A Radical German Program Promised a Fresh Start to Yazidi Survivors of ISIS Captivity. But Some Women Are Still Longing for Help

Interesting and somewhat dispiriting, given the mixed results of the program, long read:

When Hanan escaped from Islamic State captivity, there wasn’t much to come back to.

She and her five children had survived a year in a living nightmare. After her husband finally managed to arrange their rescue in the summer of 2015, they joined him in a dusty camp in Iraq where he lived in a tent. The Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) still controlled the territory they called home, and they were unsure if they could ever go back. And Hanan was unsure if she could ever escape the darkness she felt inside.

So when, in the fall of 2015, Germany offered her the promise of safety and a chance to heal from her trauma, it wasn’t a difficult decision. Accepting a place in a groundbreaking program for women and children survivors of ISIS captivity did mean leaving her husband behind in the camp, but she was told he could join her after two years. So she and her children boarded the first flight of their lives, out of Iraq and away from their tight-knit community, in search of safety and treatment for what still haunted them.

Hanan, now 34, was one of 1,100 women and children brought to Germany in an unprecedented effort to aid those most affected by ISIS’s systematic campaign to kill and enslave the ancient Yazidi religious minority. (TIME is identifying Hanan by her first name only for her safety.) Launched by the German state of Baden Württemberg in October 2014, the program aimed to help survivors of captivity receive much-needed mental-health treatment and support. In Iraq, there had been a rash of suicides among the heavily-traumatized survivors, who had minimal access to mental-health care and faced an uncertain future. In Germany, far from the site of their suffering, state officials hoped the women and children could find healing and a fresh start.

But for Hanan, those promises remain unfulfilled. German officials never granted visas to any of the women’s husbands, leaving families, including Hanan’s, indefinitely torn apart. Like most of the women, she’s not undergoing promised trauma therapy. She often thinks about killing herself. The only thing stopping her, she says, is her children.

Not all the women are desperate. Some are thriving in Germany, and others have become global advocates for their community, like 2018 Nobel Prize winner Nadia Murad. She is the most prominent face of a program that was so ambitious and well-intentioned it inspired other countries, like Canada and France, to follow suit. But Hanan’s experience illustrates how parts of the program failed to live up to their full potential, and shows how difficult it is for refugees to gain access to mental health services, even in a program designed for just that. Michael Blume, the state official who led the program, sees it as a “great success” overall. But he is troubled by the state’s failure to bring the women’s husbands to Germany. “A great humanitarian program should not be sabotaged by bureaucracy,” he says. “But that’s what is taking place.”

Before she left Iraq, Hanan said she was given a piece of paper with information about what awaited her in Germany. “I wish I could find that paper now,” she says, “because the promises they gave us, they didn’t keep all of them.”

By the time ISIS swept across Sinjar, the area in northwest Iraq that is home to most of the world’s Yazidis, Hanan had already endured more than her share of hardship. Her parents were murdered in front of her when she was six. She and her two siblings went to live with their grandfather and his wife, where they were beaten, starved, and forced to work instead of going to school. Her baby sister died soon after.

In her early twenties, she escaped the torturous conditions at home by marrying Hadi. It was the first good fortune of her life, she says; they loved each other. Over the course of about seven years, they had four daughters and then a son, who was just a few months old in August 2014, when ISIS captured Sinjar and unleashed its systematic campaign to wipe out the Yazidis.

In conquered Yazidi towns, fighters executed the men and elderly women. Boys were sent off for indoctrination and forced military training. Women and girls weresold into slavery, traded among fighters like property and repeatedly raped. Hanan and her children were among more than 6,000 people kidnapped. Hadi, who was working as a laborer in a city beyond the reach of ISIS when their village was captured, was frantic when he learned his family was gone.

Within days, President Barack Obama launched U.S. airstrikes on ISIS militants, and U.S. forces delivered food and water to besieged Yazidis trapped on Sinjar mountain. In the following months, as Yazidi women and children started emerging from captivity—some escaped, while others were rescued by a secret network of activists—with tales of horror, Yazidis pleaded for more international action. Former captives were severely traumatized. Mental-health care in Iraq was limited. And because the Yazidi faith doesn’t accept converts or marriage outside the religion, the women raped and forcibly converted to Islam by ISIS members feared they were no longer welcome in the community.

