NEWS | Wednesday, 24 December 2008

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Heaters for dogs, but not for people at Hal Far detention centre

Raphael Vassallo
Residents at the tent compound inside Hal Far’s closed detention centre have nothing but a blanket apiece to keep them warm, as the weather forecast indicates showers and temperatures of around 15ºC over the Christmas period.
But the same cannot be said for dogs housed in another part of the facility. As I step into the Lyster Barracks reception area for a rare press visit last Friday, the first thing I see is in fact a dog – one of several strays to have been adopted by the soldiers – warming itself in the glow of an electric heater.
Five minutes later, I find myself in a dark, freezing tent together with some 30 immigrants from various parts of Africa. There is no heating of any kind. Nor is there any hot water in the communal bathroom nearby. And while electricity is provided, the set-up is so basic – and the tents themselves so severely waterlogged – that residents live at permanent risk of electrocution.
“Shock,” one Ghanaian man says, pointing at the wiring as it snakes through a puddle on the floor. “Shock all the time...”
This situation is greatly aggravated by the fact that several of the occupants are either barefoot, or wearing only socks.
“What do you do when it rains?” I ask: and as if on cue, the sky outside darkens and rain suddenly lashes the outside of the tent. Within seconds, rainwater seeps in from all angles, and very soon everything inside is sodden wet.
These are the general living conditions at the tent compound at Lyster Barracks: one of several isolated areas to have been converted into a living quarters for a section of the 1,000+ immigrants currently in detention. The entire compound is not much larger than a football pitch, hemmed in on all sides by barbed wire fencing. The only permanent structure on site consists in a large warehouse-like building, which houses the bathrooms, as well as what was evidently intended to be a common room, complete with a functional television in the top corner. But there is only one table and a handful of chairs, and the rest of the space is almost perfectly empty.
As for the toilets, a strong stomach is needed to take two paces beyond the door. The floors are awash with urine, the air is thick with the smell of faeces, and it looks as though the place has not been disinfected in years. None of the basins have any functioning taps. Even the tiles on the floor have been ripped up. Needless to add, there are no facilities for laundry.
Until recently, all this and more was strictly out of bounds for the media. It is easy to see why. Despite various commitments to improve living conditions, speed up the application process and contain an evidently explosive situation, the modus vivendi for the tent occupants appears to have changed very little, if at all, in the last five years.
(MaltaToday was not allowed to bring a photographer inside the compound, a new government policy that pretty much puts paid to pretensions of openness upon the appointment of the new home affairs minister.)
Tensions are understandably high between soldiers, Detention Service employees –mostly retired army or police personnel – and immigrants. Earlier, as I waited for clearance, one AFM officer gave me his own perspective of the situation: “To give you an example: if one immigrant asks you for a pencil to be able to write a letter, don’t be surprised if the same immigrant later stabs you in the eye with it...”
“People say we are races, but it is they (the immigrants) who are racist against us,” another bitterly complained. “They hate us because we are white...”
But they all insist that, except for the occasional outburst of violence, relations between staff and inmates are for the most part friendly.
As for the immigrants, most deny harbouring any ill feeling towards the soldiers tasked with their supervision. “We don’t hate the soldiers,” one of them claims, supported by vigorous nods from the others. “The soldiers bring us food and medicines, they help us. We hate the government. They are hiding us here, so that they can continue to make money off our backs from the European Union...”
This seems to be the mantra of the moment: that the government, while verbally insisting on a burden-sharing agreement on immigration, is actually keen on maintaining the status quo so that EU funds keep rolling in.
Considering that Malta has just benefited from €112 million from the EU “to fight migration” – without any apparent improvement to their own living conditions – it is easy to sympathise with this conspiracy theory.
Another sore point involves the Refugee Commissioner, who apparently has never been seen at the tent compound at all.
“Where is Philip Calleja?” one immigrant demands – mistaking the head of the Church’s emigrants commission for Mario Friggieri, the Commissioner for Refugees – half expecting me to pull the Monsignor out from my pocket on the spot.
Like many others, he is still awaiting his first interview, six months after filing his application for asylum.
By and large, however, their complaints are reserved for the daily living conditions.
“We have nothing to cook with,” one young-looking man complains. “We have to eat what ‘James’ brings us”... referring to the food supplied on a once-daily basis by James Caterers. “This is what we have to eat,” he adds, thrusting a foil tray full of cold spaghetti into my face. “The same, every day!”
There are no facilities for reheating, and no salt or pepper either. Much of this food – which admittedly appears to be unpalatable – ends up being thrown out together with the rotting mattresses... attracting unwelcome visitors in the process.
“At night, this place is full of rats,” they complain; and one resident points to a corner of the tent, where the canvas has evidently been gnawed at. Added to the lack of hygiene in the toilets, and the fact that some of the immigrants (one of whom mistook me for a doctor) already complain of infections and disease, the presence of vermin completes the picture of a virulent epidemic waiting to break out.
On my way out, I pause by the reception area, and sure enough the dog is still sleeping contentedly in front of the heater.
“Your dogs are well-looked after,” I comment to the AFM soldier as he opens the gate to let me out.
“Yes,” he replies with visible pride. “We’re very fond of our dogs...”
Irony is evidently not his strong point.

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