For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Emma, and alongside other things, I’m the Co-Director of Babylon Migrants Project. I’m talking to you today because last week was Refugee Shabbat, a new initiative by HIAS[1]JCORE, The UK Jewish voice on Refugees and Racial Justice. The initiative was designed to engage Jewish communities around the world in the global Jewish movement for refugee solidarity and welcome.
Last Friday night, I was able to join the EHRS young adults Friday Night Dinner, providing some post-dinner light entertainment with an activity in which participants were surprised to discover that Iran hosts roughly ten times the number of refugees that the UK does, and that in 2023, new arrivals from Ukraine totalled more than double the number of asylum seekers from all other countries combined. So now, if you’ll humour me, it’s your turn.
We’re going to play one of the games the EHRS young adults didn’t choose, a game I have somewhat provocatively entitled, cockroaches. The way it works is this: I’m going to read out a comment by a politician or journalist about immigrants to the UK. You are going to guess, by a show of hands, whether the comment is about Jewish refugees and immigrants to the UK in the early 20th century, or about more recent arrivals. Are we ready?
“The dirty, destitute, diseased, verminous and criminal foreigner who dumps himself on our soil…” Hands up for Jewish immigrants? Hands up for recent arrivals? (This one was about Jewish immigrants)
“English families are being turned out by the hundreds to make room for foreigners” (This one was about Jewish immigrants)
“Young foreign men from alien cultures that share none of our values and hold no respect for women.” (This one was about Jewish immigrants)
“Make no mistake, these migrants are like cockroaches.” (This one was about recent arrivals – it was Katie Hopkins, just after 800 refugees had drowned when their boat capsized in the Mediterranean.)
If your family came to the UK around 100 years ago, they almost certainly have faced the kind of prejudice seen in the quotations I have shared with you. And yet, within a few generations, their descendants were British. We owe our lives to this country, yet we know that people like us did not always receive the warmest of welcomes. And it is both of these things – the trials and the successes of our integration – that have led to what can only be described as over-representation of British Jews within the refugee sector.
Alongside HIAS-JCORE, Refugees at Home, Separated Child, Our Second Home, Screenshare – all were founded by British Jews. This was certainly part of my motivation for getting involved. I first joined Our Second Home, a youth movement for young refugees and asylum seekers, in Summer 2018. It has often been described as “Noam for refugees”. I stayed involved in OSH and met Ali, who had a dream of founding his own organisation supporting young refugees and asylum seekers.
A bit of paperwork and some seed funding later, and Babylon Migrants Project was born. The name Babylon means many things to us. In Jewish and also Christian theology, Babylon is synonymous with exile, but it was also a site of renewal and reinvention. It’s the location for the mythic tower of Babel – that explosion of languages and cultures. And, historically speaking, it is often seen as the birthplace of civilisation. And this is what we defiantly hold to – people coming here seeking sanctuary are not uncivilised hordes, or vermin, or cockroaches. They are people with gifts to give, just as our parents, grandparents and great[1]grandparents were before them.
So I want to take a bit of time to tell you about some of the people that I’ve met over the last 7 years in the refugee sector. I have changed the names for their privacy, but everything else is true.d
There’s Omar, Sudanese – tall, shy, softly spoken. He spent his summers volunteering in a hospital, and when I saw him last year, he was in medical training.
Yassin, Syrian. He works as a chef in East London. Every time I see him, he tells me he’s worried about his younger brother, because “these British kids man, they’re teaching him bad manners.”
Behemet, from Eritrea. A bright spark – seriously smart. She’s a poet and spoken word performer who wants to be a doctor. When I saw her a few weeks ago, she was running a session for her peers on routes into education and employment.
Juan, from Colombia. Juan loves all things cultural, and wants to be a photographer. But he also loves music and dancing – if you ask Juan to plan something, it will most likely end up being a fiesta.
Anton, Russian-speaking, half-Ukrainian, half-Russian. Anton is a six-foot tall, heavily tattooed music enthusiast. He took part in our DJing course last year, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy, or be so overwhelmingly grateful.
Amal, from Syria. Amal was an anesthetist back home, but she’s also a talented artist and loves designing clothes. I really think there’s nothing Amal couldn’t do, if she put her mind to it. She spends her free time giving back to her local community by volunteering at a day centre for homeless people.
Aisha, from Tunisia. Aisha is so smart, and had gained so many qualifications so early, that she had difficulty proving that she was in fact only 16 when she came here. She’s still studying for every exam under the sun, and wants to be a lawyer. I have to say, I’d rather she represent me than be on the other side.
Mahmoud, from Burundi. Mahmoud kind of breaks my heart. He’s been waiting for his asylum decision for as long as I’ve known him, which is over two years. I worry it might never happen for him, and I know he’s starting to feel the same. But in the meantime, he’s training to be an actor, and last summer performed in From Here On, Good Chance and Gecko Theatre’s commemoration of the kindertransport. He also produces a section of a podcast entitled “Parish Notices”, where he interviews people about how they make connections in their local area.
I’m not telling you about these people to imply that all refugees are saints. I’m just saying that they are people, with aspirations, passions, and foibles. Our tradition teaches us that one who saves a life saves the whole world, and one who destroys a life destroys the whole world. And every person who has come to these shores or died trying is a whole universe, with hopes and dreams, with people who love them, and people and things they love.
HIAS-JCORE had some specific aims for Refugee Shabbat. They called for more safe routes to claim asylum in the UK, because people will always move if they have to, and people will always exploit those who are desperate. And they called for an end to short term eviction notices, which render people destitute at the very moment they are offered protection by the UK. But I think any policy changes have to be preceded by the humanisation of people seeking sanctuary.
Because no human being is a cockroach. And no human being is illegal. I hope that this has given you things to reflect on this post-Refugee Shabbat Shabbat. And if you want starting points for learning more, or getting involved, I would be more than happy to speak to you in Kiddush or via email. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak with you today, and I hope it’s just the start of a conversation about welcome.