In Germany, home to the largest Yazidi population outside of Iraq, officials in Baden Württemberg decided to act. In October 2014, state premier Winfried Kretschmann decided to issue 1,000 humanitarian visas and earmark €95 million ($107 million) for what became known as the Special Quota Project for Especially Vulnerable Women and Children from Northern Iraq. The state recruited 21 cities and towns across the southwestern state to host the refugees, agreeing to pay municipalities €42,000 ($50,000) per person for housing and other costs, while the state would cover the cost of their healthcare. Two other states agreed to take an additional 100 people.

Program officials interviewed survivors of ISIS captivity in Iraq, selecting those with medical or psychological disorders as a result of their captivity who could benefit from treatment in Germany. The project was not restricted to Yazidis, and a small number of Christians and Muslims also were chosen. That was when the officials told each woman that after two years, immediate family members like husbands could apply for a visa under German rules for family unification.

The program was groundbreaking. No German state had ever administered its own humanitarian admission program. And instead of waiting for asylum-seekers to make dangerous journeys across the Mediterranean, officials were seeking out the most vulnerable and bringing them to safety. The first plane arrived in March 2015. The last of the flights—including the one carrying Hanan—landed in January 2016.

Hanan, along with 111 others, was sent to a pleasant hilltop town of about 25,000 people at the edge of the Black Forest. (Officials asked that the town not be named to protect the survivors, whom they fear could be targeted by ISIS members.) For the first three years, she lived with about half of the group in an old hospital in the town center that had been converted into a communal residence.

Hanan and her five children occupied two rooms off a central corridor—one they used for sleeping, and the other, with a sink along one wall and a worn leather sofa along another, as a living room. They shared a bathroom and a kitchen with a large family next door.

“The neighbors are worse than Daesh,” she joked with a grimace, using a pejorative name for ISIS. It was May 2017, more than a year after her arrival. She sat on the floor to breastfeed her youngest child, Saber. At three, he was small for his age, but Hanan was small too. Her long dark hair was pulled back, and she wore a long blue skirt and a dark hoodie. Her next youngest, Sheelan, climbed into a wardrobe in the corner, peeking out from underneath thick black bangs. Haneya, her oldest at 10, and Hanadi and Berivan, eight and seven, were fighting with the neighbor’s children, their shrieks competing with the Kurdish music videos blaring from the television. Hanan yelled at them to stop.

Caring for her five children alone was wearing Hanan out. She was often sick, but found it difficult to go to the doctor because she didn’t have help with childcare. She complained about painful and unresolved gynecological issues from being repeatedly raped. She wanted to go back to the doctor, but she relied on social workers to make appointments for her and said they were blowing off her requests. And most days, she suffered debilitating headaches.

A trauma therapist came once a week to the shelter for a group session with the women, but Hanan usually wasn’t able to attend because of the children. And she didn’t want to talk about her experiences in front of the other women. When she slept, nightmares came. One night she dreamed she was back in captivity and an ISIS fighter was trying to take her oldest daughter, Haneya. Hanan woke herself and the children up with her screams. The older girls talked about their time in captivity often and sometimes had nightmares too. “They’re not like normal kids,” Hanan said. “When it’s nighttime, they ask me, ‘Mama, do you think Daesh is going to come to get us?’”

A year earlier, around six months after her arrival, that nightmare had become reality. She was out shopping for food when she spotted him. He had trimmed his hair and beard, and exchanged his tunic for a blue T-shirt. But it was him—the ISIS member who had been her captor for a month.

She stared, frozen in place. He saw her, too: His eyes widened in recognition and surprise. Panic shot through her and then her feet were moving, carrying her out of the store and around the corner. By the time she went to the police, he was gone. She said they treated her as if she had mistaken a random refugee for her former tormenter. But she knew what she saw. “How could I forget the face of the man who raped me?”

Germany was supposed to be a sanctuary. Now, inside the old hospital walls was the only place Hanan felt safe. She rarely ventured out, remembering threats from her captors that they would find her if she ran away.

