UK feigns Human rights, of course. According to the UN convention on Human Rights (adopted by all UN member states in 1948 and founded on freedom, justice and peace in the world) all members of the human family have a right to inhernt dignity and equal rights. This bodes two questions. Firstly, if all other EU member states have also signed up to this agreement, why do the migrants think that the UK practises better Human rights? And moreover, if UK were to respect Human Rights, why do we deport Asylum Seekers to Greece (under the Dublin 2 Agreement, commonly being the first port of entry into Europe) when we know that Asylum Seekers will have NO CHANCE of achieving Refugee status there, and will quickly be deported back to their country of origin regardless of their fear of persecution? I ask the migrants.
To the first question they respond ‘English people are kind’, to the second they have no response. Every single migrant that I have met or heard about here in Calais has been fingerprinted in Greece – at some point whilst crossing the country they have been caught, arrested, jailed and fingerprinted. Aged 35, aged 15…its all the same. Because they are stateless it seems they have no rights, whether children or adults, men or women. Most do not understand the significance of being fingerprinted in Greece. Not surprisingly they are not familiar with the intricacies of European law. ‘Yes, they are nice in Greece’ says Nauwras, ‘they take my fingerprints. The police in Italy also take my fingerprints. The police in France do the same. All police do like this.’ Their hopes for a new life are dashed before they have even reached British shores. However strong their legal case, however great their need, the Dublin 2 Agreement is being used to make Europe a stronghold, impenetrable and without mercy.
I ask again, but this time I ask myself ‘Human rights……do we have a good Human rights record in UK, or is it that we have just become adept at pretending, and it is not the Human rights record that is good but merely the pretence at it?’
Stories flow from the lips of these men as they sit crosslegged under a tree. Eyes down, picking at the long grass, terrible stories of frightening journeys and friends lost. Sometimes a sadness crosses their faces, sometimes a hardness. I am told of a boat filled with asylum seekers, sunk in the ocean; I am told of a 30 hour journey in a refridgerated lorry; I am told of a shoot out at the Turkish Iranian border. I am struck by the reality of these stories. They are the material of films. An action adventure film starring Brad Pitt; a thriller starring Harrisson Ford. No. This is a REAL LIFE story of a man who sits across from me in an unkempt park in the suburbs of Calais. 100 miles from his final destination, his journey is far from complete, but at least he has got this far. His dead friend got no further than the Turkish border, his resting place unknown to this day. The events that led to this may seem unreal to you and me. But I see in Abdul’s eyes and I know it is true; this is his experience. ‘I was in a car. My two friends and I had paid the driver. We were heading towards the border, we could see a checkpoint up ahead. The driver knew we had no papers, and he knew that the only way for us to get to the other side was to drive straight through the checkpoint. As we got close, we slowed as though to stop, then at the last minute he pressed down on the accelerator. I saw the Iranian guard lift his gun and point it at us. I ducked and felt relief as we sped away. I felt a wetness on my leg and the back of my neck. I looked down to see what it was.’ Abdul stops. A minute passes in silence. ‘It was his brains. All over my body, all over the car. Everywhere. My friend had not managed to duck in time and a bullet got him in the side of the head. His brains were everywhere. But we have to keep driving to get away. Eventually we got to a safehouse where we could wash’.
What would it be like to wash your dead friend’s brains from your body? What would it be like to sit in a car with blood and brains spattered everywhere, to have to hold the body still as you drove minute after minute before finding somewhere safe to stop? Silence again. ‘We had to leave his body. We had to leave him. I don’t know what happened to him.’ For the first time Abdul seems on the verge of tears. That he could not give his friend the respect he was due in death was worse to him than his friend’s untimely death, or his own experience of washing his dead friend’s brains from his own body..
