Immigration checks are a
shambles 2
A
fake East European accent and bogus name were all
it took for me to get state handouts only FOUR
HOURS after making a bogus asylum claim. A string
of officials were taken in by my pretence to be a
Moldovan refugee. They made no attempt to check
the personal details I had made up for my
application under the name Anatoly Tal. And,
alarmingly, I was not searched thoroughly or made
to undergo medical checks. Yet I was given free
housing, food, travel and an ID card confirming I
was asylum seeker IFB03/052194/X.
My first step after being smuggled into Britain
in a van was to visit the Home Office Asylum
Screening Unit, in Lunar House, Croydon, Surrey.
After passing through airport-style metal
detectors on the third floor, I entered a huge
white-walled room filled with seats facing glass
booths. I was seen by a Home Office interviewer
in minutes and told him in my hammed-up accent,
“I want to claim asylum.” I gave my
false name and said I was a journalist from
Moldova, but had fled in fear after writing
articles criticising the government.
I said I was ethnic Russian whose mother tongue
was Russian. My interviewer asked, “Do you
need an interpreter?” I replied, “No,
no. My English is very good. I have a degree in
English and media.” In fact, I was born in
Hertfordshire and I don’t speak a word of
Russian. My knowledge of Moldova — a former
Soviet nation wedged between the Ukraine and
Romania — was based on five minutes’
study on the internet. The official demanded my
passport or other identification, adding sternly,
“All journalists have press cards, you
should at least have that.”
I said, “Moldova doesn’t issue press
cards. It was too dangerous for me to travel with
documents anyway.” He seemed happy with the
answer and began filling in a form. Asked how I
reached Britain, I said, “I sneaked into
Romania and then hid in a lorry for five days
before reaching Dover. I hitch-hiked to London,
spent the night at Victoria Station and then
jumped the train to Croydon.” I then
invented Russian-sounding names for details, such
as my alleged address in Moldova’s capital
Kishinev, my parents’ names and my
workplace. I even made up phone numbers that
could easily have been proved false.
Asked about my religion, I said Eastern Orthodox
and rambled on about the split with Roman
Catholicism until he said, “OK, OK.” I
was asked if I had health problems and said,
“No. The last time I visited a doctor was
two years ago for influenza.” No other
physical checks were made. After only 25 minutes
I was handed a One-Stop Notice, acknowledging my
asylum application. I was told to take a seat
again and wait to see someone else. Around me in
the room were dozens of asylum seekers from all
over the world, some with young children. I was
called to a room where my fingerprints were taken
by a man in his 20s.
I was also photographed. Later I was called back
and my fingerprints were checked in a machine. I
then waited to see another interviewer, a
smartly-dressed woman in her 30s. As instructed
earlier, I told her that I had nowhere to stay.
That meeting lasted five minutes and I was asked
to sign a form, then handed a document headed:
“Re: Authorisation to access emergency
accommodation”. I was told to take it to the
Migrant Helpline offices nearby and assured that
they would find me a bed for the night. I was
given another form which said: “Asylum
seekers may obtain free medical care from their
local doctor under the National Health
Service.”
It also gave the address of the Refugee Legal
Centre and the Immigration Advisory Service,
where I was told I could receive free and
confidential advice. I was told to report back to
Lunar House for a second screening at 8.30am the
following day. When I arrived at the Migrant
Helpline office in Friends Road, Croydon, I was
seen almost immediately by a man in his early 20s
in jeans and T-shirt. I produced my emergency
accommodation document and was told I would be
staying at Eurotower asylum centre, in Clapham,
South West London. After claiming I was
penniless, I was given four free bus tickets
worth a total of £2.80 for trips to and from
Clapham.
On arriving at the Eurotower I was buzzed through
the locked doors by two attendants. A picture of
the Queen against a Union Flag hung in reception.
I showed the staff my documents and was given a
receipt and the key to room 401. Unfortunately, I
arrived too late for a free supper but was told I
could get breakfast in the morning. I picked up
my bags and took the lift to the fourth floor,
nodding hello to other asylum seekers in the
corridor. My 8ft by 12ft breeze block room
contained two beds a foot apart.
The sheets were dirty but the mattress was
comfortable enough. A Somali man was sharing my
room but was not there when I arrived. The next
day I tucked into a free breakfast of mango
juice, toast and jam, cornflakes and coffee. The
atmosphere was a bit like a community centre on a
housing estate. Later I mingled with other asylum
seekers. Several were single men but there were
also lots of families with young children. There
were lots of Kurds, Somalis, Afghans and Iraqis.
Many seemed to have suffered in their homelands.
Others were happy to admit they had come to
Britain simply to seek a better life, citing the
benefits system. Later that day I travelled back
to Lunar House for another screening. I was asked
no further questions and, after signing a new
form, I was given a Home Office photo ID card. It
said I spoke English and Russian, adding
“employment prohibited”. I was told to
return to Lunar House on May 20 — tomorrow
— when my reasons for claiming asylum would
be discussed. As I left I felt angry — not
at the genuine asylum seekers, but at the
Government for the chaotic system which could
allow almost anyone into the country.
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