She worried the man she’d spotted might come back to harm them. The only identifying information she could give police was his nom de guerre. And though police were stationed outside the shelter for some time after she made the report, Markus Burger, head of the department for refugees and resettlement in the town’s social office, said his office eventually received a report stating there was no direct threat. The police referred questions about the incident to the federal public prosecutor, and a spokesman for the prosecutor said the office was aware of the incident but could not comment further. At least one other woman in the programsaw her own captor in Germany, and she later returned to Iraq because she no longer felt safe.

Hanan couldn’t understand why the police couldn’t find the man. She began to see threats anywhere she went. Muslim people speaking Arabic terrified her. Once at a park with her children, a bearded man on a bench called out to her. Though she had never seen him before, she was afraid. She gathered the children and rushed back to the shelter.

Yazidis are no strangers to trauma. The religious minority has endured centuries of persecution and attacks, from the Ottoman empire to Saddam Hussein to Al Qaeda. Jan Kizilhan, an expert in psychotraumatology and transcultural psychotherapy who was the program’s chief psychologist, was born to a Yazidi family in Turkey and immigrated to Germany as a child. Survivors of ISIS captivity are dealing not only with their own individual trauma from the violence and family separation they endured, he said, but also the historical trauma borne by their people, and the collective trauma from ISIS’s attempted genocide.

But after the women arrived in Germany as part of the program, trauma therapy wasn’t a top priority. At first, most of the refugees were focused on adjusting to life in Germany, said Kizilhan. They were also following the situation back home, where a multinational coalition was wrestling territory away from ISIS. With every victory, Yazidi families waited for news of their missing relatives, hoping they would not be among the bodies discovered in mass graves. Most had family members in camps, and others still in captivity. They weren’t ready to work through past trauma in therapy, because it was still part of their present.

There was another, more basic, obstacle to treatment: Most of the women were unfamiliar with the concept of psychotherapy. “To even help them understand why they would need this or how it would help, it takes time,” said Kizilhan. In many Middle Eastern cultures, including the Yazidi community, psychological trauma is often expressed somatically, he explained — many women complained of a burning liver, headaches, or stomachaches when the root was a psychological, rather than physiological, problem.

In 2017 and 2018, Tübingen University Hospital and the University of Freiburg, which were also involved in psychotherapeutic care for program participants, carried out surveys of 116 of the women in the program. Ninety-three percent of those surveyed fulfilled the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder during the first survey, and the number remained the same a year later. That makes the fact that just 40% of the women have received trauma therapy, years after their arrival, striking.

But Kizilhan insists the figure does not represent a failure. Some women simply don’t want therapy, he says, and it can’t be forced. He expects that an additional third of the women will be ready for therapy in the coming years. “And then we will be there to help them,” he says. “Each person is individual, different, and needs different timing.” The state decided to cover the cost of the womens’ healthcare indefinitely—initial plans were to foot the bill for three years—after it spent only €60 million ($71 million) of the allocated €95 million ($113 million) on the program.

Kizilhan acknowledges the challenges, including finding enough therapists and translators to work with the women. Kizilhan and Blume, who led the Special Quota project, say the program was an emergency intervention, and that a more long-term solution is building capacity for mental health care in Iraq. The state of Baden Württemberg has put resources toward that, too—donating €1.3 million ($1.5 million) to help establish the first master’s program for psychotherapy in Iraq, started by Kizilhan at the University of Duhok in 2017.

Kizilhan and Blume say the program in Germany has been successful despite the challenges. In the Tübingen University study, 91% of the women surveyed said they were satisfied to be in Germany, and 85% said they were satisfied with the program. When asked if they were satisfied with the psychosocial care, the number who said yes dropped to 72%. Hanan was among those who found it lacking.

Her struggle to access medical care and therapy were two of the ways she felt let down by the program. For her first three years in Germany, Hanan received minimal therapy, even though she wanted it. She rarely attended the group sessions, both because she found them unhelpful and because of the ongoing childcare issues. She said she was not offered individual sessions. Burger said when social workers saw some women were unhappy with group sessions, they arranged for individual therapy, and Hanan began talking with a therapist every few weeks. She said it helped a little, but she felt the same after each session.

