One Needs the Other to Transform
by Katrina Alton, CSJP
The phrase “illegal immigrant” has become common parlance to describe men, women, and children, who because of economic poverty, can’t buy their way out of countries crucified by war and terrorism, or droughts and floods. Over the last 15 years all routes to enter the UK as a “refugee” have been closed, creating an asylum system so complex, so racist, and so arbitrary that even experts in this field struggle to keep abreast of changes. Amidst this cacophony of hate speech and racist policies Pope Francis has constantly spoken of our Christian duty to welcome the stranger, asking “every parish, every religious community, every monastery” to offer hospitality. I’ve met lots of Christians who offer their spare bedroom to destitute asylum seekers, and the number of religious orders doing the same is growing. Religious often speak of the transformative experience of encountering people from other cultures, and the privilege of making real, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Mt25). But what is it like to be destitute and have no choice but to live in a house of hospitality?
I travelled to Birmingham to meet Adam (not his real name), aged 33. For the last three years, Adam has lived in a house of hospitality run by a religious order. At any one time there can be up to six guests, so sometimes the men must share a bedroom. Along with the two priests who also live there, they each help with the household tasks and come together every evening for a meal. Over dinner there is the same banter and teasing that you would find in any family. Later, that night as we sit playing cards, I am struck by how quickly I become part of this intercultural and intergenerational “family”, each of us from a different country, each with a unique story. This is Adam’s story.
Katrina: How did you come to the UK?
Adam: I came with my family from Zimbabwe when I was 16 on a student visa. After college I qualified as a site engineer and had a work visa. I tried to renew my visa but because I was late they refused. The UK Home Office has very strict rules when it comes to visa applications; if you make a mistake you will have to re-apply, if you miss a deadline your application will automatically be revoked. Before and during my time in the UK all my applications were done by my parents; it’s something I had never done and had no clue about. I only realized when it was brought up at work that my visa had expired. When that happens, you have to go back to your country and re-apply, which could take six months. This wasn’t an option for me. I had nowhere to go back to, especially with the country’s economic and political problems.
K: What happened next?
A: I lost my job and my flat. I applied for asylum, as my family all got the right to stay here in the UK; but I was refused. My lawyer told me to put in a second application on political grounds, but that didn’t work either. Now I have to wait under the 20-year amnesty rule.
K: Is there light at the end of the tunnel?
A: There is amnesty for people who have been in the UK more than 20 years. But the way things are going it’s hard to say…people like Trump are making it okay to be hostile towards immigrants. With right-wing governments popping up across Europe, and Brexit, it’s brought on a hostile environment – now there is no shame in being racist. Anyone coming here for asylum now is automatically on bail, which means if they break any rules they are done - an excuse to deport people.
K: How does that leave you feeling?
A: Uncertain. The Solihull immigration reporting centre is just down the road, so you see their vans around here. Every time I see a van, my heart stops. That could be the end for me. Before all this I didn’t have a clue what asylum seeking was about. This whole situation leaves me feeling hopeless sometimes, as an asylum seeker I feel powerless and deflated. Asylum seekers are seen as worse than second class citizens. In most places as soon as people know that you’re an asylum seeker you’re treated with no respect or dignity.
K: How is it living here?
A: There’s some real characters here. If they are happy, you feel it, and if they are sad and blue, it hurts you too, and there is nothing you can do about it. I hate that about this place sometimes. I appreciate this house, and I do my bit in contributing: cooking, gardening and cleaning. I don’t expect handouts, that’s the way I was brought up, so I do what I can to help around the house. I have stayed in a night shelter before, and it’s much better here.
K: It sounds like this has taken its toll on your mental health.
A: It’s very hard. I try to keep myself busy volunteering. I think, when will it end? I want to be free to do what I want when I want. Simple things like going to the cinema, restaurant, or on a holiday. Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed. Being an asylum seeker puts a label on you, like I’m worthless and people are looking down on me. It destroys you; you feel hopeless and worthless. Even looking at the positive side of things, I get my right to remain, where do I start, how do I rebuild my life? In your 20’s is when you start a family, make a home, start a business, but I have missed out on all that while waiting.
K: What would you say to the UK Home Office?
A: Have respect for people. There is no need to put them through this psychological torture – it messes with your health. I didn’t care about politics before. I didn’t know anything. Most people don’t know what’s out there; they can’t imagine what people from Syria or Eritrea are running from. Most people don’t think about what asylum seekers are going through. Most people don’t care. Just give people a chance to build a life.
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After the interview Adam showed me the garden. He has worked hard transforming it into a wonderful vegetable patch, and he talks with enthusiasm about his voluntary work at a refugee project in town. On the train home Adam’s words haunted me, “Most people don’t care”, and I can’t stop thinking about all he has lost, and the ongoing pain of living in this limbo, hoping that the amnesty rules don’t change again before he gets his papers in 2020.
The next day Adam sent me this email and photo:
Hi Katrina,
This is a view of the sunset from my room (photo doesn’t do it justice) Day and Night. Light and Dark. Hope and Hopelessness. One needs the other to transform. Transformation is an endless cycle. It’s like what I was talking about during the interview, sometimes there are good days sometimes there are bad days, but at the end of the day it’s like a journey. This is just a phase in my life; things will change one day.
This article appeared in the Autumn 2018 issue of Living Peace.