The UK Border Agency: after four years, a car crash in slow motion finally comes to a stop

The agency that's caused so much misery and cruelty is to be restructured, but without proper resources its successor won't be able to avoid the same mistakes.

If you want to understand the misery the UK Border Agency (UKBA) has created in its four troubled years, you don’t want to start with the really juicy stuff - the acts of unwarranted violence against people it’s attempted to boot out of the country, the detention of rape victims, the numerous alleged cases of those deported, only to be tortured. Ignore that for now.

No, the devil’s in the more mundane cases. Like that of Emily Deane, 29, who’s been told she’ll be sent back to her native Philippines before the end of the month, forcing her to decide whether to take her one-year-old daughter, Lucy, with her, or leave her child with her husband.

Deane married Brian, from Preston, in the United Arab Emirates. They returned to the UK in September, and had intended to remain for no more than six months, but Brian lost his sales job with the medical company that employed him in the UAE.

Due to bad legal advice, they’d applied for the wrong type of visa, so began applying for Deane to receive permanent residency to remain in the country. But now they were trapped in the proverbial Kafkaesque bureaucratic nightmare. Sceptical immigration officials began questioning whether the couple really had a baby together. On Monday, they 
were told their application had been rejected.

Brian told the Lancashire Evening Post: “My wife already has a visa to visit the UK which expires soon and I am told the main reason is because we have applied for a permanent visa from within the UK. I can only assume they have thrown all this other nonsense at us about the marriage not being valid and saying we "claim" to have a daughter to back themselves up. If they don’t believe I have a daughter, I’ll take her along to meet them – and take a dirty nappy with me.”

Craig Colville, 31, from Wales, married Crystal, from Vancouver, last year. Crystal applied to change her visa. That the UKBA rejected her was a shock - but more surprising was the reason: “Your spouse (Craig) does not hold settled status, is not a British Citizen and is not a person with refugee leave/humanitarian protection." Craig was born in St Asaph in Wales, works in Mold and has lived in Chester for just under a year.

The letter allowed the couple to appeal, but the Border Agency replied saying the appeal had been quashed because the Colvilles missed the deadline. In this new letter, there was a new deadline as the Agency had failed to take the weekends into account. Craig told the Denbighshire Free Press: "The Border Agency are still holding Crystal's passport, which means she can't return home to see her family. Her brother is quadraplegic and she hasn't seen him in two years."

I could keep going with these ludicrous, cruel little examples of families torn apart by bureaucratic incompetence, but I expect you’re getting the picture.

The UK Border Agency was, of course, a body born of chaos. As the Guardian recently pointed out, “The stunning thing is that some people still stuck in the backlog of 310,000 cases that sealed UKBA's death warrant are actually a direct legacy from that [late 1990s] breakdown in the system.” A botched computerisation saw its backlog of cases soar into the hundreds of thousands, while it struggled to deal with the move from a paper to a computer-based system.

In 2006 the Home Secretary Charles Clarke lost his job because his department had lost track of released foreign national prisoners. Something had to be done, and the result was the creation of the Border and Immigration Agency - and then in 2008, UKBA, following a merger with UK visas and customs staff.

The problem was that all this rejigging never solved the fundamental problems of creaking systems and an insurmountable backlog. The new body, now at arm’s length and less accountable to parliamentary scrutiny, was shambolic and, as Theresa May would this week conclude, “secretive and defensive”.

Nowhere was this clearer than in its use of outsourcing. In the great game of providing jobs for the boys, UKBA was in a league of its own. Like many government entities, it felt the safest option was to give contracts to giant corporations, regardless of expertise or know-how. So this month we learned that G4S, which has no previous experience of providing social housing, is struggling to provide housing for asylum seekers. One of the firm's subcontractors has already resigned because it is not up to the task, while two others have “expressed concerns” about being able to provide the requisite services.

But incompetence is one thing - cruelty quite another. The fact the new body was kept at arm’s length lead Theresa May to conclude it had created a "closed, secretive and defensive" culture. Staff from sub-contractor Reliance were transporting Roseline Akhalu when she ended up pissing all over herself because she wasn't allowed to use a toilet. Staff from Tascor - which superceded Reliance - allegedly beat Marius Betondi and broke his nose during a failed deportation attempt. That was one of thousands of distressing cases, the product of a system in chaos.

The failure to prosecute G4S staff over the death of Jimmy Mubenga has been described as “perverse” by the former Chief Inspector of Prisons. Just as it failed to protect victims of torture, so the system failed to protect victims of slavery. The right-wing Centre for Social Justice (CSJ) found a litany of flaws in UKBA's procedures and concluded that “too often the CSJ has been told that UKBA involvement in the . . .  process acts as a major barrier to victims [of slavery] to make a referral.”

We have been told about the restructuring plans. But restructuring last time round only made the mess worse, because the root causes of the problem weren’t addressed.

As Andy Jennings of the PCS told BBC Breakfast this morning: “This has been a car crash in slow motion, there have been endemic failures for a number of years because there has not been enough staff to do the job. The line given by Theresa May ignores the fundamental issues.”

The work of Mark Sedwell, the permanent secretary at the Home Office, in trying to stop the car crash can only be applauded. But without proper resources, the misery, incompetence and cruelty will only continue.

David Cameron talks to UKBA workers, who are not suspected of any misconduct, at Heathrow Airport. Photograph: Getty Images

Alan White's work has appeared in the Observer, Times, Private Eye, The National and the TLS. As John Heale, he is the author of One Blood: Inside Britain's Gang Culture.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war