***

On a Wednesday in July 2018, Hanan left German class early to shop for food. Before leaving home, she pulled on a fitted black blazer over her beige shirt and leggings. The clothes were new; she had recently cast aside the long, dark skirts and sweaters that she had worn ever since her escape for a more modern wardrobe. Friends had urged her to make the switch, teasing her that she dressed like she was still living under ISIS. Hanan walked to the store, passing traditional timber-frame buildings and window boxes overflowing with geraniums and petunias. She spotted a friend outside the supermarket and stopped to chat before buying chicken legs and vegetables. Managing the family’s budget alone—something she had never done in Iraq—was challenging. Sometimes she didn’t have enough money at the end of the month.

Two years on from encountering her former captor, the town was beginning to feel less threatening, though Hanan still didn’t like going out at night. She attended German language class four mornings a week. She’d never learned how to read or write as a child, so learning German was doubly hard, but she was making slow progress. She was also making a few German friends, and she’d found a way to decipher their text messages even though she couldn’t read. When she received a message, she’d paste it into the Google Translate app and press the audio button. A robotic voice would read it aloud and she’d reply via voice note.

Back at home, she put a pot of rice on the stove and began browning the chicken, preoccupied by the logistics of her upcoming trip to Iraq to visit her husband, Hadi. She’d learned through her social worker that her stipend would be paused while she was away, and Hanan wasn’t sure how she would make it through the month without the money.

It would be the second time she had to travel to see Hadi. (The women were admitted as humanitarian refugees, rather than asylum seekers, which spared them the process of applying for asylum and meant they were allowed to return to visit family in Iraq, unlike asylum holders.) Saber, now four, had spent most of his life separated from his father, and didn’t recognize him. The girls no longer even missed him. He was becoming a faraway memory.

Two and a half years had now gone by since she left Iraq, well past the two years after which Hadi had been promised he could apply for a visa. Hanan’s social worker helped her file papers related to his visa application. But whenever Hanan asked what was happening, she was given the same answer: Not yet.

What she didn’t know was that Germany’s position toward refugees had shifted. The welcoming stance the country adopted when more than a million people poured into the country seeking asylum in 2015 had hardened amid a backlashfueled by far-right anti-immigration parties. When he interviewed the women in 2015, and told them their husbands could apply for a visa after two years, Kizilhan was in line with the rules at the time. But now laws governing refugees and family unification visas were tightened. German courts even began ruling against Yazidiswho requested asylum, saying it was safe for them to go back to Iraq.

To date, no husbands of women in the Special Quota Project have received visas. It’s hard to know how many are waiting: Kizilhan says he has identified 18. According to the study, 28 percent of the women surveyed had husbands in Iraq.

A spokesman for the Baden Württemberg Ministry of Interior, Digitalization and Migration said that “special rules” apply to family reunifications for those granted humanitarian admission, and may only be allowed “for reasons of human rights, on humanitarian grounds or to protect political interests.” The special rules “must be considered on a case by case basis,” he said, and added the federal authorities are responsible for issuing visas, not the state.

Kizilhan said the ministry could intervene to make sure the family members are issued visas. But the political will behind the creation of the Special Quota Project has evaporated. In January, Kizilhan said he had recently met with state interior ministry officials to ask that they find a way to bring the husbands to Germany, but that they told him the change in federal law made it difficult to do so. “This is ridiculous,” Kizilhan says. “If you can take 1,100 with the special quota, you can take 18 people in one day.”

On trips back to Iraq, Kizilhan said he’s been confronted by husbands demanding answers, and is distressed that the state has not followed through. He notes that bringing the women’s immediate family to Germany would improve their psychological health—the goal of the program—by helping to reduce post-traumatic stress symptoms and easing their integration into society. Hanan often spoke of waiting for Hadi’s arrival to move into an apartment on her own. She was fearful of handling all the responsibilities of living in a new country without him. And she desperately needed help caring for the children, help she thought would be provided in the program. They’d spent a year separated from Hadi in captivity. Now, they were once again separated, once again waiting for their family to be reunited.

After Hanan’s visit to Iraq, months went by with no news about Hadi’s visa. They both began to despair that it would ever materialize, their frustration compounded by a dearth of information about the delay.

In the spring of 2019, after waiting three years, Hadi decided he could wait no longer. He borrowed money and set out for Germany along irregular migration routes. It took him eight months—he was detained in Greece on the way—but eventually he made it to Hanan. Their reunion, though, was far from perfect. After his arrival in Germany, the once-happy couple separated. Hanan would not discuss the details of their estrangement except to say that it took root because of their physical separation and left her distraught. He is now in a relationship with another woman and Hanan said he is not in touch with his children. His future in Germany is uncertain, too—it is unclear whether he will be permitted to stay.

