Safe havens in a hostile world – for 60 years
A 1951 UN convention has saved 50 million from torture, death or war.
By Andrew McCorkell
Sunday, 24 July 2011
JUSTIN SUTCLIFFE
Janos Fisher: A Jewish refugee from Hungary, he came to the UK in 1956
They came from all corners of the world: Hungary, Cyprus, Uganda,
Ghana, Kosovo and Liberia. Britain was their sanctuary, a safe haven
from the violence and persecution that had been visited on them in
their homelands. They are all beneficiaries of a system designed after
the Second World War to prevent the persecution of refugees.
Inspiration for the UN Convention for Refugees, in which British
lawyers played a key role, were fresh memories of the horror suffered
by millions fleeing the violence and destruction of the war years. The
men and women who framed it were determined, when they signed it on 28
July 1951, that such trauma must never be repeated.
As the world prepares to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the
convention on Thursday, pressure is mounting on London to honour the
spirit of the original convention.
Campaigners such as Jemima Khan, activist and associate editor of The
Independent, warned: “The popular political rhetoric of tightening our
borders must never apply to those fleeing violence and persecution.
The facts are that the UK currently takes in about 4 per cent of the
world’s refugees out of 14 million worldwide. However, only 4,175
people were granted official refugee status in the UK last year. The
Refugee Council faces 62 per cent cuts to support services for asylum
seekers.”
Few of the delegates from the 26 countries who gathered in Geneva in
1951 to provide legal protections for millions of people displaced by
the war could have imagined the bewildering array of refugees, asylum
seekers, voluntary economic migrants, undocumented migrants, boat
people, stateless people, internally displaced persons who now rely on
this aspect of the law to provide shelter from detention, deportation,
exploitation or violent explosions of xenophobia.
It was for this reason the 1951 Convention relating to the status of
refugees has become known as the Magna Carta of international refugee
law, and the treaty remains a vital mainstay of the safety and
survival of millions of people across the world. Through it, the UN’s
refugee agency, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) has
helped around 50 million people restart their lives.
Some of the convention’s provisions have become fundamental to
international law, such as the principle of not forcing the return of
refugees to countries where they may face persecution. The UN says
there are now 43 million people who are forcibly displaced through
persecution or conflict, the highest since the mid-1990s.
Several million are displaced through natural disasters and 27 million
by conflict in their own countries. They are the “internally displaced
people”. The world’s major refugee populations include Palestinians
(4.8 million), Afghans (2.9 million), Iraqis (1.8 million), Somalis
(700,000), Congolese (456,000), Burmese (407,000), Colombians
(390,000) and Sudanese (370,000).
Children make up around 41 per cent of the world’s total, with women
making up about half of all refugees. Around two-thirds have been in
exile for more than five years.
A survey of Britons earlier this year revealed that two-thirds are
sympathetic to refugees coming to the UK. The Refugee Council poll
found three-quarters of women and 61 per cent of men were sympathetic
to those fleeing persecution.
But the poll also revealed widespread ignorance about refugees: more
than four in 10 believe 100,000 or more refugees were accepted by the
UK in 2009 when the correct number was 4,175. While many people
surveyed confused workers from Poland and Eastern Europe with
refugees, 82 per cent believed protecting the most vulnerable was a
core British value.
Donna Covey, chief executive of the Refugee Council, said: “It is a
legacy that all British people should be proud of, and should serve to
remind us that Britain still has an important role to play in offering
safety to those forced to flee their homes to escape violence, torture
and war in countries around the world today.”
1950s: Janos Fisher, a Jewish refugee from Hungary, he came to the UK
in 1956. Now 74, he lives in Bushey Heath, Hertfordshire
I escaped Hungary with three schoolmates. We realised it was a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to escape – we couldn’t see the
Communist regime would fall. I was 19 and a half and working in a
rice-shelling mill. It took us two tries to get across the border.
When I got to England, I went to Lancashire as a miner. I was the only
one who spoke a bit of English, so I became the interpreter.
We were there for about six months. I was a big shot because I could
translate everything. It was my job to compose people’s love letters.
I was a refugee, but it didn’t feel like that for long. I consider
myself British now. I got married in ’62. I met my wife here after she
came over in ’57. My parents in Budapest knew an acquaintance of my
future in-laws and told me to meet up with them in London. I realised
pretty quickly this was the woman for me.
After door-to-door selling, I sold handbags and became a wholesaler.
We used to have shops, but they closed 10 years ago. Now I consider
myself a pensioner.
