The road to hell - How Ireland is failing asylum seekers.

You might remember the joyous scenes at Dublin Airport earlier this year when Olukunle Elukanlo arrived back in Ireland. Elukanlo, a Leaving Certificate student, had been taken from school and deported to Nigeria. In the face of a public outcry, he was granted a reprieve by the Minister for Justice, Michael McDowell.
Elukanlo’s story cast light on the plight of young and vulnerable asylum seekers. Predictably, media attention has since waned. As a result, the deportation recently of 50 asylum seekers (including a number of children) to Nigeria received little attention.
Deportations, as those who have witnessed one will tell you, are stressful, intimidating and often horrific. During last month’s deportation, a young woman tried to escape. As a plain-clothed Garda attempted to arrest her, she screamed, broke free and ran up the road. He gave chase, wrestling her to the ground.
Aoife Glavin, a student nurse at Dublin City University, witnessed the event.
“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” she explains. “It was an assault. They were treated like animals. We were screaming at the Garda to get off the woman. He told us to ‘fuck off’. Then the other Gardai who came to the scene said they would arrest us if we tried to interfere – even though she obviously needed an ambulance.”
Glavin is a member of ‘Residents Against Racism’, which campaigns on behalf of asylum seekers. She believes Ireland is deporting people to dangerous countries.
“Take Nigeria,” she says. “The Irish government claims that it’s safe. But the World Health Organisation stated that 50% of all females there have suffered female genital mutilation.”
'Deirdre' is also involved in Residents against Racism. She’s from South Africa and explains: “It’s horrible how people are treated when they are deported. It shouldn’t be allowed as they are just trying to make a normal life here and, anyway, we need these people to work. So it’s not good for this country.”
The Irish asylum process is nothing if not labyrinthine. When an application for refugee status is refused, most asylum seekers re-apply to the Department of Justice for leave to remain on ‘humanitarian grounds’. If the request is turned down (which it usually is), the individual may be issued with a deportation order.
John (not his real name) came to Ireland when he was 16. His appeal for leave to remain was turned down. He reports on a monthly basis to the Garda National Immigration Bureau (GNIB). The possibility of deportation hangs over his head every time he goes to their offices. The stress and anxiety of not knowing what the future holds is a cause of huge anxiety. He has become withdrawn, and often suffers from the physical side-effects of stress.
Antonia and her family arrived from Romania in 1997. They were refused asylum. Nine years on, they are still waiting for a decision from the Department of Justice. Antonia successfully made her way through the Irish education system from Fourth Class up to her Leaving Cert, in which she achieved over 500 points.
Having finished an access programme in Trinity College, she was accepted for drama, law and French courses there. However, Antonia couldn’t register because she doesn’t have a passport. Therefore, she has to pay the non-European fees of €12,000. Clearly, this is beyond her means.
“I‘ve sent letters to the Department of Justice, but they do nothing,” Antonia explains. “I feel empty. I have no identity and feel like I am wasting away. I am 21 and have missed out on so much. I am not allowed to return to see my family in Romania. I feel trapped.”
Many asylum seekers facing deportation have put down roots in this country. They are valued members of their communities. These communities have rallied to their side, proving how successfully they have integrated.
In Clonakilty, Co Cork, for example, a hard-fought campaign has just won a two-week stay on the deportation of a Nigerian woman, Olivia Agbonlahor, a mother of twins.
Barth Harrington, principal of the local school, where Olivia’s son, Great, is in junior infants, supports the campaign to have them stay. The child has special needs, which will not be catered for if he is returned to Nigeria, she says.
“If Great is deported he will be unable to access appropriate help for his special needs, and as a result he and his family will end up on the streets of Lagos, begging to survive. This scenario is unacceptable to us.”
Even practicing doctors face deportation. Dr Anthony Osagie works at St John’s Hospital, Limerick. He was taken from the hospital to Limerick Prison by Gardaí recently. However, he managed to secure an injunction in the High Court preventing his deportation.
Nigerians are more likely to be deported than any other nationality. Last week’s mass deportation was the third to the west African state this year. From March to July, 81 Nigerians, including 15 children, were sent home. This is despite warnings from, among others, Amnesty International of widespread human rights abuses in Nigeria, including people sentenced to death by stoning for sexually-related offences, and sexual violence against women.
Routine instances of female genital mutilation are highlighted in Amnesty’s 2005 report. The organisation also uncovered evidence of the death of hundreds at the hands of security forces in the Niger Delta in 2004. Those who criticise the human rights record of the Lagos regime face intimidation and harassment.
The story is depressingly similar in Somalia, Romania, Sudan and Afghanistan. Tellingly, these are countries which, along with Nigeria, were the point of origin of the majority of the 3,261 who applied for asylum in 2004.
Portia arrived in Ireland as a minor. She was sent back to Lagos earlier this year, a few days before her 20th birthday. On arrival, she was taken into custody, and released on payment of a ‘fine’ (i.e. bribe). She has no family in Nigeria, no shelter, no money and very few belongings.
Irish contacts report that Portia has descended into deep depression, and is under serious pressure to enter into prostitution in order to survive.
The Dun Laoghaire Refugee Project is campaigning for people such as Portia, who arrived as unaccompanied minors but are now over 18 and called “aged out” minors.
The campaign points to the Government’s negotiations with the United States to obtain an amnesty for all Irish citizens currently living illegally in the USA. Why, one must ask, can’t it do the same for this small group of asylum seekers, numbering no more than 500?
Across Europe, meanwhile, the barriers facing asylum seekers are getting higher and more hazardous. Last month, 11 refugees from sub-Saharan Africa were shot while attempting, along with hundreds of others, to enter Europe by climbing the razor-wire fences on the Spanish border with Morocco.
Peer Baneke, general secretary of the European Council of Refugees and Exiles (ECRE), is appalled that Europe now appears to value border controls over human rights and refugee protection.
“We are seeing an attempt to construct new Berlin Walls around Europe that has tragic consequences,” he says. “People fleeing for their lives and liberty will be forced to take ever greater risks. Asylum seekers must be able to reach Europe by means other than jumping razor-wire fences or risking their lives in small boats in the Mediterranean.”
Baneke’s organisation is calling for European countries to lift visa requirements on those coming here from the major refugee-producing countries, and to issue humanitarian visas to asylum seekers from other states where serious human rights violations are taking place.
For the sake of Olukunle Elukanlo (whose case is still outstanding) and others like him, let us hope this happens sooner rather than later. Otherwise, the world’s oppressed face a stressful, fearful and uncertain future.