Last summer Hanan moved into a light-filled two-bedroom furnished flat rented for her by the municipality in a quiet residential neighborhood. It’s decorated brightly in orange—a peach wall, tangerine dining chairs, an ochre shag carpet, and a sofa the color of carrots. While there’s a bunk bed in the kids’ room, they usually end up sleeping in Hanan’s king-size bed every night, a tangle of arms and legs. She was finally able to see a doctor to resolve her lingering gynecological health problem, although the daily headaches are still there. She’s no longer afraid of going out at night.

On a Sunday morning in January, she awoke late, groggy from hosting friends the night before. Saber, now six, and Sheelan, seven, plopped on the sofa to watch Tom and Jerry on the television as Hanan made bread in the kitchen. Squeezing small lumps off the dough, she quickly slapped each one from hand to hand, stretching it into a thin disc. In Iraq, she would have baked the loaves in an outdoor clay oven. Here, she used a small metal box oven, heated with an electric coil, placed on the countertop. She placed each loaf on top to let it brown, then baked it inside the oven before stacking the finished loaves on the windowsill.

When she was done, the children gathered at the table, scooping up fried eggs, yogurt, tahini, and cheese with the fresh bread. They chattered together in German; they rarely spoke Kurdish with one another anymore. Saber, impish and sensitive, speaks German with a near flawless accent. After breakfast, the three older girls clear the table, wash the dishes, and sweep the floor unbidden. Hanadi, now 11, and Berivan, now 10, both with round cheeks like their mother, are learning how to swim at school. Haneya, now 13, reads and translates the mail and types messages in German for her mother.

“Sometimes I look at my kids and think ‘OK, I’m all right.’ But I just feel bad,” Hanan said, lowering herself onto the sofa. “It’s a bad feeling inside of me, I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes I want to hit myself, because of this bad feeling inside, and I don’t know how to deal with it. Many times I thought about killing myself, but then I remember my kids, that they need me.”

The situation with Hadi has her so upset she doesn’t think about ISIS anymore, Hanan said, adding that she doesn’t know what to do or where to turn. She’s spent hours crying with a Yazidi friend, another survivor, who lives nearby. That’s the closest she gets to therapy now.

After Hanan moved into the apartment, her therapy sessions ended. A few months later, social workers took her to an appointment at a new therapist’s office, but she hadn’t gone back. She said the appointment time of 7 p.m. was impossible as there was no one to watch the children at home. But she knows she needs help. “It’s too much for me,” she said. “I can’t hold all these problems alone.”

Burger, of the town’s department for refugees and resettlement, said that as more of the women moved into private apartments last year—all but 10 now live on their own—it became harder to arrange therapy sessions. Some therapists have waiting lists, and there is always the problem of timing, he said. “It’s difficult finding a time when the trauma therapist and the translator both are available, and also when someone can take care for the children, and when the German classes aren’t at the same time. But we are working on it.” He could not give a number for how many of the women in the town were undergoing therapy, saying it was constantly changing, but said therapy was available to all who wanted it. “We can only offer it,” he said. “In the end it is the decision of the women if they want to take part in the programs, and we don’t want to and can’t force anyone to take part.”

Hanan knows it was right to come to Germany. She’s better off than she would be in Iraq, where despite the territorial defeat of ISIS, most Yazidis are still displaced, and their future is uncertain. She feels safe now in Germany, and she can see bright futures for her children here.

But she can’t muster any of that hope for herself, not after losing Hadi. The darkness she had hoped to escape never went away. “Maybe I’m going to go crazy, or I’m going to kill myself. Maybe I won’t find a solution for myself except to die,” she said. “Now I’m 34, and I didn’t see any hope in my entire life. And for the future also, I don’t have any hope. Only God knows.”

