The dangers of being invisible; silent abuse a year since the 'Jungle' was destroyed.
This morning, I bumped into a friend of my parents. We hadn't seen each other in a long time. During our brief, conversational update, Calais was mentioned, swiftly followed by: “Oh, but that's all over now isn't it? No-one's there any more, they closed it down.”
Silence.
This site has been inactive for too long. This is largely because I've been busy with other, related projects, but, sadly, it also reflects the current situation. It's been a year since the Calais camp, often called the 'Jungle', was demolished by authorities. As this happened we were told that the people living there were to be housed in CAO 'welcome centres'(centres d'accueil et d'orientation), the local authorities declared that their “mission [had] been fulfilled; […] there [were] no more migrants in the camp”, and the media confirmed; there were “no more migrants in Calais”. Public interest dwindled.
The effect was the opposite in September 2015, when the image of 3-year-old Alan Kurdi made newspaper front-pages. Washed-up on a Turkish beach after fleeing Syria, Alan's public death marked the beginning of a surge of volunteers and journalists to Calais. Alan's story is terrible, but it's not unique; his own 5-year-old brother died on the same occasion. In fact, between September 2015 and February 2016 around two children per day lost their lives trying to cross the Mediterranean (UNHCR).
Clearly messages from media and authority figures have a huge impact on public behaviour and beliefs. So did Calais really become 'migrant-free' when the camp was destroyed?
No; not at all.
Hundreds of homeless, exiled people currently live in the Calais area: around 700, including many children, according to Refugee Rights.
Within the last year, since the camp was destroyed: distributions of food were banned by Mayor Natacha Bouchart; this was overturned and denounced as a breach of human rights by Lille court, yet the local authorities and police continued to prevent organisations from providing food in town; the police began severely limiting distribution times in out-of-town areas, despite lacking official supporting documents; they carried out long searches on vehicles taking supplies, and increased arrests and ID checks; authorities blocked the entrance to charity showers, by placing a rubbish skip in front of the Secours Catholique building; police demanded ID and made arrests as people left the building after showering; the mayor overtly refused to obey court orders to provide basic resources such as water points; police continued to position themselves at Calais train station, accosting foreign-looking people as they arrived (or tried to leave); the asylum office was closed-down, hindering local asylum claims and access to information; police, with pepper spray and truncheons in hand, increased arrests, detained, and chased exiled people out of town and public spaces, such as parks; any tents or shelters in woodland beyond the town were torn-down by police; they also stole sleeping bags, ripped blankets, and woke people from sleep with threat of arrest, pepper spray, batons…
Exiled people were further exiled; displaced people were further displaced. Calais town became increasingly inhospitable and dangerous for certain people, who were encouraged to become 'invisible', to keep moving, to hide away from abuse.
As vulnerable individuals and families are obliged to live on the outskirts of town, between woodland and wasteland, avoiding other humans and making themselves 'invisible', they become more vulnerable. As the public are led to believe that 'the migrants have gone', and journalists and 'voluntourists' become disinterested, the scope for unseen abuse grows.
In Calais today stories are rife of police beating exiled people, intimidating them, driving them to rural areas and abandoning them, stealing shoes, stealing sleeping bags, ripping holes in blankets, covering blankets with pepper spray so they cannot be used, spraying pepper spray and tear-gas directly into faces, detaining the same people day after day, waking people in the night and forcing them to move from empty space to empty space, so that they never sleep, are always moving, fleeing abuse, constantly physically and emotionally exhausted. (e.g. here, here, and many, many first-hand and witness accounts.)
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In the UK, this is, to some extent, mirrored.
Theresa May's 'hostile environment' (see here and here), explicitly aims to make life unbearable for certain foreigners.
Banks are being given the power to freeze and close accounts; schools have been encouraged to demand proof of nationality, with non-white children singled-out, and information passed on to government; landlords and landladies must conduct checks on tenants, and can be fined £3,000 if the 'wrong kind' of foreigner rents their property; the NHS must check patients’ eligibility before treatment, and charge some individuals before admitting them; employers are being billed £1,000 a year for hiring migrants; police forces are being given the power to stop and search immigrants for driving licences…
This list isn't exhaustive…
Exiled people are publicly demonised, cast as villainous wrong-doers. They are apparently unworthy of health-care, money, employment or housing; they are publicly dealt with by police, who work with 'criminals' and 'crime', 'suspects', 'offences', 'dangers to society'.
This criminalisation of certain, foreign(-looking) people relies on data-sharing, reporting and 'outing' people: a kind of large-scale plot between so-called 'public services' and members of the community. In every element of life, people are allowed – in fact, encouraged – to single-out and mistreat these individuals. Like in Calais, the most logical defence seems to be to become 'invisible': to avoid people and services, not to see a doctor when your baby is ill, not to educate your child at a school, not to seek legitimate employment, or be registered in any 'official' way.
And through this, according to Theresa May's 'hostile environment' plan, the presence of unwanted foreigners will diminish; there will be no more migrants.
Thus certain individuals and families become invisible, both through what the words of authorities and media lead us to believe, and as the people in question make themselves unseen out of necessity.
In turn people become more vulnerable. They are untreated when ill; unable to access education or information on their rights; in danger of becoming homeless or being mistreated by unscrupulous property-owners; liable to slavery, inhuman and illegal working conditions; open to physical or psychological abuse by police, authority figures and other citizens, without the freedom to seek protection or report their own experiences…
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We've reached a strange and dangerous point.
On one hand, exiled people have become a 'norm', blending in as part of society, an everyday 'thing'. Earlier this year, a mathematics text-book for French teens included an exercise on “migrants fleeing a war, [reaching] an island in the Mediterranean. In the first week, 100 arrive. Each week, the number of arrivals increases by 10%”… Displaced people are so ordinary, their trauma so banal and ongoing, that they are easily dismissed, nothing new; we are willing to forget them, and quick to believe those who tell us that they have 'gone'.
On the other hand, 'migrants' continue to be depicted as a threat: a strange foreign offence, invasive, not 'normal'. They are described as a “flood”, as “illegals”, not “genuine refugees”, as the reason for failing public services, and quickly singled-out as the perpetrators of attacks on the rest of society. When they are recognised, exiled people become inconvenient, threatening 'Others', pests, scape-goats. They are simultaneously neglected, deprived of rights, support and options, and bullied, mistreated, with terrible consequences.
These contradictions are poisonous. In Calais, in the UK, and in wider contexts, exiled people are placed in a position where they are both forgotten and ignored, and abused and victimised. Where victims are less visible, and lack access to defence or support, abuse grows, more easily passing unnoticed.
Despite claims that 'migrants damage our society and deplete our resources', that Britain's official leaders “abhor social division […] and inequality”, exiled people may be among the most deprived and victimised in the UK today.
Despite reports that 'the Jungle is over', that there are 'no more migrants', life in Calais may be tougher for exiled people today than it was a year ago.
It is crucial that we continue to care and to be aware, without becoming bored of what we once campaigned for, that our actions are rooted in compassion, rather than in the imagery and voyeuristic lure of sensationalist media, and that we question and support, without taking for granted the words of authority powers. We need to work with other humans to support their defence from this ongoing and escalating abuse, and to let the abusers know that this cannot continue.