Stories like this are not unusual. Approximately 1200 people are stuck in this no man’s land. They are in France, yet they are not French. With a future unknown, they are stuck in a present that holds little hope. Each and every person here has a story. Most as gruelling as the next. ‘We have paid one thousand Euros’ says Rafi ‘I paid one thousand two hundred’ says Jabar ‘ if I knew what it was like, I would not have come. I didn’t know it would be like this. My home is dangerous, but anything is better than this’. I hope for him. I hope so much for him. I hope that he has a strong legal case; that his home is as bad as he has said it is; I hope that it is true what he says, that his mother and father were killed in a bomb attack, that he has no one left in Afghanistan. It is his only chance. He says he’s 14, but looks closer to 18. They all know that if they are less than 18, they have a much better chance at staying in the UK, at least for a while. ‘Boys in Afghanistan’ they say, again and again ‘they grow beards more quickly than boys in Europe’. ‘My journey has been hard’ is another one I hear over and again, or ‘I am living outside, of course I am going to look older than I really am’. They are desperate.
Until recently, 6 weeks was the average time a man or boy would spend living in the Calais Jungle. With only the clothes on his back, and a daily visit to La Belle Etolie or Salaam for a plate of food, he waits.
These days the story is changing. Immigration is tightening. Companies have had enough of the two thousand pound fine per head and are wising up to the tricks of the trade. ‘No one has passed the border for 20 days’ says Nauwros. Living, waiting, hoping…3 months…4 months….6 months, his resilience his greatest strength.
La Belle Etoile – Lunchtime food distribution
Discreetly situated on the corner of a busy Calais street lies a warehouse in the guise of a house: ‘La Belle Etoile’ is an unassuming place. Through high corrugated tin doors I enter a different world.The world of food distribution on a massive scale. Four enormous aluminium pans filled with chicken stew, bubble on cast iron gas rings that sit beside large gas bottles on the unpainted concrete floor. For a moment I am transported to India: the high ceiling, and peeling walls; the simple functionality of the place. Pallets piled high with boxes of bananas and long life milk line the walls, an enormous wolfhound lie sprawled across the floor.
Up a step and through a dark corridor to another room where a long table is piled high with bread. We form a production line: bread, cake, spoon in the bag; bread, cake, spoon in the bag. Black plastic bin liners fill slowly…eight…ten….enough for five hundred hungry men, to get them through another day. We lug the bags to the van waiting outside in the midday heat, bungee down the lids on the giant aluminium pots.
Ten minutes drive through an industrial dockland, streets lined with barbed wire topped fences, and we arrive at a barren wasteground of dust and rubble. Men are gathered already: Afghan, Kurd, Iranian and Eritrean, shoulder to shoulder, jossling for a good position near to the imaginary van. Lines are formed, ten abreast, but within moments they have broken down as hunger prevails. Women and children (no more than fifteen of them in total) are pushed forward to collect their rations first. Tensions rise as the lead position shifts: five from this line, five from that line. Eritreans on the left. A Vietnamese boy doesnt know which line he should join.
Eventually the queue is gone and with it the food. People are sitting about chatting and smoking and the attention slowly turns to the foreigners. ‘Who are you?’; ‘where are you from?’; ‘UK is the best’; ‘when will the border open?’; ‘how old do I look?’.
The questionning, the hunger, the constant police harrassment…..I am beginning to understand. Yet I know this is nothing. I am so hungry by now, but I have money in my pocket, biscuits in my tent, dinner will be at seven. I have been stopped by police three times in twenty four hours but was not arrested, threatened or beaten. I am exhuasted. How could I possibly understand?
Its time to leave. Although this is precisely how I wanted to spend my day, I just want to go. I am too exhausted to offer any help. We climb in the car. The three Afghan men are with us. ‘Please, I get in’ one asks ‘very far to walk back to Jungle’. I shrug ‘no room…sorry’. I am relieved not to be left here; I am relieved at the cool breeze from my open window, such respite after standing an hour under the baking sun. I have safety, I have sustenance. I have respite, I have money. I have papers, I am a human with rights, protected by the law. I have been standing side by side with other humans who do not have these basic necessities; people who do not have saftey, or sustenance. People who do not have respite or money; papers or the protection of any law….and I feel sick to the bones. Who are the savages? The people forced to exist beyond the lines of human existence, or the people forcing their fellow humans into the powerlessness and oppression of this situation?
With perspective - 26th June
Want have we done? What was the inspiration behind it and what have we achieved? No Borders camp in Calais was a move to take action, to show that we care; to raise awareness of the inhumane political system that forces people to live in abject poverty in the industrialised, some may say civilised West.
