domingo, 13 de dezembro de 2015

Sweden faces moral dilemma over migration


Sweden faces moral dilemma over migration

What happens when a country known for its generosity runs out of resources?

By ALEV SCOTT 12/14/15, 5:30 AM CET

MALMÖ — It takes only a few minutes to cross the Baltic Sea from Denmark to Sweden by high-speed train and over the Öresund bridge. At Hyllie station, on the outskirts of the port of Malmö, Swedish police officers in fluorescent jackets board the train, glancing at passports: They’re looking for refugees, particularly for unaccompanied minors. These recently implemented border checks are politically controversial — and a sign the world’s most generous host country is finally starting to feel the strain of its famously welcoming immigration policy.

The Swedish Migration Agency’s “buffer” capacity allows for 1,000 refugees per week, just a tenth of the current rate of entry. In 2015, Sweden has accepted the largest number of refugees per capita among EU states. And since September, the country of 10 million received more than 80,000 refugees. The huge spike in arrivals means the state is reliant on the help of local municipalities, churches and private institutions to house the refugees.

At Malmö station, newly arrived refugee families sit on the ground opposite an oyster bar, surrounded by overstuffed blue Ikea bags. Some are waiting for trains to Stockholm; others have been tipped off about less saturated towns in the north, such as Västerås. Its name sounds like the mythical setting of Game of Thrones in the conversations of the young Afghan men scrutinizing the departures board, and just as unfamiliar.

I’ve heard it’s harder to get asylum here these days. I’m going to try Finland — I like the cold!”

Once the new arrivals are processed at one of the Swedish Migration Agency’s regional centers, they are promptly given accommodation, language lessons and an allowance. An asylum application now takes up to four months to process, as the agency “reallocates resources” to cope with unprecedented numbers.

Although all Syrian refugees arriving in Sweden have so far been granted asylum and the borders are still open, tighter controls have already become a deterrent to prospective migrants. Sweden’s decision to introduce new border controls made international news last month when Åsa Romson, the Green party’s deputy prime minister and environment minister in the coalition government with the Social Democrats, cried as she announced the news at a press conference.

Jean, an Armenian man in his 60s who used to run an underwear factory in Aleppo before it was closed down by “the Allahu Akhbars,” digs into a Burger King meal as he waits to start his journey to the Finnish border, a full 24 hours away.

“I’ve heard it’s harder to get asylum here these days,” he says. “I’m going to try Finland — I like the cold!”

* * *

For many Swedes, the unthinkable has happened: The country has started to say “no” to people asking for their help. Scaling back the country’s famous open-door policy has long been considered politically taboo, a position relegated to the right-wing Sweden Democrats and far-right organizations. Now it looks increasingly likely to become a reality, although the government still insists that recent measures signal inefficient resources rather than a change of heart but rather a reflection of insufficient resources.

“Sweden has long taken an unreasonably large responsibility in comparison with other countries in the EU,” Prime Minister Stefan Löfven said last month. “Now we are in a very tight position. It is time that other countries now take responsibility and therefore the government requests the redistribution of refugees from Sweden.”

In the deafening silence that followed, the Swedish Migration Agency announced it could no longer offer accommodation to all asylum-seekers, and updated its website to warn potential asylum-seekers of a sub-par welcome.

“We’ve seen a slight decrease since border checks were introduced but we can’t say whether this is due to the controls,” said a spokesperson for the Migration Agency. “It could be due to weather conditions. Our reception is not the same kind of quality [it] used to be — it could also be due to that.”



As winter approaches, the agency relies on local organizations and enterprising members of the public to help house refugees. St Johannes Kyrka, an imposing, early 20th-century church in Malmö, opens its doors to refugees at night, determined to show there is still room for them. Refugees of all religions sleep in the pews, on the floor, in the corridors. During the day, while the church is in use, the blankets, duvets and toys donated by the congregation are folded and stowed away as tidily as possible. A conference center on the outskirts of the town, near Hyllie, is even more tightly packed.

Border checks have done little to appease Sweden’s right-wing minority, which opposed the previous open-door policy, sometimes violently.

Following a string of arson attacks on asylum housing, including 10 in the month of October alone, the migration agency no longer makes public the addresses of buildings earmarked for asylum-seekers. These kinds of attacks typically take place in the south, the first point of entry for most refugees who travel by sea from Germany to Denmark — where notoriously few people are granted asylum — before crossing over to Sweden.

According to a recent report released by Swedish anti-racist foundation Expo, neo-Nazi activity has increased in the country. At the same time, pro-immigration Swedes, have pushed back against mainstream anti-immigration rhetoric, as happened last month when protestors gathered outside the conference of the right-wing Sweden Democrats in Lund.

Meanwhile, Malmö’s Jews have suffered a series of anti-Semitic attacks directed at their synagogue and are leaving the town in increasing numbers.
Much of the ethnic tension in Malmö is concentrated in Rosengård, an area largely composed of refugee housing. Many now fear that such a concentrated community will discourage Malmö’s refugees from taking steps to integrate, and effectively cut them off from the rest of the town.

* * *

The spike in refugee arrivals Sweden witnessed in September was unexpected but can be chalked up to a combination of factors, including the smuggling networks taking advantage of the last good weather for sea crossings over the Mediterranean and Aegean seas. Other factors, like the Russian air strikes in Syria, which cynics believe also motivated non-Syrian refugees to “jump on the bandwagon” and bank on open borders in European host countries compounded the trend. Others believe in a less calculated social “moment,” like a surge in stock market trading; a small increase in departures in a particular community escalates as friends and family are inspired to follow the lead of others and quickly spread the word.

The deal struck between EU states and Turkey in Brussels last month, in which Turkey agreed to keep refugees out of the EU in exchange for €3 billion and renewed EU membership discussions, may decrease the number of migrants seeking refuge in Sweden. But as refugees from across the Middle East and northern Africa use ever more inventive routes to enter the EU — including by bicycle via the Arctic Circle into Norway — these political efforts may not make enough of a difference.

The largest group of refugees in the country are ethnically Afghan and come to Sweden from Iran, where many worked as cheap labor. Reports on the migration agency’s website suggest that Iranian authorities recently started conscripting young men into Assad’s army; if they refuse, they are deported back to Afghanistan. Other young men are trying to escape sexual exploitation in Taliban-controlled areas of Afghanistan, or persecution due to their Shiite Hazari background, which is often not tolerated in Sunni-controlled areas.

The unproven and politically controversial theory of non-Syrians taking advantage of the civil war to apply for asylum is problematic for Swedish authorities deciding asylum claims. Arguably, Afghans temporarily in Turkey or Iran are safe there (and therefore do not need asylum in the EU) — but, some say, this could also be said of the Syrians.

The greatest strain on the migration agency’s finances are unaccompanied minors, many of whom are Afghan boys. If they are under the age of 18 when they arrive, the Swedish government undertakes to bring over their families, a practice which has led to a brisk smuggling business, exporting the “seed” child via Turkey to mainland Europe and on to Sweden, in an attempt to relocate the whole family. If the Swedish authorities decide that the child’s family cannot join them, an immigration worker calls the family to deliver the news, in order to ease the psychological pressure on the child.

A line of refugees arriving from Denmark at the Hyllie train station outside Malmö, Sweden, last month
A line of refugees arriving from Denmark at the Hyllie train station outside Malmö, Sweden,
last month
Until recently, Swedish doctors have been reluctant to give medical opinions in cases where authorities suspect the boys of being older than they claim. Now, as authorities try to be more discriminating as they assess individual cases, they may have to rely more heavily on medical testimony.

The issue is the subject of intense discussion in the media; an article in the newspaper Dagens Nyheter discussed the dangers of relying on X-rays of wisdom teeth to determine age. Prime Minister Lüfven stepped up the pressure on Afghanistan to cooperate on the subject of unaccompanied minors when he met the Afghan President Ashraf Ghani in early December. Sweden is beginning to resent its double burden as both an aid donor and a safe haven for tens of thousands of Afghans every year.

