Terminus Cornebarrieu - En attendant l'expulsion
The mood in the old bus could be described as festive and joyful, as the group of men and women of all ages pass through the suburbs of Toulouse while singing and laughing. The sights include not only the huge factories of Airbus, but also the small houses with swimming pools where the managers and employees of this giant of aviation enjoy this mild day in january. The attentive observer, however, will remark that the songs aren't those of your regular schooltrip: the repertoire is witness to the fact that it is the Confédération nationale du travail that has organised this trip for its members and everybody else who wanted to come along. And the joy is just a symptom of the nervousness about what might be awaiting everybody in a few minutes time.
The destination is a rather small area that seems lost in the middle of the huge buildings in the neighborhood. And yet the proximity to the airport is not just a mere coincidence, but closely linked to a number that has by now become infamous in France: 25.000 - This is the objective French Prime Minister Fillon has set for 2008. Does this number represent the teachers that will be employed to stop the decline of the education system? Not quite. Or maybe the social housings that are to be built to give shelter to the 16.000 homeless minors in the streets of France? Desirable, but still no. Fillon's ambitious project is to deport 25.000 paperless immigrants this year, some of which are being held in custody in camps that have been built to this purpose. One of these camps is the Centre de rétention administrative in Cornebarrieu, close to Toulouse, with a capacity of 126 detainees.
As the activists and curious leave the bus there are already policemen patrolling the area - only for the security of the demonstrators, as they assure. Within the scope of the European day against the detention of foreigners there are demonstrations throughout France against the arbitrary policy of deportation, even though this demonstration could as well be held in a ghost town: Apart from the policemen there is nobody that could take note of the demonstration. Whereas every demonstration that is supported by one or more unions is usually followed by a horde of cameramen, photographers as well as radio and newspaper journalists (sometimes there as many or even more journalists than demonstrators) this demonstration takes place in a void.
Even though the camp is adjacent to a street, there is not much to see. The 126 detainees are seperated by several fences, blinds and barbed wire, all of which is surveilled by dozens of cameras. The whole place seems eerily deserted, if it wasn't for the French flag, the Tricolore that is proudly waving over the complex, promoting liberty, equality and fraternity, or the sirens that could be heard from inside of the complex.
The United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees defines a refugee as "a person who, owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country." It is the French Immigration Agency (OFPRA) that decides whether a person is such a refugee or not. Any person in trouble to be recognised as a refugee can contact the CIMADE, an organisation that helps refugees in France since the 1930s, when refugees such as Walter Benjamin, Heinrich Mann or Max Ophüls fled Nazi-Germany and found shelter in France.
In the hope of being heard by the inmates the group gathers to sing songs of liberty and solidarity, stating that everybody who feels endangered in his country of origin should have the right to be recognized. Suddenly noise can be heard from inside the camp, as if people were beating against walls or windows. The demonstrators cheer, as they realise that the inmates can take note of their support.
However, doubts about the efficacity of the activity are raised as the banging stops and the rumour spreads that the adult inmates have been teargased and separated from their children. Fortunately this turns out to be false. The group is encouraged to continue when it is found out that, from a different angle, children can be seen and heard. A dialogue begins between demonstrators that scream or use a megaphone and the children. "We are five," they say. "Thank you very much," they cheer up the demonstrators, which by now feel powerless.
Many are moved as the children wave their hands behind their tiny window in appreciation of the support, so far away and behind half a dozen of fences. The demonstrators begin to shout "Liberté! Liberté! Liberté", as if it was only believed hard enough, the children would be free. And to the surprise of everybody, it is the children that continue this magic spell: "Liberté! Liberté! Liberté!" are their words, their voices not as strong as those of the demonstrators, but easily just as determined. The image of children chanting "Freedom", children who might be sent back to a country in which they feel endangered in a few weeks time, moves to tears some of the demonstrators.
Not far away another voice can be heard. It is a middle-aged man awaiting his deportation. This scene summarizes in a weird way the public image of a paperless immigrant: His face is not seen, his name is not known (in this case to protect him from the guards who are certainly overhearing the conversation). Yet he is here, some were born here, some have worked in jobs that no one else would have worked in, not rarely being exploited due to the fact they could be denounced.
The history of detainees is not without absurdity: If any attempts to deport a detainee within 32 days fail (for example due to the lack of scheduled flights to Irak) the person has to be released. A young Palestinian had been liberated after 32 days had passed, only to be arrested nearly immediately after. Again, the deportation failed and he had to be released. He now has been arrested a total of 5 times, accumulating 7 months of prison and only 24 days in liberty, which were not even enough for him to organise his departure on his own. Albert Camus could hardly have invented a more absurd tale.
In another case a moroccan family had been arrested at the Spanish border in a bus heading to Morocco. Even though they were evidently heading home, their bags filled with presents for their family, they were arrested and brought to Toulouse - only to be deported to Morocco one week later. The bags with their presents, however, had been lost in the meantime.
By now a family has gathered at the entrance to the camp in order to visit a detainee. The guards, however, refuse to open the gate, fearing that the demonstrators might profit to enter the complex. In order not to disturb what might be one of the last meetings of a family before the husband and father might be deported, the demonstrators decide to leave. In a desperate effort to accomplish more than just a symbolic gesture of solidarity, a collection is organized to provide the inmates with money for the vending machines and phone boxes as well as with cigarettes.
Still moved by the children, whose chanting of liberty is still echoing in the minds of the demonstrators, the group retreats to the bus. The mood is now thoughtful and introverted. Instead of singing and laughing, people just stare out of the window, some are discussing what they just have experienced.
The future does not look bright for the paperless immigrants in France. Within the scope of the harmonisation of law in the European Union the period of time an illegal immigrant can be detained is set to be extended to up to 18 months.
Look out during your next flight with Air France. If the goal of 25.000 deportations is to be attained, this would mean that one deported person finds itself on a plane almost every 20 minutes - most probably on an Airbus of Air France that has been assembled in sight of the camp the deportees had been detained in.