What has been achieved? Heightened security makes the borders impenetrable. That’s a point to the authorities. Fights between different nationalities: Kurd against Afghan. Thats definitely a point for the authorities – Yes, brilliant. Lets take a race that has been persecuted for generations, that has fought and fought and fought to maintain a piece of territory to call home, and lets borrow their territory for a week. Lets then invite many people of other nationalities to come and enjoy the place, share the makeshift home, share the food and blankets. A fight? A fight? How could it happen? Its not a country they are fighting for. No, they are reduced to fighting for a piece of wasteland, a dirty park on the edge of Calais, banked on one side by motorway, and the other by police patrols, a place known to the world as ‘The Jungle’.
I came, I saw, I made connections, I understood better, I went. Well, good for me. Am I a voyeur? It will help my work having had this experience, I will be better equiped to help the young Asylum Seekers I meet who have passed through here or somewhere similar. I see more that I can do. Im going to get more involved. We may be better equipped now to help the general situation, but we sure as hell made the situation for these particular men and boys, stranded today in Calais a lot lot worse.
So what have we done? We have made a human sacrifice. Conciously or not, we have brought attention upon these men who are stranded. Whilst they are unable to move in any direction, we have brought the world to them and made a sacrifice of them. Will the sacrifice pay off, will the situation improve now? No. Nothing could ever justify a human sacrifice. Nothing.
Names have been changed to protect the innocent!
Stories from people trying to cross the border
Behind all the scare stories and fiction of the tabloid scum press, we are making friends with people here who gradually tell us their stories. Obviously they are scared of what would happen if their stories were made public but have agreed to let us tell people the rough outlines. All names have been changed.
Avdar, (Kurdish) has been separated from his family for X years. He is only 22 years old and his father, brothers and sisters are living in UK. He desperately wants to join them.
Samal, (Iraqi Kurd) was working as a policeman in Iraq. He fled the country at very short notice after his best friend was shot in the street and his brother was shot on his doorstep. Before he left he posted his ID and evidence of his situation to a friend in the UK. He has been in Calais for over three months attempting to cross. He fears for his life if returned.
Nijdar, (Afghani) was working for the occupation forces as a cook in Afghanistan. He fled to the UK but has been in Calais for 6 weeks.
Nasraw (Iraqi Kurd) crossed to UK eight years ago and his asylum application was refused in 2005. He was told that he would be deported at some point or could travel back to his country with the IOM. After several years of living in limbo on his friend's floor he left UK to see if he could find better life somewhere else. He is now stuck trying to get back in to UK where he has friends.
Amin (Iran) showed me how his toe nails were pulled out by police for his political views. He thinks that President Ahmadinejad is a fascist and he was brave enough to say it. He thinks that the UK is a good place where he will be safe. He has been in Calais for two months.
These courageous and warm men are stranded here in limbo like hundreds of others. Our current Immigration policy and the Dublin Convention makes it impossible for them to claim asylum in the UK. As this statement from Donna Covey, Chief Executive of Refugee Council shows, there is no way that they can legally seek asylum;
“The number of applications for asylum in the UK and EU are falling, yet the number of refugees globally has increased. It is imperative that the EU remains a place of safety for people fleeing persecution, and that richer European countries don’t leave the poorest countries of the world to shoulder this responsibility. Yet there is still no legal route to claim asylum in any EU country.
“Only this week, a group of people were found close to death in the back of a chemical tanker they had hidden in to flee their homelands. It is shameful that incredibly vulnerable people, including children and victims of torture, are forced into such desperate measures – but this is what happens when borders are sealed so tight. Borders must have doors for refugees who need our help.”, 13 February 2008, Refugee Council
Providing sanctuary in Britain is more important than ever. If we just take the top few countries of origin of asylum claimants: Zimbabwe, Eritrea, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq – they are all countries where violence and human rights abuses are rife and well-documented. Donna Covey, again from the Refugee Council, “Contrary to what people think, Britain does not receive the most asylum applications in Europe. France and Italy both took higher numbers last year. Offering safety from war and persecution is utterly crucial in these troubled times. We need to make sure we continue to do our bit, for it really is a matter of life and death.” May 2009