Immigration checks are a
shambles
By Oliver Harvey (a
reporter posing as a Moldovan asylum seeker)
British
Customs were exposed as a sad joke when our van
was simply waved through the Channel Tunnel
— with me hiding in the back. A quick check
of my driver’s passport was all that
concerned guards on the main route for illegals
entering Britain from France. Amazingly it had
been harder to get OUT of the UK — when the
van was searched and swabbed for explosives.
Surely it should have been the other way around.
But curled up behind empty crates in the back of
a van, I showed just how easy it is to sneak IN
undetected. Like thousands of illegals every
year, I beat Customs checks at the Tunnel in port
town Calais. Our investigation was a success
despite border patrols being on high alert
following last week’s al-Qa’ida
terrorist outrage in Saudi Arabia. My journey
started when I crossed the Channel in a car on
May 13. The Peugeot Partner van, driven by a
friend, was stopped by British Customs leaving
Folkestone, Kent.
Officers opened the back doors and bonnet and
used swabs to test for explosives. It was then
waved through. We chose the next day, Wednesday
May 14, to return. The streets of Calais are
still a magnet for refugees — despite the
closure of the Sangatte camp. Pretending to be
Anatoly Tal, a journalist from Moldova fleeing
political oppression, I mingled with asylum
seekers mainly from Iraq and Afghanistan. Within
five minutes I was offered a place on a lorry to
Britain for $400 (about £250).
I was told to wait until nightfall when I would
be smuggled on to a lorry in the ferry port.
English-speaking Iraqi Adnan, 22, told me,
“We will do anything to get to Britain. We
are told we will get homes and medical treatment
and there is work.” The student added,
“Saddam has devastated my country. I want to
get a job and start a new life in Britain.”
Another Iraqi said, “I have been in Calais a
month. I want to go to England because the
government will treat us better there.”
Rather than risk suffocation sealed inside a
lorry container, I tested Britain’s border
controls by hiding in the back of the white van.
Belgian police chiefs have told The Sun illegals
are turning to vans as lorry checks are stricter.
Wrapping myself inside a duvet, I hid behind
boxes of duty-free booze and empty plastic crates
with a carpet draped over them. We arrived at the
Tunnel terminal at 5.59pm local time to catch Le
Shuttle back to Folkestone. French Customs
signalled for my pal driving the van to stop. The
officer looked at his passport.
My friend was asked to step out of the vehicle. I
listened as he was questioned while another
Customs officer tapped the outside of the van to
see if panels were packed with contraband. Two
other French officials approached the vehicle. My
friend, who does not want to be named, told them
he had been helping a friend renovate a holiday
home. He said, “I’ve been doing a bit
of building work for a friend and bought some
duty free.” Then, to my horror, he hesitated
when asked where he had visited in France.
The officer said in a French accent, “Surely
you know where you have been, sir. Please open
the back of the van.” I listened as the
border guard rummaged through the driver’s
bag, then checked boxes of duty free. I then
heard the sound of the officer’s foot as he
climbed in to check the crates. With his hands
just inches away from me, he looked through the
crates as I lay still and tried to hush my
breathing. Then, to my relief, I heard the doors
slam. “OK sir, you can go,” the French
official barked as he made a note of the
vehicle’s registration number.
The five-minute ordeal was over. But just 300
yards away across the tarmac was a second horror
— British Customs. To my astonishment we
were waved through after a quick check of the
driver’s passport. At 6.25pm we boarded Le
Shuttle train, which left at 6.36pm. I lay under
the duvet for the 35-minute journey. As the train
rattled through the tunnel I could hear English
voices outside the van as people walked past to
use the toilets. Then at 6.11pm UK time we
arrived in Folkestone. We drove down the ramp
from the train and, with NO further checks, I was
on British soil.
As we sped towards London on the M20, I poked my
head out above the crates as the green fields of
Kent flashed past. I felt the joy that thousands
of asylum seekers feel when they manage to sneak
into the promised land of Britain undetected. The
space behind the crates could have taken at least
one other asylum seeker. I had proved just how
easy it is for illegals to breach our borders. I
could have been a terrorist carrying a chemical
or biological weapon — or suffering from a
deadly disease like TB. But I was an undercover
reporter who had successfully smuggled myself
into Britain.
Now it was time to see if I could claim asylum.
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