I have two sons. Julian, who’s 43, lives in New York now, sadly, and
my youngest, Daniel, 40, lives in Birmingham. They don’t speak
Hungarian, only English. Hungary was like a prison. It isn’t now, but
I wouldn’t dream of going back.
Freedom – that’s the best thing about Britain. You can – and I did –
go abroad any time. We’re going with friends to Calais. It’s
unbelievable that in an hour or two you can be in a different country.
In Hungary, if you had family in Romania, you couldn’t get permission
to see them. What sort of a place is that?
1960s: Misak Ohanian, an Armenian refugee, 56, from Cyprus, who came
to Britain in 1967 to escape violence between Greek and Turkish
Cypriots. Lives in Ealing
I was 11 when we became refugees in 1963 because of intercommunal
fighting. Our house ended up being in the Turkish part of Nicosia. My
grandfather had already fled the Armenian genocide in 1915 and lost a
large part of his extended family. Rebuilding in Cyprus but then going
through it all again was a real tragedy.
Many Armenians were displaced after the genocide of 1915, all over the
Middle East, only to become refugees again when problems arose in
those countries later. Now there are probably Armenian communities in
100 different countries.
We came to Britain because I had uncles here, on my mother and
father’s side. There’s a long-standing affinity between Cypriots and
Britain – Cyprus was a former colony. The school I attended taught us
English, Armenian and Greek.
I would say my experiences influenced what I do now. We help newly
arrived refugees settle and make sure they’re aware of their rights.
After 25 years, we have helped thousands settle in this country. When
we first arrived, it was easy to know what new refugees’ rights were;
now there’s little support and it’s more complicated.
Britain as a whole is extremely hospitable – there is an intrinsic
goodness that comes out in times of need. A lot of aid was given to
Armenia after the 1988 earthquake, and similarly with famines and
other disasters. Younger generations especially are a lot more
accepting and inclusive.
We still see ignorance about Armenia. People ask us “What is that?
Where is that?” We joke about it. Years ago, people trying to insult
us would call us “Pakis” – but that reflected far worse on them.
Britain has offered us security and the rule of law, which still does
not exist in many places. Refugees have so much to contribute to this
country. For example, Ealing has just got its first Armenian
councillor.
1970s: Vimla Patel, Ugandan Indian refugee who fled Uganda in 1972
under Idi Amin’s regime. Now 59, she lives in Cardiff
I was 20 when I came here. Idi Amin said all Asians had 90 days to
leave. We were shocked. We had no experience of living in the UK at
all. We were a very wealthy family. My father had owned a sugar cane
farm and we had to leave all our possessions to come here.
I was married at 18 and two months pregnant with my first child when
we came. It was October and very cold. We didn’t know where we were
going. When we arrived at the airport we were given warm coats by the
Red Cross. We ended up in a camp in Yeovil, Somerset. We were there
for three weeks, then called into the office and given £2.20. We
didn’t know what benefits were – we felt like beggars.
The Red Cross helped us find a flat to rent in Cardiff: there were 11
of us in two and a half bedrooms. My husband went to the job centre
the next day and got a job cutting onions in a restaurant. He wasn’t
used to making even a cup of tea because we had servants in Uganda.
Soon he started working 80 hours a week in a petrol station and saved
enough to run his own. Now he owns several petrol stations in Cardiff.
I regard myself as Indian, Welsh, Ugandan and British. I’ve lived in
Wales for 40 years now, so I suppose I’d best describe myself as
Indian-Welsh. Britain is the best country for all people. They have
accepted so many refugees and given everyone a home and a chance to
raise their voice. The British people really cared about us; whatever
we lost in Uganda we gained here.
My children feel British. They are well off and have succeeded
academically. My daughter and son-in-law still live with me. Our
children have a good knowledge of Indian culture and religion and,
going to class and work, they get British culture too.
I got an MBE for services to the Hindu and Asian communities. When we
came from Uganda we were all in the same boat and we were all lost,
with no idea where to go. With a little knowledge from speaking
English I began being able to help others.
1980s: Yen Nyeya, came to Britain in 1984 after fleeing political
persecution in his native Ghana. Now 54, he is manager of the GHARWEG
(Ghana Refugee Welfare Group) and a member of the Refugee Council
When I was at university in Ghana, I was very active in left-wing and
democratic organisations that struggled against military
dictatorships. After the uprising on 4 June 1979, power was taken by
the military. We supported the December 1981 coup, but nine months
afterwards there were internal conflicts. I fled to the north,
thinking I could return home after two weeks. Some of my friends were
jailed for three years without trial. So I fled the country.
