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“The people are very welcoming”: Asylum seekers find support in an Irish town – photo essay | Ireland

A A wave of brutal anti-migrant protests in Dublin and beyond, including arson attacks on property intended for asylum seekers, and an emerging far right have posed challenges for the Irish government over the past year.

In the seaside resort of Courtown, 100 km (60 miles) south of Dublin, residents have shown that there is another way, one full of humanity and support for people fleeing conflict or persecution.

A hotel here houses about 200 male refugees and asylum seekers, including a doctor, a veterinarian and an engineer who speaks five languages.

This is her story.

It was sheer luck that Baba William got passage on the boat and sheer luck that he survived. His roommate in Libya, also from South Sudan, initially received the call from people smugglers to head to the Libyan coast to help steer the boat across the Mediterranean. “He was sick and said, ‘You’re leaving,'” William says. He didn’t know how to steer the boat, but knew how to use GPS because he had worked with his father, a fisherman, for years.

“We got changed at four in the morning and then I started praying and praying. “There were 85 people on the boat,” he says. It was his first attempt to reach Europe. “I had a man by my side, also from South Sudan, who had tried nine times.”

He continues: “We were at sea for three days. We tried to approach Lampedusa and then the engine stopped. We had no fuel. Fishing boats came near us, but they said they couldn’t help us. They asked us what we needed and threw us bread and water. We had a telephone and were constantly calling the emergency number for Italy.”

They were eventually rescued by Doctors Without Borders (MSF) and landed in the Italian port of Bari. After saying goodbye to the dangers of life among militias in South Sudan and then Libya, he couldn’t believe how tough it was in Italy, where 105,000 people were taken in on people smugglers’ boats this year.

He made a living illegally picking olives in the middle of the night, earning 40 euros (£33) for an eight-hour shift, until he was selected for an official Irish refugee resettlement program and was one of 21 people flown out before two years to Dublin.

Khartoum-born William, 29, remembers the ever-dangerous life at home when the civil war broke out. “It wasn’t safe,” he says. “Even now people are scared. You don’t know what will happen to you at night or on the street. You go to work and maybe don’t come back. People just disappear. And you can’t figure out who’s kidnapping people, who’s killing people.”

Baré, a doctor from Somalia who received his refugee papers a year ago, speaks of his relief at being in Ireland, even though he is not legally allowed to practice medicine. “There is no militia in Ireland. It is very safe here. Here you can express yourself freely,” he says, underlining freedoms that people in democracies often take for granted.

As he explains how he came to be thousands of miles from home, he lifted his peaked cap to reveal a horseshoe-shaped scar on his skull from a rifle butt. He also has a large scar from a gunshot wound sustained in a militia ambush near Mogadishu in which his friend was shot.

“I was working with medics and they captured us, me and a logistician who was driving,” he says. “They said they had to take the car, they shot him, hit me in the head and shot me. You can see the shape of the gun. I was in a coma for four days and was taken to prison, but someone helped me out.”

He went to a refugee camp in Ethiopia, later got a visa for the UK and stayed in London for about two years, but found it was “not good” for him. A fellow Somalian he had met suggested he could get to Ireland via Belfast.

“I like Courtown,” he says. “The people are very hospitable and helpful to refugees. When my family comes here, I will be so happy.”

Mohamed, an Algerian vet, also arrived in Courtown via London and Belfast. He says: “When I was in Algeria, I didn’t know what asylum was. I knew nothing about Ireland or where it was. I just wanted to leave Algeria. I did my military service and started working at the same time, but also started looking for a visa. I tried France, Germany, Italy, Canada and the US for over 10 years and finally got a UK visa. I didn’t tell my mother or father, only my brother, that I was leaving.”

After eleven days in a hostel in London, he was told by someone he had met while looking for a place to live that he should instead seek asylum in Ireland and could travel via Belfast without papers. “I met someone who had been undocumented in London for 10 years, another 12 years, so I started thinking about Ireland,” he says.

Like Baré, he was unable to practice his profession due to differing qualification standards, but he quickly became involved in local life, working in a charity shop to keep himself busy six days a week. He now works as a barista near Gorey.

“Things were bad in Algeria,” he says. “I wasn’t feeling well and I just had to leave. I didn’t mind where. I was happy when I came to England because it is famous. One of my friends says that if England doesn’t do well, there is a chance to go to Ireland. I had never heard this information before.”

A lively, cheerful character, Mohamed says he may be sad inside about the traumas at home, but on the outside he is “always happy.” He is currently awaiting his second interview related to his asylum application and says he is an optimist. He is fluent in Arabic and French and is improving his English. He wants to take exams so he can work as a veterinarian again and build a future for himself.

Also at the hotel is Theron, a young South African journalism graduate who came to Ireland to escape persecution, including after attending a Pride march in the township of Alexandra with a friend. He says he has received death threats and been mugged several times. He said he felt unsafe in a country that is known to have an inadequate police force and whose murder rates have reached their highest level in 20 years.

Theron’s mother now lives in the UK with a sibling, but he was not eligible to join her as he was no longer a minor. Not knowing what else to do, he sought refuge in Ireland in the hope of being near his family.

Courtown is “very peaceful,” he says. “People care about each other. There are always activities and people ask us for help and they offer us some interesting things to do.”

He adds: “I never felt threatened or hated. I wasn’t insulted,” although he says some of his friends closer to Dublin had to “cancel some of their plans” around the time of the anti-immigration riots in November last year.

Why has Courtown been so successful in integrating asylum seekers and how has it escaped the kind of anger and abuse captured in the recent RTÉ documentary Inside the Protests? People in the town say this is largely due to integrated support from residents, gardai, transport, the library and the football club.

“When I watch this program, I can’t get over what I saw. It was shocking, it was scary,” Carmel, a local shopkeeper, says of the documentary. “We haven’t had any problems with people here. They are nice, friendly, always say good morning and thank you, many of them can work, they work, buy Irish cars and put money into the local economy.”

Donny, who works at the same store, says of the new arrivals: “Personally, I think it’s good. We learn something from them. Some people feel like they are losing Irish heritage because they can’t sing the national anthem. But you have to remember that this country is very entrenched – look at the priests and the abuses that just came to light. We have to remember that our way is not always the best.”

Craig Lang, a community activist, said the key to success was that Courtown residents decided to get to know the people at the hotel. The Gardai responded to any problems at the hotel and some of the arrivals were welcomed into the football team, given work in the local Tesco and bakery and asked to manage local festivals. Their visibility reduced the likelihood of fear spreading through this small seaside resort.

The community already had experience with families at the hotel, so Lang said there was a “crossover effect” when the hotel became a center for male asylum seekers. “It was really easy. These people are all human, so there was an overlap with what we’ve done before.”

Lang says: “We went in and talked to them, explained to them what the city was like, we taught them about Irish culture, we brought the guards (police) in to talk to them and discussed with them and interacted with them.” . They’re all new to town, so we explained what didn’t work in the past, like hanging out in large groups. We informed them about community cohesion and it worked.

“We got them to volunteer, pick up trash, control traffic at festivals and things like that. And it was great to see them integrate. In Dublin they have no opportunity to integrate into the community and I think that is the reason for the fear. Here they are accepted as they are because they talk to them.”

“Of course there are some idiots,” he adds, referring to a street brawl involving some of those who support her. “But it was nipped in the bud because we had communication channels with them. At the end of the day, it was a pleasure to help these guys integrate.”

Lang says “locking people up,” as was practiced in Dublin or Newtown Mount Kennedy, is a recipe for disaster. “You block them,” he says, creating “them” and “us.”

What are his tips for other cities? “Talk to people, interact with them, get to know them,” he says. “Learn their story. Ask what help they need, what mental support they need. And get them involved in the local community.”

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