* Any views expressed in this opinion piece are those of the author and not of Thomson Reuters Foundation.
I’m British, but my mother’s side of the family is Russian. They fled to the UK during the violent turbulence of the Russian revolution and never looked back. They found a safe home in the UK, and a new future. I have never needed to justify why I, the grandchild of immigrants, am here. Nor has my mother, or her mother. It’s fortunate that they fled so many years ago – if they tried to flee now, it would be a very different story.
Migration is a touchy subject here in the UK and around the world. We live within invisible, permeable technological borders and concrete real-world ones. Families are able to see the possibilities of another, better life in another place, yet face very little chance of ever making it there in person. If they want to provide a better future for their family, they must justify their worthiness and what they will bring to the negotiating table – money or skills.
I’ve spent the last few months in Central America working with child migrants, many of whom attempted the dangerous (sometimes fatal) journey to the US. Many have no skills to offer, and no money. They and their families are considered to be the new, dangerous breed of ‘economic migrant’ – those who are fleeing crushing poverty and inequality for a new life
In comparison, those fleeing certain war, death or persecution are viewed less harshly by the authorities.
A few questions on a strict questionnaire divide the ‘economic migrants’ from the ‘refugees’. But the reality is not so black and white. One father I met, Bertilio* in El Salvador, to me “Poverty is not the cause of migration. It’s the insecurity”.
His daughter, Stephanie, and nephew, Jose*, fled the violence in their neighbourhood. Stephanie wants to be a doctor, but cannot realise that future as violence prevents her from going to college –– are they unwelcome migrants or refugees seeking safety? Technically they are the former, as generalised horror is not persecution and that is where the line is drawn. So the border is closed to them. There is a route for children to seek refugee status, but Stephanie would almost certainly not qualify.
Central America is now one of the most dangerous places to be a child. Male children are more likely to die through homicide than car accidents, illness or anything else.
Regardless of what is ticked off the checklist by immigration patrol, most of the children attempting the journey are escaping violence and horror in some form. Danger is so engrained within the fabric of their society that they have ceased to hope and dream.
“I can’t think what my hopes are for the future. I just can’t. I just want to help my mother and my younger brothers. Maybe if I made it to the US I could one day come back and move away with my family. Maybe after some time has passed, the gangs will have forgotten me,” says Jose*, who refuses to join a gang in his neighbourhood, and who is therefore considered to be a target and cannot leave his home, cannot go to school.
Around the world, people are concerned that softening migration policies will bring overcrowding and all the associated problems. That may well be true – I don’t know. But I do know that until we tackle the root causes of violence in these communities in Central America – the inequality, the poverty, the lack of opportunity, these people will continue to make these perilous journeys. Robotic questionnaires, tick-boxes and holding pens aren’t the answer.
The international community has a responsibility to address this phenomenon on a human level. We must focus on protecting children and families in their own country, and provide children like Jose* the chance to realise a better future.
*name changed to protect identity