Source: A Radical German Program Promised a Fresh Start to Yazidi Survivors of ISIS Captivity. But Some Women Are Still Longing for Help

Liberals appealing ruling striking down Canada-U.S. asylum agreement

Not surprising given that the ruling reflected in part the particular circumstances of asylum seekers that were at the heart of the case:

The Liberal government is appealing last month’s Federal Court decision that ruled the Safe Third Country Agreement — Canada’s asylum agreement with the United States — infringes upon the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

In a decision released July 22, Justice Ann Marie McDonald said the agreement — which stops people from entering either Canada or the U.S. at official Canada-U.S. border crossings and asking for asylum — violates the section of the Charter guaranteeing “the right to life, liberty and security of the person.”

McDonald suspended her invalid ruling for six months to allow Parliament to respond.

Public Safety Minister Bill Blair said in a statement Friday the government filed an appeal today because they believe there are factual and legal errors in some of the court’s key findings.

“There are important legal principles to be determined in this case, and it is the responsibility of the government of Canada to appeal to ensure clarity on the legal framework governing asylum law,” reads the statement.

“Canada has a long and proud tradition of providing protection to those who need it most by offering refuge to the world’s most vulnerable people, and the government of Canada remains firmly committed to upholding a compassionate, fair and orderly refugee protection system. The STCA remains a comprehensive vehicle to help accomplish that, based on the principle that people should claim asylum in the first safe country in which they arrive.”

The 16-year-old agreement, which remains in effect, recognizes both countries as “safe” countries for migrants and states that refugee claimants are required to request refugee protection in the first country they arrive in — meaning Canadian border officials would send back to the U.S. any would-be refugee claimants arriving at an official border crossing into Canada.

The Canadian Council for Refugees, Amnesty International, the Canadian Council of Churches and a number of individual litigants brought the original case forward and argued that by returning ineligible refugee claimants to the U.S., Canada exposes them to risks — including detention and eventual deportation to countries where they could face harm.

Conservative MP and immigration critic Peter Kent immediately issued a statement supporting the appeal.

“While we are pleased the government has decided to appeal this ruling, Canadians’ confidence in the immigration system has been rocked by years of Justin Trudeau’s failure to address these concerns, and his failure to restore integrity and compassion to the immigration process,” he said in a statement.But the NDP’s critic Jenny Kwan called the move the a “heartless and shameful act.”

“By appealing this ruling, the federal Liberals are saying they’d rather let people seeking the safety of asylum here in Canada suffer under Donald Trump’s rules, than stand up for human rights and Canadian values,” she wrote in a statement Friday afternoon.

“It’s un-Canadian.”

Source: Liberals appealing ruling striking down Canada-U.S. asylum agreement

From Jordan to Morden: Iraqi family thrilled to be in Manitoba under new program to resettle skilled refugees

Nice story highlighting a family that benefited from the Economic Mobility Pathways Project and Talent Beyond Boundaries:

Mokhles Abdulghani had never heard of Morden, a small community in southern Manitoba, before last spring when he was interviewed by a city official there in search of skilled immigrants.

But the Iraqi refugee quickly fell in love with Morden’s natural beauty and the changing seasons after watching YouTube videos about the city that would soon become his new home.

After spending five years in limbo as refugees in Jordan, Abdulghani, his wife and three children could hardly contain their excitement when they arrived in Morden this weekend.

“We already feel like home in Morden,” the mechanical engineer said Sunday. Still in quarantine, the family could only glimpse their adopted community through the living-room window.

“We can’t wait to start our new life in this country,” said Abdulghani, whose family is the first admitted to Canada under a new program launched by the federal government to resettle skilled refugees to fill the country’s labour gaps.

The Economic Mobility Pathways Project aims to bring 500 skilled workers and their families to Canada over two years, the world’s largest pilot project of its kind. Australia has a similar program and has committed to admitting 100 skilled refugees as permanent residents.

The project is one of the pledges Canada made at the 2019 U.N. Global Refugee Forum to create more pathways for refugees to use their skills as a route out of displacement.

Through the initiative, candidates with skills and knowledge can apply for permanent residence as economic migrants, instead of as resettled refugees sponsored by the federal government and private community groups — a process that can take years.

“Many refugees have immense talent and should have the opportunity, just like other skilled people, to use economic visas to relocate to a secure future. Canada’s work to open these pathways offers a safe and legal new solution for refugees,” said Dana Wagner of Talent Beyond Boundaries, a non-governmental organization that has built a refugee talent pool and is matching candidates with employers from around the world.