To finance the costs of processing and housing asylum-seekers, Sweden has had to delve into its fund for overseas humanitarian aid. So far this year, the country has used a fifth of the money usually earmarked for reducing poverty in developing countries.

* * *

Across the road from Malmö’s migration reception center, children are left to play in the playground while their parents queue inside, a group of Palestinians huddle round a small, smoky fire. Behind them are the signs of an entrenched protest, similar to those outside the Houses of Parliament in London — a tent and several lopsided banners with spray-painted political slogans. These men come from the Gaza Strip and have lived in temporary accommodation in Sweden for nearly seven years. They still haven’t received asylum.

Unlike Syria, Gaza is not considered a war zone by the Swedish government, and asylum is not automatically granted. These men receive $160 a month, which they say they are grateful for, but does not go far in a country with notoriously high living expenses.

“We want to work,” said Mohammad, who has been in Sweden the longest and seemed least bothered by the cold. “We are still young. Why are Syrians getting asylum and work and not us?”

Due to the high number of long-established refugee and immigrant families in Sweden, it is sometimes hard to tell who is a recently arrived refugee and who is a second generation immigrant Swede. Bahram, a 47-year-old Iranian taxi driver, has lived in Sweden since his family fled after the Iranian revolution in 1979, when he was 10 years old. “Swedish people are good people,” he says. “They are cold, I still do not understand them, but they are good people. They are trying to do their best for the Syrians, but in my opinion they have to stop the war first.”

* * *

Now Sweden finds itself caught in a moral dilemma, frustrated at its inability to deal keep up the inclusive policies for which it is known.

The country’s history of humanitarian aid and asylum is unparalleled in Europe. In World War II, it remained neutral and took in almost all of Denmark’s Jewish population when its neighbor came under German occupation. In the ’50s and ’60s the country welcomed political refugees from Hungary and Czechoslovakia, and in the ’70s the country opened its borders to refugees from around the world. Politicians and citizens share a sense of duty on the issue, and public debate is often emotional.

Sweden has been equally insistent on sticking to its principles on foreign policy. Earlier this year, Swedish Foreign Minister Margot Wallström made international headlines when she criticized Saudi Arabia’s human rights record, blocked business visas and canceled arms deals, taking the Western media by surprise.

The Swedes are both overwhelmed and angry: They’ve done their collective best.”

Sweden has been proud to differentiate itself from its less generous neighbors, who now express a certain amount of Schadenfreude at Sweden’s predicament: Denmark’s foreign minister recently remarked that the best help Denmark could offer Sweden was inspiration from its own refugee policy.

The polarized debate between unquestioning acceptance of refugees versus right-wing xenophobia, with very little ground in between, is starting to break down as a result of the unprecedented influx. Some Swedes admit, privately, that a new turn in the conversation was long overdue. Now, in a situation where Sweden does not have the resources to cope, it has little choice but to scale back its level of help.

How this will affect the national psyche remains to be seen; the current border checks and restrictions on housing are — so far — only temporary, but some fear the start of a switch in policy, the dawn of a new, less tolerant era.

The Swedes are both overwhelmed and angry: They’ve done their collective best, which cannot be said of other EU countries. According to a diplomatic source in Stockholm, Sweden feels that — with the exception of Germany — it has been left to shoulder the refugee burden alone.

“Imagine Halloween: Sweden is the only house in the street that has a lighted pumpkin outside — the rest of the street is dark. So all the kids come to that house for trick or treat, and the people in that house don’t want to turn the kids away but they’re running out of chocolates.

“That’s Sweden’s predicament. They’re angry that the other houses in the street are not engaging. But they’re still giving out the chocolates as long as they can.”


Alev Scott is the author of the book “Turkish Awakening” (Faber & Faber, 2014) and a freelance writer based in Istanbul. Follow her on Twitter @AlevScott.

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