The UK government has announced plans to resettle more children seeking asylum from refugee camps around Syria, and others who have fled unaccompanied to Europe if they have family in the UK, amid growing pressure as the refugee crisis deepens across the continent. But in stark contrast to this humanitarian gesture, it is about to make life in this country much harder and potentially more dangerous for thousands of asylum-seeking children in their late teens.
Late changes to the immigration bill, now in the report stage in the House of Lords, propose removing state support for children at 18 years of age if they are denied refugee status or further leave to remain in the UK, or do not have asylum claims pending. Currently they receive support up to the age of 25 if they are in higher education. This will cut them off from the services most likely to keep them safe from being lured into exploitative work, such as prostitution or domestic labour. In the last five years, more than 3,000 former asylum-seeking children have been denied leave to remain in the UK after their 18th birthday.
The number of unaccompanied children seeking asylum in Britain rose by 50% from 1,712 to 2,564 between September 2014 and 2015. But disappearances of asylum-seeking children have also risen sharply to 340 last year fuelling concerns that councils lack the resources to protect vulnerable young people from sex trafficking.
Children become the legal responsibility of the council where they arrive, so port-of-entry areas like Kent, where Dover is located, and Hillingdon, home to Heathrow airport in west London, have seen some of the highest numbers of asylum-seeking minors in the country. Zahra Biniam is one of 98 unaccompanied asylum-seeking children who came into Hillingdon’s care last year. In 2014, it took in 65. The council says it is nearing capacity.
In October 2014, 16-year-old Biniam boarded a Sudan-bound bus in Asmara, the capital city of Eritrea, with her mother, father, four younger siblings, forged travel documents, and a smuggler. Biniam (not her real name) had just been conscripted to the military, and her family wanted a new start in a country where they could find work outside the army and live without fear of religious persecution. But at the border, Biniam says she watched as a troop of police officers stormed the coach, examined travel documents, and took all her family members into custody – except her. Biniam looked straight ahead as the bus closed its front doors and rolled on to Sudan.
Three months of strange smugglers, dark rooms and unnerving plane rides later, she disembarked at Heathrow airport. Her smuggler disappeared into the crowd, and Biniam, alone and confused, asked a purple-uniformed attendant for help. Within a few hours, she had begun an application for asylum.
After being questioned by the UK Border Agency, Biniam was escorted to an emergency bed while Hillingdon council looked for a more permanent solution. “It felt like prison, and I thought about running away,” she says quietly, her small hands folded on her lap. “You don’t know where you are, what to do, and you just begin to think it might be better to run.”
But 10 days later, Biniam was transferred to a children’s home in the borough, where a dozen children with similar stories roamed the halls and support staff began to guide her transition to a life in Britain. A social worker arranged for Biniam to have a health assessment, coached her on education options, and connected her with a solicitor who prepared her for an asylum interview with the Home Office.
Most children who disappear in Britain fall off the state’s radar either immediately on entering the UK or in the months before their 18th birthday, according to interviews with social workers, academics, and legal experts on migrant children. Children who disappear within their first few days of arriving are largely believed to be victims of trafficking. But for the 17-year-olds, another set of circumstances may be responsible. Since 2012, more than 50% of unaccompanied children were granted only limited leave to remain – a status that permits them to live in the UK until just six months after their 17th birthday. And there is no clear formula for who will get protection. Last year, for example, Britain’s acceptance rate for Eritreans plummeted after a discredited report by the Danish immigration service. Kamena Dorling, head of policy and programmes at Coram Children’s Legal Centre, warns that many go missing. “You come in, you get this temporary status, and then at 18, it’s not clear what’s going to happen, so some stay and lots go underground,” she says.
Those known to the authorities without refugee status or further leave to remain are required to check in regularly with immigration control, but they could be detained or deported at any time. Under current legislation, local authorities have a duty to financially and emotionally support them. As a result, many, like Hillingdon, provide the young adults with services like therapy, foster families, and education funding well into their 20s. Biniam’s fate was decided last May. As she walked from her midday accounting class to KFC for lunch, her solicitor called to say she had been granted refugee status. With her social worker, she could then plan for her GCSEs, a university education, funded through the council, and a career in nursing. In her spare time, Biniam, now aged 17, sings in the choir at a Pentecostal church. In Eritrea, even her hushed prayers had attracted police. “When people ask what religion do you practice, I still feel: Am I really going to say it?” she says. “But I’m free,” she grins, shifting her tiny frame on the sunken couch in the peach-painted children’s home where she lived last year.
Once Biniam had refugee status, Hillingdon council’s support staff helped match her with a host family so she could begin the transition from the children’s home to independent living. But some of Biniam’s friends have not been granted refugee status and she worries about their safety. “They have no idea what to do,” says Biniam.
James Brokenshire, the immigration minister, says the amendment in the immigration bill aims to encourage young adults without refugee status to leave Britain, though evidence from a 2005 pilot for families denied refugee status suggests that removing support fails to encourage people to leave voluntarily. Some experts believe the proposal was developed to persuade councils to take in children seeking asylum from places like Kent and Hillingdon, which currently house and support more than their fair share. In Hillingdon, the costs to the council of supporting unaccompanied asylum seeking children has risen 89% in three years, from £838,000 in 2013/14 to a projected £1,581,000 in 2015/16. By removing councils’ duty to look after children who turn 18 without asylum, more councils may be willing to offer short-term help to younger children in the knowledge that the financial burden will be lifted on their 18th birthday, the theory goes.
But social workers, academics, and refugee groups say the proposed changes will deepen the missing youth crisis by cutting off crucial support. “One of our fears is that this is going to make more children go missing,” says Judith Dennis, policy manager at Refugee Council. “If they are not getting support, they are less likely to be in touch with local authorities, more likely to seek out other ways of supporting themselves, and they might end up in illegal work.”
In Hillingdon, 14 asylum-seeking children went missing last year, up from three the previous year. David Simmonds, deputy leader of Hillingdon and chairman of the Local Government Association’s asylum, migration and refugee task group, says: “Each time councils take in a child, they are taking on a significant commitment. The number one thing we need is funding.”
For Biniam, a suite of services from children’s groups to social workers, have helped her cope with isolation from her family, she says. She meets monthly with the children in care council, where children in Hillingdon’s care swap stories and drum up recommendations for improving services. And she says she talks to her social worker “like a mum,” which helps. “When you move in by yourself, it’s easy to feel that there’s no one for you,” she says. The local community of children and carers she has built is her only safety net.
But as numbers rise, the net appears to be fraying. In the course of the interview, Biniam revealed that her host “mother” hasn’t been sleeping in her house for many weeks, leaving Biniam on her own with another young adult lodger. Biniam sees her social worker every six weeks, but she hasn’t been in contact with a personal adviser, a statutory duty of the council. Hillingdon says it is under significant financial pressures in its care for refugee children, and it is actively recruiting foster carers in the borough, for young and older teens alike, to help usher children into adulthood. “All the evidence shows that this is where children flourish, but there aren’t enough foster carers, we need more,” says Vanessa Strang, Hillingdon’s service manager for children’s resources.
Despite lobbying from refugee advocacy groups, the amendments to the immigration bill look likely to pass. “This is a really vulnerable group of children and young people,” says Dorling, who also serves on the Refugee Children’s Consortium, a group of NGOs advocating for the rights of refugee children. “They don’t suddenly stop being vulnerable simply because they turn 18.”
If you are interested in fostering a child in Hillingdon, more details are at hillingdon.gov.uk/fostering
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