Since the first lockdown last March I have been thinking about asylum seekers and refugees; about how they are being affected by Covid-19. Are they being vaccinated in the UK and other host countries? Away from coverage of the pandemic, a consistent them in the UK press has been the arrival of groups of migrants on the shores of Kent having crossed the channel in dinghies or small boats. We have heard about some of the increasingly extreme measures being discussed by the government to tackle this issue. We have seen images of groups shouting abuse and threats at people who have arrived on Britain’s shores seeking safety (another word for “asylum”). When you consider that those fortunate enough to have made the crossing and survived have travelled thousands of miles and endured unimaginable hardship along the way (not even taking into the unbearable conditions from which they were fleeing in the first place), the presence of anti-migrant groups hurling vitriol at them is surely not an image that many UK citizens would wish to associate with their country.
On the flip side of the above coin we see groups such Migrant Help actively welcoming migrants to the Kent shores and these cold and scared people some human warmth. It seems clear from even a cursory interest in world affairs that the question of immigration remains a fault-line of division over which people will define themselves and their values. This of course does not happen in isolation; it is a public debate that is fuelled by rhetoric of “hostile environments” and “making the Channel route impossible” for small boats and dinghies. History has shown us that marginalized groups will be targeted by governments and other groups with an interest in fostering a sense of hatred and division within countries and communities. What could be an easier target of blame for all that is wrong with the UK – the spirt-sapping dithering and imposition of successive lockdowns, the as-yet unseen consequences of Brexit, the 100, 000 people who have lost their lives to Covid-19 – than starving and shivering groups of people forced to leave countries such as Syria, Afghanistan, South Sudan, Myanmar and Somalia who have risked their lives to reach Britain in pursuit only of their basic human rights and freedoms?
My research on this subject has reminded me of the importance of our use of language when framing a particular debate or issue. Several of the sources I have used have highlighted the danger inherent in terms such as ‘illegal immigrant.’ There is in fact nothing ‘illegal’ about seeking asylum in another country. When we use this term, we are immediately imposing a false narrative of right and wrong on an individual’s actions before we know anything about them, where they have come from, or the conditions they have fled. Phrases like this one seep into our collective vocabulary when we see and hear them regularly enough. We need know nothing about the subject and not even have strong opinions about the issue to find our outlook already influenced by commonly repeated terms such as ‘illegal immigrant.’ What happens when you ask someone ‘what is your opinion of illegal immigrants’? You are already prejudicing their response with a falsely imposed narrative of the supposed illegality of a group of people seeking asylum in the country.
Precise and rigorous use of language demands the same from those with whom we are communicating and debating. The more that we prize language, the more we are able to hold those in positions of power accountable for the ways in which they very deliberately employ language to influence the opinions and moods of all of us. When we hear terms such as ‘hostile environment’ and ‘leftie lawyers’ campaigning on behalf of groups of migrants, we have every right to ask why successive governments have chosen to frame the debate around immigration in this way. What purpose does it serve? It certainly seems that immigration is an issue that governments who either cannot or will not address the real problems that exist in British society return to again and again. Perhaps the primitive emotions repeatedly stirred up by immigration have proven to be an effective means of uniting people against a perceived common enemy. Politicians may use intemperate or loaded rhetoric for a particular purpose, but this language then filters into public consciousness and public debate. We need only look at the recent insurrection in the US to see the effects of a weaponised form of language that forms and encourages an assault on the truth itself.
I recently attended a Zoom talk on Refugee Mental Health delivered by Imperial College London. One of the speakers, Lucia Chaplin, spoke of the obstacles that Britain’s asylum system places in the way of people arriving to claim asylum on these shores. She talked about the phenomenon of re-traumatisation that the UK asylum system inflicts upon people who have already suffered more than a lifetime’s worth of trauma. From the initial screening interview, the initial accommodation centres and the substantive interview, the current UK asylum procedure is designed for maximum discomfort. We start from a position of distrust and determine that we will catch you in a lie if we possibly can. Would it not benefit British society and to invert these assumptions and start the process from a position of trust and humanity? Could we not assume that people who have travelled thousands of miles and risked crossing the Channel in a small boat or inflatable most likely had a very valid reason for doing so? The language that we use around this issue masks the stench of something rotten to the core. By tipping the debate in their favour before the debate has even started, politicians and certain branches of the media are able to mask the rank inhumanity of the policies they are advocating with the language of nationalism and of law and order and border security. What this issue boils down to is that governments will bully minorities and marginalized communities with impunity until sufficient numbers of people make their voices heard against it. It is so easy to talk tough against groups of people who lack the economic power to fight back and speak out.
In a recent Guardian article, Jack Shekter wrote that the UK government’s current approach towards migrants crossing the channel in unsafe vessels, ‘will have virtually no impact on the overall numbers of people attempting to reach Britain and claim refugee status; instead, they will merely expose those making the journey to even greater risks.’ Does the current government in fact want to reduce the numbers of people making such perilous journeys? It seems that by repeatedly raising the topic of immigration, couched in the language of invasion, fear, and suspicion, they are able to channel and thereby contain a great deal of anger and feelings of disenfranchisement. This manipulation of the consciousness of a proportion of voters naturally lends itself to bad planning and incompetent delivery. Policies wherein the truth is always unsaid and lurking in the shadows cast by the words you use are necessarily hampered at their inception. What was the thinking behind using the Napier barracks to house traumatised individuals whose knowledge of the military has been as a tool of oppression? Was there any? Again, the nature of British society thrown into focus by how we treat the most vulnerable among us. What does it say about us that we place men who may have experienced torture in their own countries, and other unimaginable trauma on their journey to the UK, in a military facility? This policy displays either a profound lack of thought or a profound lack of humanity. Maybe both.
The use of the Napier barracks as accommodation for asylum seekers has become a barometer of the state of the debate around immigration in the UK. Daniel Trilling of the Guardian described a lot of the government’s rhetoric around Napier as a ‘Performance of nationalism.’ The current Home Secretary’s response to the fire at the barracks was to blame the men who came to Britain in search of safety and had already raised quite reasonable concerns about the conditions at Napier. Priti Patel called the fire an insult to British tax payers and the military. Once again we find the government using simplistic, tabloid-level arguments rather than analysing a situation dispassionately and with just a modicum of humanity. Time after time we hear that those seeking asylum in the UK should be grateful for any form of accommodation that they are lucky enough to be provided with. Is it not a human right to given accommodation that is fit for human occupation while their asylum applications are considered? Why were the concerns that were raised about Covid safety at the barracks ignored? There were reports of residents sleeping outdoors during the Covid outbreak in the middle of a cold winter. Who was looking into this situation? Clearly starting a fire in the barracks cannot be condoned, but the government give the impression that they only really became interested in the situation at Napier when the fire gave them an opportunity to deploy some anti-immigration rhetoric that would go over well with a significant proportion of their supporters. Trilling’s article makes the following observation about the effects of the pandemic on asylum seekers: ‘Emergency responses to the pandemic have been most likely to cause harm when they are applied to groups of people who are already stigmatised or discriminated against.’ The pandemic, and more specifically the responses taken to suppress its deadly effects, has taken a heavy toll on people on the basis of class, gender, economic situation, race, and type of employment. It has shown disparities of opportunity that we can all take steps towards remedying once “normality” has been restored.
Better things for better living, but not through chemistry 