I ended up moving between Nigeria, Togo, Burkina Faso … it was
unsafe. So I came to the UK in August 1984, through Gatwick airport,
and was detained for four days. I had friends already here, staying in
a damp, cold house. The Refugee Council helped us. We got advice and
better accommodation.
Ghanaian organisations did not want to help us; they were extremely
suspicious, thinking we were revolutionaries. So we formed the Ghana
Refugee Welfare Group, with the Refugee Council’s help, so that we
could support others in the same position.
My son is 24, and has finished degrees in biomedicine and
neurosurgery, and my daughter is about to go to university. They come
back to Ghana with me frequently, but they don’t speak the language –
they have south London accents! But my daughter will celebrate Ghana
Independence Day, and support Ghana at sport. But when Britain is
playing against other countries, I support Britain – except when Ghana
is playing! Britain means a lot to me – in my hour of need, I came
here and was welcomed.
I don’t think that attitudes have changed much over the years. Tabloid
newspapers always blame refugees for problems. I don’t think that many
working-class people are exactly enthralled with refugees. There’s
also a lot more asylum and immigration legislation than there used to
be.
1990s: Querim Nuredini, expelled from Kosovo in 1999, then sent to a
refugee camp near Macedonia. Airlifted to Britain, Querim, 36, lives
in Bristol
I lived in Pristina, in Kosovo, but in March 1999 we were expelled
from the house by uniformed men in balaclavas who broke our door down
and told us to leave, without telling us where or why. The whole town,
thousands of people, crowded on to trains and buses and lorries.
We weren’t allowed in to Macedonia, so we had to stay in
no-man’s-land. Nato troops built camps, which soon became overcrowded.
Food ran out, hygiene was poor, so a humanitarian evacuation was
organsied. By chance, we were flown to Britain.
We had no passports or plans. We got what was called “exceptional
leave to remain” for a year. I remember my two little sisters in
tears, saying “They’re going to keep us here for a year!” My parents
and another brother and sister didn’t come – they didn’t want to
leave. We couldn’t have stayed – conditions were unbearable. We have
had very good experiences, as British people were well informed about
Kosovo and understood why people had come. I have a British partner of
10 years and two daughters, aged six and two. They speak very little
Albanian. I feel just as British as I do Kosovan.
I work with asylum seekers trying to help them to find jobs and
integrate. We also assist with voluntary return, helping refugees
return home.
Attitudes towards refugees have changed dramatically for the worse.
People are not educated about asylum. People think asylum seekers come
to take jobs. They don’t understand that, for someone to leave their
home, things have to be awful. I’d never have left my home if I’d had
the choice.
Almost everyone we work with has experienced racial abuse. Britain
accepted 8,000 evacuees from Kosovo: 80 per cent returned home
voluntarily. Many are lost, unsure if they can stay or not.
2000s: Akoi Bazzie, originally from Liberia. He came to the UK in 2004
after the second civil war as part of a UN rescue mission. Now 35, he
lives in Sheffield
In 1989 when the civil war started, my father was a clan chief leading
a lot of towns and villages. He was very influential and he didn’t
agree with the rebel invasions. He was killed by the rebels who then
came looking for us.
I was 14 when I fled. Me and my mother were in the jungle for two
years. She told me to leave her and I got across the border to Guinea.
The UNHCR were on the border and took me to a refugee camp with 35,000
other refugees. I stayed in the camp for 12 years. I was not that far
from the border and people were disappearing all the time.
I met my wife, Rose, who was also a refugee, in the camp. Because of
my father’s role in the government that was overthrown, we were
accepted on a relocation programme to the UK.
When I arrived it was extremely cold. It was March and raining. I’d
never been on a plane before and I arrived to see big buildings and
fast-moving cars.
I’ve lived in Sheffield for seven years now. When I saw the mountains
and trees in the Peak District, it felt like home.
I’m glad my kids are in school here: I didn’t have the opportunity. I
had to go to college and learn English. Looking at my kids, it’s so
different for them. I’ve got three children now: the first, Michael,
10, was born in the camp. He speaks better English than I do and he’s
my tutor.
Having worked for the UN in the camp, I wanted to work with refugees
in Britain. Now I work with local people helping to raise awareness
about refugee protection. It’s my passion. I wanted to help people
like me who were going through difficulties.
Interviews by Emily Dugan and Tara Mulholland
From: Baghdasarian
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/politics/safe-havens-in-a-hostile-world-ndash-for-60-years-2319537.html