The UK media needs to stop referring to refugees as "illegal immigrants"

Negative news coverage fuels social tensions and turns refugees into scapegoats.

In a society where inequalities are increasing the struggle over scarce resources, the arrival of new groups of poor economic migrants or destitute refugees can put increased pressure on the poorest communities. One way media coverage could respond to this might be to focus on the struggle faced by new arrivals and pressure policymakers to target appropriate resources to meet their needs and reduce tensions in local areas. But coverage can also exploit the potential tensions created by these movements for a boost in sales. This negative coverage often forces asylum seekers to join a long list of convenient scapegoats including the unemployed, those claiming benefits and those registered as disabled, and can be very damaging indeed.

In the Glasgow University Media Unit we recently conducted a comparative study of how the media covered asylum in the press and television news in 2006 and 2011. We focussed on the week in May 2006 after Charles Clark’s resignation, when John Reid took over as Home Secretary and announced that a backlog of 450,000 asylum cases would be cleared by 2011. In 2006, sympathetic discussion of the problems facing asylum seekers was usually a minor theme in the press, and occurred in only three of the 34 articles discussing asylum seekers.

We compared our 2006 coverage thematically with the month of June 2011, when the announcement was made that this backlog had been cleared. By 2011, numbers of asylum applications had been stable, sustained at a level of 25,932 or below, for 7 years.It was also Refugee Week that month. Yet in the 2011 press coverage, the difficulties faced by asylum seekers were mentioned in twelve articles out of the 69 articles on the subject. In the 2011 sample, five of these references were in The Guardian, and two in The Telegraph. The benefits of immigration in general were mentioned in only three articles discussing asylum, and these appeared in The Daily Mail and in The Times. Asylum seekers’ voices were marginal in comparison to those of politicians. Supportive representations of asylum seekers during both periods were rare and often situated in otherwise hostile coverage.

We found common usage of the term ‘illegal immigrant’ across all national UK TV news reports in the 2006 sample in which asylum seekers were discussed. Only the Scottish regional broadcasts avoided the term altogether. The term ‘illegal immigrant’ (or variations such as ‘illegals’) was also common in the press, appearing 90 times in 34 articles in which asylum seekers were discussed, with the highest usage in The Mail (25) and The Times (18).

In 2011, the term was used less on TV, but still appeared a concerning amount in the press. Across all 69 articles in the 2011 sample the term ‘illegal immigrant’ (or variations such as ‘illegals’) appeared 48 times. 16 of these were found in The Express and 11 in The Sun.

In a typical example in The Telegraph, we are told at the start of the article that: ‘David Cameron is to insist that illegal immigrants are deported to the European country where they first arrived.’ But these ‘illegal immigrants’ are then described as people ‘fleeing the troubles in North Africa and the Middle East’. The story concerns Cameron’s rejection of EU proposals to stop countries deporting asylum seekers to the European country in which they first arrived, which places a disproportionate burden on countries like Greece. A statement that these people are ‘refugees’ is made by Cecilia Malmstrom, the EU immigration chief in the article, which states that she ‘has accused EU governments of allowing xenophobic sentiments in Europe to dictate immigration policy and failing to protect refugees from North Africa.’ But although the article acknowledges that the people in question are fleeing conflict,  the article twice uses the term ‘illegal immigrants’ and also refers to these refugees simply as ‘immigrants’.

Since refugees may flee suddenly and may not have any of their papers, they often cannot enter the country through the usual means. The Refugee Convention, which Britain has signed up to, recognises this and states that countries must not penalise those arriving in ways that would normally be illegal. Yet the assumption was made five times in the 34 articles that people who enter the country without documentation are ‘illegal immigrants’.

The Daily Mail discusses a report ‘Welcome to the Asylum’ from 2001, and writes: ‘I watched one illegal immigrant cut his way through the canvas roof of a lorry. He stood on the tarmac, dazed but happy, and immediately claimed asylum. He did not mind being found; he knew he was in Britain for good.’ This vivid example demonstrates how the method of entry is often used to justify an assumption and belief that the man who is claiming asylum must be an ‘illegal immigrant’, even before his story has been heard. It is possible that he ‘did not mind being found’ because he had reached sanctuary, had done nothing wrong and was claiming asylum is his right.

One journalist we interviewed revealed how the terms are used interchangeably: “Certainly when it comes to the idea of illegal immigrants and asylum seekers, very often they are just interchangeable terms.” This journalist described how terms are used to create scapegoats and demonise asylum seekers and other migrants into a single negative category of people: “There’s nothing better than a Muslim asylum seeker, in particular, that’s a sort of jackpot I suppose. You know, it is very much the cartoon baddy, the caricature, all social ills can be traced back to immigrants and asylum seekers flooding into this country.”

Another journalist commented on how the language of asylum and refugees had changed and then become linked to issues such as the seeking of benefits: “The language itself, the difference between refugee and asylum seeker, you don’t hear the word refugee anymore, its asylum seeker all the time. It’s been re-classed as somebody looking for benefits.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the spending cuts that were being pushed through during the period, in the 2011 press sample we found increases in the representation of asylum seekers as a ‘burden’ on the taxpayer, including 19 incidences of language such as ‘pay-out’, ‘hand-out’, ‘scrounger’, ‘workshy’ and ‘benefit tourist’.

In a climate where government cuts are heightening anxiety over scarce resources, it can’t be stressed enough that irresponsible coverage may be opportunistically exploited by anti-immigration groups. In 2011, we noticed a tendency for the press to portray asylum seekers as a potential threat. Crimes or other harm inflicted by asylum seekers were discussed in 14 articles, building the sense of ‘public threat.’ The theme of ‘threat’ was further developed through the debate over the deportation of criminals or terrorists subjects, mentioned in 16 articles in our 2011 sample.

Hostile coverage has a great impact on asylum seekers in the UK, with a number of refugees telling us it led to verbal abuse. It also legitimises negative public responses, with journalists contributing to a climate of panic and demanding action from policy makers. Now, more than ever, care needs to be taken to ensure that refugees aren’t caught up in a debate over immigration, or presented in ways that can be exploited by populist groups in the wake of the Woolwich attack.

Emma Briant is a lecturer in journalism studies at the University of Sheffield. Read more in Emma Briant's new book Bad News for Refugees co-authored with Greg Philo and Pauline Donald, published by Pluto Press.

Residentsfrom Red Road Flats in Glasgow march in support of asylum seekers. Photo:Getty.
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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad