Kerry Lorimer looks at what Scottish local authorities can do to bring safety and order into the lives of asylum seekers
Therese* is only 22, but has suffered trauma beyond imagining. Six years ago, at her home in the Congo, she watched as rebel soldiers butchered her parents and siblings. They then turned their machetes on Therese, and left her for dead.
She fled to Zambia, where she was raped and beaten before finding herself at a crowded refugee camp in the north of the country.
Therese is one of 80 refugees who have found a new life in Motherwell, thanks to a pioneering scheme being run by North Lanarkshire Council. The council is the first in Scotland to take part in the Gateway Protection Programme, an international resettlement programme run jointly by the home Office and the United Nations high Commission for refugees to help some of the world’s most vulnerable people.
Motherwell has received the 20 new families with immense warmth, according to Jonathan smith, local regeneration manager at North Lanarkshire Council. “They have been given a first-class welcome,” he says. The reception is down not just to the council but the town’s schools, employers, community groups and churches, all of whom have been moved by the plight of the refugees. One food co-operative in the town is even looking at how to source African produce.
The success of the programme in improving the lives of the refugees has stunned even those close to it. Smith describes the employment statistics as “staggering”: 17 of the 37 adult refugees – almost one in each of the 23 households – have secured sustainable employment since arriving at the start of this year. Four or five others have taken on fulltime volunteering roles, and all are taking the opportunity to improve their English through regular language classes.
Smith attributes the success of the programme to three factors: the prevalence of employment opportunities, the structure of local services, and the thorough preparation process that preceded the refugees’ arrival.
“The climate was right, and the facilities right, to run the programme in Motherwell,” he says. “If you were trying to describe a model place for the programme to operate, it would be difficult to find anywhere better.”
At the heart of the preparatory process was an extensive consultation with residents which threw up concerns over how the programme would be funded and whether the refugees would leapfrog locals already on the housing list. Some also feared the Congolese families would find themselves the target of racism in what is an overwhelmingly white community: fewer than one in a 100 people in North Lanarkshire are from black, Asian and minority ethnic backgrounds.
In fact, the programme is funded in the first year by the Home Office, and so is cost neutral for the council. And although homes allocated to the refugees are, according to the council, in first class condition, most are not located in the highest-demand parts of Motherwell. Fears of a racist backlash have also, happily, proved unfounded.
Other councils are now being urged to replicate North Lanarkshire’s success. However, Simon Hodgson, head of policy and communications at the Scottish Refugee Council – which seconded a member of staff to North Lanarkshire to work on the project – says that many have proved so far reluctant.
The most common reason given is lack of available housing. “Many use it as an excuse, to an extent,” says Hodgson. “The Home Office covers all costs initially, so there’s no cost to council tax payers.” Councils may need to think more creatively about what kind of housing could be made available, but it can be done. “This is a scheme that is totally worthwhile and totally doable, and we’re happy to support any local authority that takes part in it,” he says.
Historically, Scotland’s history of welcoming refugees and asylum seekers has been heavily centred on Glasgow, the only local authority in Scotland that accommodates dispersed asylum seekers. Around 6,000 asylum seekers are housed in the city at any one time, compared to fewer than 100 living with friends and relatives in ten other council areas.
As a result, Glasgow has built up a substantial body of expertise in the integration of asylum seekers and refugees into the community. Since 2000, the council has had a contract with the Home Office to provide newly arrived asylum seekers with accommodation, and to connect them to health, education and language services.
It is difficult to predict how many of Glasgow’s asylum seekers will be granted refugee status, but the Scottish Refugee Council estimates that around one in five is generally given leave to remain. A large number of asylum seekers in Glasgow are what are known as ‘legacy cases’ who continue to live in the country although their claims have been rejected or are yet to be resolved. A case-by- case review is being carried out by the Home Office to assess whether these asylum seekers could or should be removed.
While North Lanarkshire is dealing with families who have already been granted refugee status, Glasgow has the even more challenging task of resettling people whose claims are yet to be resolved. “We’ve got to deal with people who are anxious about their immigration status, and how they’re being treated in that process, as well as helping them to integrate,” says John Donaldson, head of immigration and emergency services at Glasgow City Council.
But, like North Lanarkshire, Glasgow has learned the importance of communication. “It’s been a big learning curve for staff, residents and asylum seekers,” says Donaldson. “We’ve learned from that, and more preparation is under way to connect asylum seekers with local support groups.”
Effective communication has, by and large, averted the problems with community cohesion seen elsewhere in the country. Donaldson reports a “sea change” in the attitude of Glasgow citizens to asylum seekers. “Before, we had people saying ‘why are asylum seekers getting new fridges while I have to make do with an old one?’ Now, they’re asking, ‘why are you removing my neighbours?’
Before, we had people saying ‘why are asylum seekers getting new fridges while I have to make do with an old one?’ Now, they’re asking, ‘why are you removing my neighbours?’ 
”
The benefits for the city have been enormous. “We’ve managed to integrate a large number of new citizens into Glasgow who want to stay in, work in and be part of the city,” says Donaldson. “They have enriched our cultural mix, and given schools new pupils with a high work ethic.”
The city has also broadened its base of council tax payers. Among the asylum seekers are doctors, architects and other professionals who were initially barred by their immigration status from working, but are now making a valuable contribution to the city’s economy.
But the tide now appears to be turning. Glasgow reports a falling off in new arrivals, reflecting government policy to drive numbers down. That decline is partly due to the tightening of borders, and partly to programmes run by the likes of the International Organisation for Migration to encourage asylum seekers to return to their country of origin.
According to Donaldson, the publicity given to dawn raids and conditions in detention centres has also contributed to declining numbers. But, he says, migration flow will also depend on a huge range of economic, demographic and environmental factors.
“If the US and UK withdraw from Iraq, people who work with allies may wish to apply for asylum,” he says. “Global warming could lead to major shifts in population. We’re also ageing as a country, and need more younger people to come in to support our older population base.”
He also believes that immigration policy will be increasingly driven by Europe, with a view to developing a single strategy to deal with asylum instead of the complex web of initiatives that currently exists.
Back in Motherwell, though, the future of immigration policy probably isn’t the topic of discussion. Therese, who was pregnant when she arrived in Scotland, has recently given birth. Her baby, one of four new arrivals among the refugee families since they arrived in Scotland, symbolises not only new life within that community, but the extraordinary hope that one council can bring to a people who had none.
*Therese's name has been changed
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