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Stigmatised by a great part of the Maltese, KARL SCHEMBRI meets the immigrants at the Marsa open centre
From their room at the gates of the former secondary school in Marsa, one of the Armed Forces of Malta’s soldiers formerly posted at the Hal-Safi immigrant’s detention centre is playing with the children.
“People are totally different here,” he told Terry Gosden, the manager of the centre run by the Capuchin friars’ Fondazzjoni Suret il-Bniedem and opened eight weeks ago. “It’s so much better than Hal-Far. People are alive.”
“They’re the same immigrants of Hal-Safi,” Gosden told him.
“But it can’t be,” the soldier replied.
“They’ve just been given freedom. Just think about it.”
Indeed, the difference is remarkable. The soldier remarking about the differences was involved in the infamous January beatings. Closed to the media and lambasted by human rights organisations, immigrants in Hal-Safi are kept in crammed conditions and made totally dependent on the institution while in detention.
In Marsa, the 233 immigrants given temporary humanitarian status residing there after months of detention are free. They can seek jobs, 80 per cent of them are employed. They buy their preferred food and cook it in their self-run kitchen. They run a tailor’s shop and have language classes. Soon they will be managing a hairdresser’s shop and an internet café next to the newly opened cafeteria. Soon, they will be organising interfaith services uniting the minority of Christian immigrants (around 20 per cent) with the remaining Muslims. And the new freedom they enjoy makes all the difference. Just the way they dress here shows an astonishing leap in their renewed sense of pride.
“When they first arrived eight weeks ago, they were very scared. My role here is to give them back the self-esteem they once had,” says Mr Gosden, whose foundation provides accommodation for homeless people. “There are many wrong perceptions out there about them. They are highly skilled, middle-class people who in their countries would be the cream of society and who undoubtedly want to return to their homeland as soon as possible.”
The centre is one of the open facilities for around 900 immigrants released after detention, falling under the remit of the Minister for Family and Social Solidarity, Dolores Cristina – a thankless job that finds little popular support among the increasingly racist Maltese population.
Situated in the otherwise rundown area next to the notorious Albert Town, Gosden believes the centre can transform the area into “something positive, a place where peace, tolerance and diversity can blossom”.
Belying the widespread popular perception that these “blacks” are a burden on our society, these immigrants from diverse African and Arab countries are mostly hard-working people who are earning their own living.
In the morning, the centre is mostly empty, with up to 80 per cent of the men employed. By night, the centre is full of buzzing activity.
Just after a few minutes mingling among them, stories start pouring in like rainfall.
Bruhane, an Eritrean who escaped to Sudan and then to Libya while under conscription, speaks of the hundreds of dead bodies he saw in the 12 days it took him to cross the Sahara desert.
“Sometimes we hear of boatloads of immigrants drowning in the Mediterranean, but there are thousands dying in the Libyan desert as they flee from persecution, poverty and civil wars,” he says.
Pointing at a glaring contradiction in the attitudes of many Maltese, Bruhane speaks about the generosity of the people with the victims of the Asian tsunami.
“You see, when the people really know about the situation of other people in need, as happened in Sri Lanka, they donate generously and even rush to their rescue. But they don’t know that in my country they’ve planted landmines instead of orange trees and bananas, with the help of western governments. They don’t know how many families have been slaughtered by the regime. If they knew they wouldn’t wait for us to knock on their doors, they would rush to our countries to help us.”
They are clearly hurt, and at times frightened, by most of the things being written and said about them.
“When I’m walking in Valletta some people call us hanzir or klandestin,” says Idris, a Somali immigrant who worked as an assistant in an operation theatre back in his country before he had to flee. “On the newspapers they say we’re criminals, irregulars, illegals, clandestines, terrorists… how can anyone respect us when you call us all those names? They’re destroying all the image of refugees.
“They think we’ve come here to dominate the island, to take over all your jobs and change Malta into an African country, but we never planned to land here in the first place. We just want to live in peace so that one day we can return to our country and lead normal lives as you do. We cannot right now, but we can contribute to your society while we’re here.”
A young man hides his hurt behind an infectious smile when he tells me what happened on a bus the day before.
“Yesterday I was on this bus when a young lady came to sit next to me. Then an old lady on the seat in front of me whispered something to her. I understood she was asking her why she sat next to me, when she suddenly stood up and went to sit next to her.”
Some tell me their experiences of cruel employers who fail to pay them for whole weeks of construction work after being employed legally through the Employment and Training Corporation (ETC).
Sitting on a low wall with his wife Shubriya, Abdullah Hasan Jimali overlooks his five lovely children. “Malta has been so generous with us,” he says in a peaceful tone. “I’m really thankful. The only problem here is that the island is so small, so maybe some will fear that we will take over the country. They really don’t have to worry about that.”
Abdullah hopes to settle in Switzerland, with his family.
“When I’m settled, I’ll return to Malta, I will definitely return,” he says.
I ask him why he would want to return if he settles abroad.
“As a tourist!” he tells me. “How can I forget Malta and its generosity? I will have to return as a tourist.”
Suddenly it dawns on me: if only we had to look at these people as tourists in need, all the prejudice would disappear.
karl@newsworksltd.com
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