All I want for Christmas is a passport out of here

Hal Far’s tent city is now home to hundreds of failed refugee applicants, condemned by Dublin II to remain here against their own – and Malta’s – wishes. RAPHAEL VASSALLO on the plight of Europe’s new pariahs

The refugee camp at Hal Far often lives up to its name, with rats scurrying between the tents at night

“Give me a passport and I’ll leave Malta tomorrow,” says Walid, 22 from Sudan. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go to Sweden.”
His compatriot Hasan, 21, nods vigorously, and adds with a toothy grin: “And next year we will come back to Malta as ‘turisti’!”
Both of them laugh hysterically at the joke as they sit on the cement platform which raises their pitched tent a few feet above the ground: a necessary precaution, in a camp which floods heavily each time it rains. But behind the humour there is an audible sense of exasperation. Walid has been in Malta for two years – one of which was spent in detention at the Hal Safi barracks – and has only recently discovered that his application for refugee status has been rejected. Hasan is still awaiting the outcome of his own application, but without very much hope.
Both came to Malta without passports, and now desperately want to leave. But according to the terms of the second Dublin Convention, once they have applied for status in an EU country, their fate is inextricably bound to that original application. Even if Walid’s dream comes true, and he somehow finds a way to reach his promised land, he will not legally be able to remain in Sweden as a refugee. Chances are he will be deported… back to Malta, which will have no option but to readmit him despite the fact that he is plainly an illegal alien.
Most of the residents at Hal Far’s tent city are precisely such prisoners of circumstance: forced them to remain here against their will, as well as the will of the vast majority of Maltese citizens.
A few manage to find occupation – mostly illegally, although there are provisions for limited casual work – and are thereby able to leave the squalor of a makeshift village which all too often lives up to its notorious Maltese name: with rats scurrying in between the tents at night, and sometimes even climbing up the rigging.
For the rest, living conditions are meagre. I am shown the inside of one of the 10 foot square tents, which is shared by 24 people. Apart from an ancient fridge which stands like a monolith in the centre, every square inch is taken up by bunk beds. A few of these have been stripped bare: a sign that their previous occupants one day failed to return to the camp, whereupon their possessions – namely, mattresses, blankets and possibly a pillow – were promptly appropriated by the rest.
Apart from the dirt and the rats – and the communal toilets, now in their second week without a cleaner after the last incumbent (understandably) gave up in despair – the greatest threat to health and dignity remains the cold. For all the recent declarations of intent to improve the living conditions in open centres, there are still no heating facilities or available hot water at the tent city. Some weeks ago the situation was so desperate that a number of residents – including women, some of whom were pregnant – had to force their way into the nearby Peace Lab for shelter.
Still, there is no end in sight for status-less asylum seekers in Malta. Recent statistics show that only three out of 10 irregular immigrants are actually granted either refugee status or temporary humanitarian protection. By law, the remaining seven should be repatriated, but in practice this is invariably a more complex affair than most people think. In many cases, nationality is difficult to ascertain: partly because the immigrants themselves refuse to co-operate; partly also the countries of origin do not want them back, and therefore deliberately put spokes in the wheels of any repatriation attempt.
Another point which is often overlooked is that repatriation, even where possible, remains a very expensive option: so expensive, that Malta’s official position on “responsibility sharing” can also be interpreted as a pretext to minimise costs. At present there is limited co-operation with other countries, notably Germany, for joint repatriation exercises: but the fact that so many remain here is itself testimony to the local authorities’ reluctance to fork out that extra money to fly them home.
So while Walid may have been joking with his demands for a passport, he might also have hit upon something. After all, everyone concerned seems to agree that it would be better for Walid to leave the country. Some form of legal recognition, then, may well prove to be the only feasible way this objective can be achieved.

rvassallo@mediatoday.com.mt

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