Why Refugee and Migrant Justice must not be allowed to fail

Vulnerable people need an advocate in the face of an uncaring system.

When a bank is on the verge of collapse, financiers and politicians are apt to rally round, saying it is "too big to fail". The leading UK charity Refugee and Migrant Justice, which is under threat of closure, may not command such attention, but to the thousands of asylum-seekers it supports each year, it is a lifeline.

This week, leading figures including the Archbishop of Canterbury joined calls to save RMJ, which is the largest charity of its kind in the UK and provides legal advice to roughly 10,000 vulnerable people, including 900 unaccompanied children. It is threatened by changes to the legal aid system which determine that money is now paid upon completion of casework.

As a result, the charity faces a huge cash shortfall. Caroline Slocock, RMJ's chief executive, said:

RMJ is not asking for new money, simply prompt payment of legal aid for the work it has carried out. Until recently we were given regular, ongoing payments for the work we do. As a not-for-profit organisation, we cannot expect to make sufficient profit to finance millions of pounds of working capital.

In its defence, the Minstry of Justice says that RMJ has had three years' notice of the legal aid changes and that it has worked with the charity to help minimise "disruption". But a spokesperson for the charity pointed out that while it needs £1.8m over the next six months to survive, the closure of RMJ would cost the government more than £2m, as the government would need to pay other providers to take on cases.

The issue is about more than money, however. No one knows the value of RMJ's work better than John "Bosco" Nyombi, who fled Uganda in 2001 in fear for his life. Nyombi, 31, is gay and his lifestyle had long made him the target of abuse in his home country, where homosexuality is a crime.

The final straw came when police raided a bar near his home. "My friends were arrested and they were beaten up really severely," he says. "The police mentioned my name. They went to my mum's house and my place of work. That's when I decided to leave."

If Britain fully honoured its commitment to the 1951 UN Refugee Convention, which defines a refugee as someone with "a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion", Nyombi's struggle might have ended there. Instead, he fought a six-year battle with the Home Office to have his asylum claim accepted.

In 2008, he was detained for four months ahead of being deported back to Uganda, during which time he was not allowed to contact his solicitor. But lawyers at RMJ working on his behalf were able to appeal against the decision and he was finally granted leave to stay.

"I wouldn't be here talking now if it wasn't for RMJ," Nyombi says, simply.

The uphill struggle that asylum-seekers face in this country is a particularly poisonous legacy of the last government. Thanks to Labour's attempts to seem "tough" on immigration, refugees who arrive in the UK are confronted by an inhumane system in which adults and children alike are detained for months on end despite having committed no crime. The asylum system is under constant pressure from strict government targets and there have been allegations of institutional racism at the UK's main asylum processing centre in Wales .

The new administration has already taken one positive step on asylum in pledging to end child detention. Its wider attitude to immigration remains unclear, with one half of the coalition having pledged limits and the other having favoured an amnesty for illegal immigrants, prior to the election.

Swift action to help RMJ would indicate how far Cameron's government is going to live up to its claim to progressive politics. Failure to do so will reveal just how little substance lies behind the "big society" window-dressing.

Daniel Trilling is the Editor of New Humanist magazine. He was formerly an Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

Gage Skidmore via Creative Commons
Show Hide image

Donald Trump brings home his dark vision of America at the Republican convention

The Presidential nominee pledged: "Safety must be restored."

Donald Trump brought home the Republican convention Thursday night with a dark vision of contemporary America – a darkness he claimed only his leadership could lift. It was a lengthy, tightly-scripted speech framed around polarities – insiders and outsiders, criminals and victims, the United States and the rest of the world – and infused with righteous anger. And yet against the darkness, he offered not lightness but “greatness” – a bombastic, personalistic vision of how through sheer force of will he could right the American ship before it plunged irretrievably into the depths. “I alone can solve,” he famously tweeted earlier in the campaign. This was the 80-minute version.

