The FSU

I'm sitting in a room that takes me back to when I once tried to claim income support.  Long metal seats, all secured to the floor.  Very secure counters where voices are played through speakers as in films featuring American jails.  A large handmade sign on the wall says "Welcome to the FSU".  I warm to that sign. I did a social work placement with a wonderful Quaker charity called the Family Services Unit.  This FSU is the 'Further Submissions Unit', and I am in Liverpool.  The sign speaks to me of humanity of the staff here, and I am pleased to say, I believe we did meet it.

I'm here with my friend Hassan. He is not in a good way.  For some reason, four days previously, he was set upon by a thug  leaving him badly bruised and hobbling.  It is likely that this is because Hassan is a member of our church, and can be seen helping park cars on Sunday mornings.  Despite extensive bruising he appears not to be traumatised.  This may be why the hospital and the police took quite a bit of convincing to see that Hassan was in trouble.  He explained to me in the car on the way up to Liverpool why this incident was just a small blip in his journey towards some sort of safety.

Hassan lived with his parents and older brother; a Dari family, in Kabul, Afghanistan.  His father had a Soviet Degree in accounting.  During the battle to expel the Soviets, the Taliban (with Western arms), killed all collaborators.  Hassan was left an orphan at a young age.  He and his brother were separated.  Their neighbours, also Dari, fostered Hassan, and together they fled to Iran where they found a place to live in Tehran.  There were many Afghani' in Tehran, but they were all labelled aliens.  None were allowed to become Iranian, despite speaking a close dialect of Fasi and were refused access to all services including education.  Hassan was very happy with his foster parents, but their lives were tough.  He learnt to read and write in the local Madrassah.  He tells he his foster parents continue to live a precarious existence in Tehran.

When Hassan was 14 years old, he fell in love with the girl next door.  She was also Afghani.  They used to sneak off together up onto the roof, and spent many idle hours together.  After a little while the girl realised that there was something wrong.  She was 8 months pregnant.  For them both this meant almost certain death.  Hassan's brother had been in touch from the UK, where he had claimed asylum, and was now working.  He paid people traffickers to get Hassan out of Tehran and on the 'silk road' to European.  Hassan described this three month journey as the most harrowing part of his life.  He was taken to the Turkish border and walked into Turkey, evading border guards.  The group were then taken by lorry all the way to  the Bulgarian Border.  This meant hours of travelling in the dark, often without water, not knowing whether the lorry would be stopped at any time.  At the river border, a boat took them across into Bulgaria.  Then they went to Greece, and then by boat to Italy.  Lorries, and a train up to Calais were all provided.  Here the route across the channel to the UK was not strictly controlled at the time, and he got safely into Kent, where his brother lives.  Hassan dreads to think what happened to his friend and their unborn child.

Hassan has been in the UK now for 9 years.  His request for asylum has been rejected a number of times, and for the last 7 months he has been what they call 'an illegal'.  This means constantly worrying that the police might pick him up and take him to a detention centre.

Indeed, on Thursday, Hassan was very keen that I did not drop him off at the door of the FSU before finding a parking space.  Just a 5% risk of being detained is enough to make anyone jittery.

But the airport style security guards were jovial, and friendly.  They were concerned to see Hassan limping, and let me come through to support him, guiding us to the lift.  The interview was also a credit to the Uk government.  As we waited it was interesting to be able to eves drop on the staff behind their bullet proof screens as the speaker system they used was left switched on, and we could hear everything relayed into the waiting room.  "You see Hassan now", I heard on say to the other, "it looks like he is in pain."  They were concerned as he struggled to sit in the interview booth.   Within minutes Hassan was 'legal' again.  He had his 'further submission' accepted, and now has the right to claim support from the State with the rights given to asylum seekers.

This time his calm is based, not on a heart rending story where no official box can be ticked, but on the Human Right Act, and Hassan's right to profess a faith he has freely chosen without fear of persecution. He has a new family in the UK.  The irony we know know is that he is also not safe yet here.  The cruelty of the world knows no bounds.