“There’s an extraordinary need for new solutions for refugees. Displacement is rising and conditions facing refugees during the pandemic are worsening. Meanwhile, companies in essential sectors like health care and manufacturing are still in critical need of skills. Mokhles and many more like him can be part of Canada’s recovery story.”

In April 2019, Abdulghani, 35, was selected by Morden, a city of less than 10,000 people, which recommended him for the Manitoba provincial immigration nomination program. The city is committed to offering wraparound supports to the families, including job-matching support.

Abdulghani, who has a bachelor’s degree from the University of Technology-Baghdad, said he and his wife Hajir Saad Ghareeb, 27, left Kurdistan in 2015 for Jordan after racism against them and other Sunnis, in particular in Northern Iraq, intensified.

“We were happy in our first year in Amman because we felt safe and nobody would hurt us there,” he said. “But life was very hard. We were refugees and could only work illegally. I worked as a mechanical maintenance engineer at an electrical cable factory. I was earning less than half of what I should have been making in that position.”

Abdulghani applied for scholarships to continue his studies and finally got the financial support of a German Catholic charity to enrol in a master’s program in mechatronics engineering at Philadelphia University in Jordan. He graduated in February.

“I was working fulltime and studying fulltime, and maybe had two hours of sleep each day,” he recalled. “But when you have no hope, you do anything to rebuild your life. You use every drop of energy to keep going. You don’t care if you are tired or not.”

The family was thrilled when they received their Canadian permanent residence visas on March 15, almost a year after they were initially picked by the city of Morden. Then two days later, Jordan closed down its airport to international flights amid the COVID-19 pandemic.

Finally, in early August, the family learned they would board a Canadian repatriation flight that departed Friday and arrived in Winnipeg late Saturday, after hours of stopovers in Istanbul and Montreal.

Abdulghani has already had two online interviews for jobs in Morden and nearby Winkler. He is also planning to take a doctoral degree after learning about the University of Manitoba’s renowned biomedical engineering program.

“It’s been an amazing first day in Morden for us,” said Abdulghani, who has yet to meet anyone other than a cab driver who was sent by the city to guide his rental car to their new home Saturday, where they are under quarantine. (Officials have filled the fridge in their apartment with food.) “We are still living this moment. We can’t believe we are here.”

According to Talent Beyond Boundaries, there are now 20,000 refugees registered in its talent database — most of them now living in Jordan and Lebanon. Fifty-seven have been shortlisted for Canada’s new project. Ontario, Newfoundland and Labrador, Nova Scotia and Yukon have also signed on to participate in the program.

Source: From Jordan to Morden: Iraqi family thrilled to be in Manitoba under new program to resettle skilled refugees

‘Exodus’ from Hong Kong? Those who fear national security law mull best offers from welcoming countries

Will see in the end how many decide to leave Hong Kong given that some likely have business interests that make leaving more difficult but given the large number of Canadian expatriates, would expect a significant number of returnees and immigrants and refugee claimants:
For several weeks, veteran emigration consultant Willis Fu Yiu-wai

found himself busier than usual ,answering queries from Hongkongers anxious to leave the city.

They were worried about Beijing’s new national security law for Hong Kong, which came into force on June 30.

In recent days, however, Fu’s clients appeared in less of a rush to go. They had not changed their minds about leaving, but now wanted to wait and see which country would offer Hongkongers the best immigration deal.

“They said they didn’t want to proceed yet,” he said.

Many decided to hold on after Britain announced this month that it would offer a new path to citizenship to nearly 3 million Hongkongers
eligible for British National (Overseas) Passports. These people, born before Britain returned Hong Kong to China in 1997, will have the right to remain in the country for five years, after which they can apply for permanent residence and, eventually, citizenship.
Since then, Australia also announced plans
to welcome Hongkongers. Now those considering emigration are anticipating that other countries will open their doors too.

“It has upended the whole market,” said Jason Yu Wai-lung, chief immigration consultant at Smart2Go, another firm helping people who want to emigrate.

The national security law, which targets acts of secession, subversion, terrorism and collusion with foreign forces, has sparked concerns over

sweeping powers handed to policeand the possible erosion of human rights in Hong Kong.

After Beijing first announced in May that it would tailor-make a law for Hong Kong, inquiries shot up at Fu’s firm, Goldmax Immigration. At one point, it received 60 inquiry forms in a day, six times the usual.