Any presidential challenger, of course, has to lay out a set of problems they believe need fixing and a case for why their leadership might make a difference. It was the breathtaking scale and intensity of Trump’s diagnosis, and the lack of optimistic alternative to counterbalance it, that was notable compared to other acceptance speeches. He portrayed the United States as a country riddled with crime and corruption, a “rigged system” in which politicians like Hillary Clinton can evade justice, while police officers trying to protect its citizens become targets; a fearful country, its economy sluggish, its infrastructure crumbling, its security an illusion, and its international stature in freefall

For a candidate who has mocked the soaring rhetoric of President Obama (the “hopey-changey stuff,” as Sarah Palin once called it), it was perhaps not surprising that Trump’s speech would be short on uplift. It was at least more disciplined than his other campaign speeches, if in keeping with their tone and content – the much-maligned teleprompter rolling a script to which he largely stuck. (“He sounds presidential,” a lady behind me remarked, though his press conference Friday morning marked a reversion to free-wheeling form).

It was short on substance too, though acceptance speeches aren’t designed to be policy laundry lists like a State of the Union. Still, there were few specifics, beyond a pledge to revise tax laws which inhibit religious groups from political advocacy, and a newfound concern with student loans. It was daughter Ivanka’s speech that had the greater substantive heft, promising her father would push for new labour laws to help working mothers, and for affordable childcare in the US. Neither are traditional Republican positions, but the crowd seemed on board for anything Trump might offer.

He even had them cheering for LGBTQ rights, after recalling the tragedy in Florida last month, and the need to protect gay Americans from a “hateful foreign ideology” in radical Islam. “It is so nice as a Republican to hear you cheering for what I just said,” he commended the delegates in an unscripted moment. But whether they had really embraced this unexpected message – or if it was the anti-terror chaser that really got them on their feet – remains to be seen. In either case, it was a rare grace note in an otherwise bruising speech.

Presenting himself repeatedly as the candidate of “law and order,” Trump evoked Richard Nixon’s 1968 presidential campaign. At a time when American cities were erupting in race riots and protests over the Vietnam War, Nixon had pitched himself as the face of stability and security. Likewise Trump has reacted to the simmering racial tensions and terrorist attacks this summer with a hard-line stance on “lawlessness.” “Safety must be restored,” Trump said, in one of the eerier lines he delivered. Yet in his convention speech, Nixon had balanced his tough talk with a positive message – speaking of love, courage, and lighting a “lamp of hope” in partnership with the American people. 

Trump channeled another president in his speech, too, when he promised to give voice to “the forgotten men and women of our country” – drawing on the language of Franklin Roosevelt. Roosevelt had promised to aid “the forgotten man at the bottom of the economic pyramid” during the 1932 campaign. But Roosevelt’s solution to the forgotten man’s distress was economic internationalism – tearing down tariff walls and trading freely with the world – which the Republican Party then opposed. Trump’s solution is the protectionist policies Roosevelt had railed against.

Trump’s economic and security philosophy is encapsulated in another, more notorious phrase associated with that era: “America First.” A rallying cry for isolationists seeking to avoid US entanglement in World War II, it acquired an anti-Semitic taint. But Trump has employed it nonetheless, capturing as it does his core argument that America must do more to protect its own citizens against threats from within and without – from illegal immigrants, from radicalized Islamic terrorists, from the downsides of free international trade. Little wonder that former George W.

Bush staffer Nicolle Wallace announced that the Republican party she knew “died in this room tonight.” In embracing elements of isolationism, protectionism, and nativism, however, it is perhaps truer to say that Trump’s Republican party reverted to an earlier form.

Often disconcerting, at times mesmerizing, the question remains how effective this speech will be. The delegates responded enthusiastically to Trump’s fierce rhetoric, but many prominent Republicans had stayed away from the convention altogether. Combined with Senator Ted Cruz’s non-endorsement, Trump goes into the general election campaign without a fully united party behind him. For both partisans and the public, Trump’s speech offered a cast of villains to rally against, but no positive, unifying vision to rally behind – beyond the much-touted yet elusive “greatness,” of course. In a typical election year, that would seem a critical flaw in a campaign – but Trump loves to confound the naysayers. As his convention speech showed, he thinks the formula that got him this far - showcasing his fame and fanning Americans’ fears – can land him in the White House.