who is a "failed asylum seeker?"

A window into the world of asylum has led me to believe that the process itself is a form of torture. When a government can create laws, that its citizens do not protest, it is frightening to observe how many unacceptable things become normal, without most of the population ever being aware. Then the media campaign starts with outrageous tales in an effort to further scapegoat the target group, so making laws that penalise them even more seemingly acceptable.


So in the UK we now have laws which arguably deny people what hithertofore have been inalienable rights. Most recently is the threat to healthcare for "failed asylum seekers". There are exceptions to those who cannot access healthcare - but the exceptions make little sense.


It is interesting to look at the notion of a "failed asylum seeker". The implication is that it is a failure on the part of the individual which thereby seems to discredit their claim to be in need of protection. The logic is that failure to prove is an indication that the seeker of asylum is not truthful.

Yet the legal process which affords the opportunity to explore an asylum application has been nipped and chopped so that it is difficult to see how an applicant to this process can draw breath before the legal process commences. Yet the response could take years.

Last year, when I was speaking with Ali A from Afghanistan, he had been waiting eight years. He had never had a decision from the Home Office, he had only been in Court once - and this was by mistake because the Home Office had confused him with someone else. When he first arrived in the UK his feelings of relief were overshadowed by his fears for what had happened to his family. Seeking asylum was not the joyous, gleeful experience that the media would have us believe on occasions. No it is a process full of heartache, fraught with negative attitudes and distrust, set against a backdrop of memories and fears, anxieties and anguish.

For many years after initial arrival Ali A had the right to work. A University graduate in engineering from his own country, he worked on the factory floor here, learning to speak English alongside his work colleagues, paying tax and national insurance, paying his rent and his bills. New legisation took away his right to work. He was left with isolation, twenty four hour a day television. Without distractions his mind was interrupted by intrusive thoughts, memories and recurring fears arising from his experiences in his country. International telephone cards are expensive and using them can be frustrating. Trying to find missing family by this means at such a distance can be expensive and fruitless. Families separated in the chaotic world of civil violence may spend years trying to find each other.

Ali A had been a large man when he arrived in the UK but his large frame had shrunk to a weight of six stone, his body almost folded in on itself as he began to absorb the negativity of the judgements of the community around him. His hair, once thick, was now almost bald. A young man of twenty five looked fifty or more. He signed to return to Afghanistan. I was concerned for him, as were many others, because his case seemed to have much to verify its truth. He couldnt wait any longer.

"I dont recognise myself any more. Not just in my body, but in my mind. I don't recognise how I think any more. I know that if I stay here like this for any longer, my mind will go. Yes, I think I will not have long to live in my country, but I will have my mind".


Ali A signed for "voluntary return". Other laws in the UK ask us to consider not whether we have consented to an act, but whether we have the capacity to consent to an act. If we deprive people of their right to work, access to education, to healthcare, to housing, to the means to support oneself, to self determination do they still have the capacity to "voluntarily" make decisions which can have an impact on their liklihood of survival?


Ali A returned to Afghanistan. We stayed in contact for about five months - usually he phoned me. Although he had gone to the capital, Kabul , he told me that "the Taliban are everywhere". The last time that we spoke his phone went dead and I havent been able to make contact since.


Only a couple of months after Ali A returned to Afghanistan, the High Court made the decision that Afghans in cases like Ali A's had been deliberately put on hold by the Home Office for reasons set out in the decision (S (Afghan 2007)). If their cases met four criteria it was possible to request indefinate leave to remain. It is likly that Ali A's case fitted this criteria. For Ali it is too late.


N.B. Ali is not his real name but a pseudonym