Freedom cut short

(below is some writing from a detainee, trying to give an account from the inside)

The courtyard has an almost religious significance. Its crude, gravelly surface, upon which football and cricket matches are played, and its stoic tan brick facades, scarce make for an inner sanctum; it is, in its own way, nonetheless, sacrosanct at times. Groups of men, at times cheerful, at times sombre, socialise, play and pace along its nondescript lengths. They smoke, they chat, and they feed the pigeons when the officers are not around to disapprove. The avian company is a bit of comic relief; the birds swoop down to share our rations of bread and biscuits, squabbling amongst themselves not unlike those who toss them their daily crumbs. But, unlike their benefactors, they are free to fly away, free to pursue their lives and loves, and free to perch on the rooftop where they congregate so often, looking down with hungry, accusing eyes. Rats with wings one guy calls them.But it is at other birds that the inmates are more inclined to pay heed, craning their heads skywards to view when they appear. We are a stone's throw from Heathrow, and the jets soar above us like winged leviathans, roaring overhead with a rude disregard for any quiet conversation in the courtyard as they transport their living cargo to parts unknown. British Airways, Continental, Air France, El Al, Uzbek Airlines, the inmates know the exact markings of each as well as Bill Oddie knows his warblers. At times the sight of a particular airline serves to concentrate minds now as much as the sight of the gallows upon those condemned in days goneby. And some of these planes are just such; high tech, high flying birds that are as much the instruments of death as the scaffold. The stairs leading to the plane are not much different than those leading to the scaffold. The victim ascends these, and is not long after back on the ground, from which he ascends no more. Adam Mohamed, before he was led to the stairs of the plane taking him to Darfur, told his captors, who had hoped would be his protectors, that if he were sent back, he would be killed. Many proofs he produced, but these were ignored. His pleas fell on deaf ears. One of those flying machines which ruin so many courtyard conversations swallowed him up and spit him out in Darfur, where he tasted freedom under the bright blue sky of his homeland. No more legal visits, no more refusals, no more nightly lockdowns, he was as free as the pigeons that feast upon our bread. Home, and how sweet it was. Back in the arms of his wife, free to hold in his own arms the children he had not seen for so long. His detention by the British Home Office was a thing of the past. Never again would he have to live behind bars and share his life with strangers. But this utopia was shortlived. He was killed the next day, shot in front of his wife and children.

A similar fate may await my roommate, whose visible evidence of torture was treated with contempt by the interviewer, and whose requests for a Medical Foundation appointment were twice blocked by the Home Office. It is clear that they no more want to hear the evidence than US Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter did when Jan Karski told him about Auschwitz in 1943. And so I fear for the young man, who is on the run from the Ergenekon. Will he too, be aboard one of these planes, escorted by four security guards and a medic who will hand him over to his oppressors in Istanbul?

Sent back to die

On 13 March this year, two men travelled to the Congo. But unlike most of the men on their flight, they were not going voluntarily. They were forced to repatriate despite evidence that torture awaited them. Their pleas fell on the deaf ears of Jacqui Smith and her team at the UK Home Office. The men, Rabin Waba Muambi and Nsimbi Kumbi, reports Diane Taylor in the Guardian on 27 May, were both brutally tortured. Kumbi was jailed in the notorious Kin Maziere facility, where he was beaten, burned and forced to perform sex acts on male guards. Muambi was stripped, beaten and forced to drink his own urine.
But do not expect an apology from Smith. She may well be too busy watching porn movies with her husband or filing for refunds on her selfish expenditures. The taxpayer is forced to pay for her sex movies, her drain plugs, and also for her errors in judgement when the HO deports people to places where they are tortured or killed. The price of porn movies and drain plugs may only come to shillings and pence, but the price of human life and liberty is not so cheap.
But, one might argue, these were just some simple errors. Oh that they were indeed isolated incidents. But they are far from that. Talk to detainees in the system and you will find countless stories about people sent back to die. In Iraq, for instance; or Darfur, where Adam Mohamed tasted briefly of liberty after months in a UK detention centre. He told the HO he would be killed if he was sent back. He was, within 24 hours. The last hours of his life were recorded by Robert Verkaik in his 17 March Independent article, titled "Sent back by Britain. Executed by Darfur."
But Smith and her team had deemed the Sudan to be safe, along with Pakistan, the Congo, Sri Lanka, Sierra Leone and other well known trouble spots that she and her porn loving husband do not choose to visit on their weekends.
We have heard about all this for years, but what are we doing? The purpose of this blog is t0 get an amnesty for asylum seekers in the UK. Recently we cheered on the Ghurkas after Smith's team tried to deny them entry. Good as that victory was, it did not address the more crucial cases of people who are under real threat of death and torture. These cases are more urgent, but sadly, they get neglected. Why?
We will be posting here the stories of those who are at risk of such deportations, and making petitions here for the general public to get involved. If our leaders are not going to dop their jobs, then we must step in and act.