I’m lucky. I’m Irish. I’m safe — but I’m ashamed.
This week I saw the same system frighten and humiliate her two children as they watched their mother and saw them give away their toys to friends they probably would never see again.
This week I saw the system take a woman and her daughters under its 'care' and neglect to offer them any food or drink for eight hours as they were whisked away and abandoned 300 miles away in Dublin, in a grotty asylum seekers' hostel/detention centre at midnight, alone and frightened, with no idea what was to happen the following day at the hands of the Irish Immigration Service.
This week I saw our system at work. It is not something I am proud of. I am speaking of Nteta Appiakorang and her daughters, Senita, 11, and Yesunia, eight, who reported to Tralee Garda Station as directed on their deportation notice at 3pm on Monday, July 14, not knowing that within two-and-a-half hours they would be gone, possibly for good.
I will not speak here of the trauma we felt as witnesses to the suddenness of these events, nor will I go into detail of how heartbreaking the whole 'eviction' process was to those of us helping Nteta to pack up. I cannot even imagine what these three people were feeling. I am safe. I cannot be deported. I am lucky to have been born Irish.
Nteta and her girls woke up on Tuesday and were transported to Immigration HQ. They were no longer alone, as so many others are in this situation.
Three of us had driven like mad women after her to Dublin. We couldn't sit idly by and allow our friend and her children be treated so callously by our system, in our name. We rocked the boat, demanding fair treatment, outraged at the inhuman conditions the children especially had to endure. The immigration officials capitulated, admitting that it was "regrettable" that the children weren't fed. We were allowed to take Nteta home, back to Tralee.
She still awaits deportation. It will happen as soon as her papers are verified. Nteta does not know what will await her if she is still forced to leave our shores. She does not know if she and her daughters will be safe from the hands that murdered her husband and son, those same hands that threatened her life too unless she left over two and a half years ago.
She does not know how she will survive when she gets off the plane, with no home and no means of support. She is fearful that her beautiful daughters will not escape the high levels of rape of women and girls prevalent in South Africa today, or the possibility of them contracting HIV or other sexually transmitted disease as a result (as per the Amnesty International report, 2003).
I wonder can our Minister for Justice guarantee their safety? I wonder can he justify his decision to deny them refuge in Ireland? I wonder is he proud of the way people are treated by the Garda National Immigration Bureau (GNIB) as his orders are being carried out?
I wonder if he would stand idly by if Irish people were being treated this way by another government? I wonder if he could change his mind about Nteta?
He is the only hope we have left now, the only person who can save these three good people, the only one who can allow them to stay. Next Monday they've been ordered to report again to Tralee Garda station. As I've already said, I couldn't possibly know how Nteta or her girls feel. I'm lucky. I'm Irish. I'm safe but I'm ashamed.
Debra O'Leary,
15, Woodlands,
Oakpark,
Tralee,
Co Kerry.
