Britain's asylum system assumes children are guilty until proven innocent
I tutor a 15-year-old Chadian refugee. His father was killed and the youngster was imprisoned and tortured. His mother had him sprung him from prison. From prison he was sent in the back of a lorry to the coast where he was stowed in the hold of a cargo ship heading for Dover. He arrived at 4am one January morning in 2007, wet and dressed only in a T-shirt.
He had no idea where he was but instead of sympathy and succour he was interrogated and intimidated by angry, white-skinned "green-eyed" people (as he saw them). He had been taught to fear the Italians when he was little, he said, and these people were scaring him, so he assumed they were Italians. Given all that he had been through he couldn't cope and broke down. He suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. Later on he was given an interpreter, but the interpreter only spoke Arabic and not his own language. He speaks Arabic poorly. Through the interpreter the authorities informed him that they had reached the conclusion that he was lying about his situation and that they were going to send him back.
But he is a bright young man and had the presence of mind to insist that they bring someone along who spoke his mother tongue and who knew about the political situation in Chad. When the immigration officials couldn't find anyone he put it to them through the interpreter: "If you have no one who can speak my language, how can you claim that I am lying?" And he showed them the marks of torture on his body. They sent him off to Manor hospital in Oxford to have him tested.
In the meantime, he was rescued from the intimidating process he was subjected to – remember he was only 15 – by a social worker, who came in like gangbusters, as a member of Amnesty International might come into the prison of a Latin American junta, indignantly demanding that they respect his rights as a vulnerable minor. As a child his rights included discretionary leave to remain in the country as until he was 18. But even proving that you are a minor can be a humiliating process in our immigration system. A tall 16-year-old Ghanaian girl with large breasts was told there was no way she was a minor. Furthermore, minors are often expected to negotiate complex legal processes with very little support. The first lawyer he had only gave him one hour of his time.
In the end he won his case because the results came back from Oxford proving he had indeed been tortured. The Home Office official arguing against his application didn't even bother to turn up at the appeal. In the end, the only person who came out of this story well was the social worker.
"There are other people like me out there, my friends," he said, "who are in the same situation as me, but the minute they turn 18 they may be sent home."
In the meantime the Chadian has learned excellent English from a standing start in a year and a half. He is a self-possessed, philosophical and observant young man with an enviable inner stillness. "My dream is to go back to Chad and rescue my mother and brothers and sisters," he says. "But I have no idea if they are alive and I haven't heard from them."
Instead of comforting and sheltering them, our immigration system subjects young asylum seekers to further trials and intimidation. Unlike the rest of the British legal system, it seems to operate in a different world, one where vulnerable young people are assumed to be guilty until they can prove themselves innocent.
He had no idea where he was but instead of sympathy and succour he was interrogated and intimidated by angry, white-skinned "green-eyed" people (as he saw them). He had been taught to fear the Italians when he was little, he said, and these people were scaring him, so he assumed they were Italians. Given all that he had been through he couldn't cope and broke down. He suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. Later on he was given an interpreter, but the interpreter only spoke Arabic and not his own language. He speaks Arabic poorly. Through the interpreter the authorities informed him that they had reached the conclusion that he was lying about his situation and that they were going to send him back.
But he is a bright young man and had the presence of mind to insist that they bring someone along who spoke his mother tongue and who knew about the political situation in Chad. When the immigration officials couldn't find anyone he put it to them through the interpreter: "If you have no one who can speak my language, how can you claim that I am lying?" And he showed them the marks of torture on his body. They sent him off to Manor hospital in Oxford to have him tested.
In the meantime, he was rescued from the intimidating process he was subjected to – remember he was only 15 – by a social worker, who came in like gangbusters, as a member of Amnesty International might come into the prison of a Latin American junta, indignantly demanding that they respect his rights as a vulnerable minor. As a child his rights included discretionary leave to remain in the country as until he was 18. But even proving that you are a minor can be a humiliating process in our immigration system. A tall 16-year-old Ghanaian girl with large breasts was told there was no way she was a minor. Furthermore, minors are often expected to negotiate complex legal processes with very little support. The first lawyer he had only gave him one hour of his time.
In the end he won his case because the results came back from Oxford proving he had indeed been tortured. The Home Office official arguing against his application didn't even bother to turn up at the appeal. In the end, the only person who came out of this story well was the social worker.
"There are other people like me out there, my friends," he said, "who are in the same situation as me, but the minute they turn 18 they may be sent home."
In the meantime the Chadian has learned excellent English from a standing start in a year and a half. He is a self-possessed, philosophical and observant young man with an enviable inner stillness. "My dream is to go back to Chad and rescue my mother and brothers and sisters," he says. "But I have no idea if they are alive and I haven't heard from them."
Instead of comforting and sheltering them, our immigration system subjects young asylum seekers to further trials and intimidation. Unlike the rest of the British legal system, it seems to operate in a different world, one where vulnerable young people are assumed to be guilty until they can prove themselves innocent.
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