What happens to African
migrants once they land in
Italy during the summer?
By Memphis Barker, Independent, 22 August 2014.
August in southern Italy is known darkly as 'boating season' - the peak period for migrants
arriving in Sicily at the end of an often epic journey through Africa. Memphis Barker follows
their trail through southern Europe
Migrants line up after disembarking from a navy ship in the Sicilian harbour of Pozzallo Reuters
We look at them. They look at us. Nobody waves. On the deck of the Tichy, a 150m cargo ship
just pulling into port, stand dozens of migrants. Some of them lean on the railings and peer over
the side. It is a hot July lunchtime in the Sicilian port of Trapani, and below, on the broiling
tarmac, officials wait in uniforms of every colour of the administrative rainbow; nurses in
maroon, coastguards and doctors in white, police in navy, and civil immigration services in grey.
A policeman to my left whispers, "these ones are from Africa, they're dark". The gangplank is
lowered and touches ground.
Tentatively, in groups of five, migrants edge their way down. The moment they come ashore
everything happens fast. One nurse shakes the first man's wrist from his sleeve and attaches a
wristband. Another ties a surgical mask over his face. Next, someone shines a torch into his eyes
and ears, before waving the man behind forward. So the process goes – through a human chain
of first-aid workers – until the Tichy has cleared all of its 184 passengers and can return to
whatever business it had before it ran into a boat of Senegalese young men adrift in the middle of
the Mediterranean.
Nobody is hurt, it seems, or at least they show no more obvious signs of trauma than torn, dirty
clothes and tired expressions. The cost of a 'voyage of hope' can be far higher. Eight other ships
had already landed in Sicily this weekend, bringing with them a total of 5,000 migrants, and yet
another barrage of headlines in the Italian press about an "invasion". At least 30 passengers did
not live to see land. The mayor of another port town, Pozzallo, was expected to take care of the
bodies but said he had nowhere to store them: all the refrigerators in the morgue were full.
Tales like these still shock Italians, but they no longer surprise. The drowning of 360 voyagers,
mainly Eritrean, in October led to the creation of a naval rescue system, Mare Nostrum, that has
escorted around 100,000 sea-borne migrants into Italy so far in 2014 – many more than reached
the country last year, and the highest level on record. Summer is somewhat darkly known as
'boating season'. In July, television cameras showed the bodies of 40 Africans being winched out
of a ship, limp, after the human smugglers in charge of their transit had shot some of them, and
forced others to stay below decks, inhaling the fumes of a lethal gas leak.
The Tichy's passengers – sat on rows of plastic chairs laid out under an awning – do not talk
much. Volunteers pass out boxes of new trainers. A few hands go up and people start to call out
foot-sizes, in French or English, "Forty-two", "Quarante-six", "Sir!". Also given out is lunch in
brown paper bags: biscuits, an apple, orange juice and water. Babacar, speaking in French, says
he's here to study the language and get work. They left from Tripoli in Libya and have been at
sea for four days.
Up until 2011, when Silvio Berlusconi was Prime Minister, migrant-loaded ships leaving from
Libya were, wherever possible, turned back. The government of Matteo Renzi has raised a more
humanitarian flag. In Trapani, police and immigration services wait behind a barrier. First
everyone gets a moment to rest, and their health check. "The most pressing concern," says the
town's chief of police, "is to care for human lives."
What comes next, however, is the problem convulsing Italy, a country already in the grip of a
grinding economic slowdown.
African migrants are inspected by Italian officials as they leave the ship Tichy in the port of
Trapani (Memphis Barker)
Where the men from the Tichy end up – and the ship contained only males – depends on the
progress of their interview with immigration. Life can go one of two ways.
Anybody over the age of 18, without a work-permit, family connection, or history of political
persecution, is dubbed an 'irregular migrant'. They face being held in a detention centre until an
expulsion order comes through. If Babacar told the same story to the interviewer that he related
to me, seemingly so full of relief, that would likely be his fate.
The other path is asylum. 'Refugee' status is granted only to those men and women who can
prove they risked persecution or death in the home they left behind. Most of those who emigrate
from Senegal do so because the economy offers few opportunities to young people; in
Senegalese pop songs, the migrant is celebrated as a modern hero, a risk-taker in search of a
better life. Border agents will deal with more harrowing cases. War and bloodshed have chased
2.8 million Syrians out of their homes; it is a similar story in Afghanistan, Iraq, the Central
African Republic and Libya. Men who do not join the exodus from Eritrea face unlimited
military service.
If immigration officials believe that your asylum claim is genuine, you will be placed in a
SPRAR (Protection System for Asylum Seekers and Refugees), or if there's no space, a more
spartan CARA (Accommodation Centre for Asylum Seekers), where you can stay until your case
goes before the Commission. There, a panel will decide on whether or not to usher you into
Italian life. Legal aid is offered by some NGOs to help you prepare.
Migrants are pictured on an Italian navy ship after being rescued in open international waters in
the Mediterranean Sea between the Italian and the Libyan coasts (Reuters)
Lupo's caseload has mushroomed recently. In the whole of 2013 she dealt with 429 asylumseekers; explaining their rights, going through paperwork even, in preparation for the
Commission hearing, acting out role-plays. So far this year the total already stands close to 400.
In her office, she scrolls in mock horror down a spreadsheet that names every one. The system
has never been under such strain, and every once in a while Lupo pulls up mid-sentence, to pinch
her forehead. "I'm getting a headache."
With refugee status so much more appealing than prison, or life in the shadows, fraud infiltrates
the asylum system with all the corrosiveness of sea-water. Given that an economic migrant may
be just as needy and hungry as the political refugee they imitate, the subject isn't one that aid
organizations like to mention.
Yet in 2013, 30 per cent of asylum requests were rejected, and Lupo, whose job it is to make sure
the system serves the right people, wearily reels off the preferred fictions by nation. "Nigerians
will say they are a Christian who wants to marry a Muslim, or they're homosexual, or they're
fleeing police brutality." The day before we met she was brought in to explain to a group of
Gambians what an asylum request entailed. They said they were here for work. When she
explained they would not get permission, they asked her to invent a story for them. She knows
lawyers who would, for a fee.
Other groups enter Italy with an intricate knowledge of what awaits, in particular, says Lupo, the
Syrians. Though a number of ships with Syrians on board have landed in Catania this year, not
even a handful have made their presence known to the authorities. In theory, EU law requires
asylum-seekers to seek asylum in whichever country they first land. But the Italian asylum
system is slow, overcrowded and hobbled by a diet of country-wide fiscal austerity. Drawn by
the smoother, more generous process in countries like Germany and Sweden, the Syrians –
wealthier and better educated than most refugees – look to remain undetected and move north.
The New York Times reported earlier this year that, when asked to give a fingerprint on the
docks, Syrians clenched their fists. No ID, no trace of their presence. Many officials simply look
the other way and let them pass through, up to Milan and beyond, says Lupo. "I knew a Syrian
boy last year, about 22," she says, "he made me so mad. He said he would rather die in the sea
than live in Italy."
An estimated half a million migrants are waiting on the coasts of Libya for a boat into Europe.
The country has, meanwhile, collapsed into violence, the rule of law close to evaporated.
Kuyateh was held in prison. He doesn't want to talk about it.