Fu said many of his clients were nurses from “almost every hospital in Hong Kong” and mainly in their 20s to 40s.

He said the British proposal for those with BN(O) passports offered a breakthrough deal for skilled Hongkongers who do not have a lot of money. Up till now, there have been high barriers to moving to Britain, such as unique professional skills, high proficiency in the English language, or hefty investments of at least 2 million pounds (HK$19.5 million).

About 350,000 Hongkongers already hold BN(O) passports, and more are eligible to apply for it.

Protester worries about reprisal

Salesman Leo Chan*, 26, said he would be ready to leave as soon as the British government laid down its plan. The university-educated Hongkonger said he feared for himself as he waved the Union flag while taking part in anti-government protests last year.

Although the law has no retroactive effect, Chan said he was still worried. Before Britain announced its offer, he was prepared to apply for any working holiday visa he could get, to some countries which allow visitors to stay and work for up to a year or two.

Now he has set his sights on the new route to Britain. “It seems easier, and brings a better chance of settling there,” he said.

David Lee* fears he might run into trouble with the new law, having worked as a journalist in Hong Kong. He and his wife, who holds a British passport, have also decided to leave.

Britain seems a natural choice as his wife has family there, but the couple are waiting to see if the United States might have an immigration offer for Hongkongers, as they prefer the latter.

In June, Britain began briefing members of the Five Eyes intelligence alliance  – the US, Australia, Canada and New Zealand – about a possible exodus from Hong Kong.
Last Thursday, Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison announced that his administration would grant more than 10,000 Hongkongers on student and temporary visas a pathway to permanent residence  by allowing them to stay in the country for five years. He said Australia was ready to welcome Hongkongers with skills and businesses and looking to start a new life elsewhere.

According to 2018 data on Australia’s Department of Education website, the country granted more than 11,000 visas for Hong Kong students. The Australian offer will also apply to future visa holders and students from Hong Kong.

Beijing has criticised Britain and Australia for their offers of haven to Hongkongers wishing to flee the national security law.

Will they leave? ‘Too early to say’

Sociology professor Eric Fong Wai-ching, who specialises in migration at the University of Hong Kong, said it was one thing for people to say they intend to leave, and quite another for them to actually uproot and go. He felt it was too early to conclude that there would be an exodus from Hong Kong.

“Many are still at the planning stage,” he said, although he pointed to an uptick of applications for “certificates of no criminal conviction”, a document granted by police to those applying for a wide range of visas, including for education and emigration.

According to police, the number of certificates issued rose to 2,782 in June, from 1,711 in the previous month. Last year 33,252 were issued, a sharp rise from around 20,000 in previous years. Last year’s increase came in the wake of months of anti-government protests.

But another indicator of people leaving Hong Kong for good – the number of tax clearance filings to the Inland Revenue – has not changed significantly.

The tax authority processed 2,500 such filings a month in May and June this year, its spokesman said. There were on average 2,400 monthly cases in the financial years of 2019-20 and 2018-19.

For some Hongkongers, Taiwan is also a popular emigration destination due to its proximity and similar culture, according Yu from Smart2Go, who specialises in helping people move there. One attraction is the relatively low investment required to migrate there – about HK$1.5 million.

In the first five months of this year, Taiwan granted permanent residence to 558 Hongkongers, following on 1,474 over the whole of last year and just below 1,100 each year between 2016 and 2018.

Taiwan announced last month that apart from providing humanitarian support to Hongkongers feeling anxious over the national security law, it would also offer immigration assistance to those keen to invest there or who possess special talents.

Emigration consultant Yu said inquiries about Taiwan leapt tenfold during the worst of the Covid-19 pandemic, mostly from retirees, although about 20 per cent were younger people.

There was a change after Britain announced its plan for those with BN(O) passports. “People under 40 years old who made inquiries have completely disappeared,” he said.

Only older people were still considering moving to Taiwan now, he said, drawn mainly by the island’s lower living costs. The new national security law has pushed some to make up their minds sooner.

“Some of them now want to put their plans into action, and bring forward their retirement,” Yu said.

Source: Hongkongers looking to migrate mull best offers from host countries

Nicholas A. R. Fraser: Reassessing Canada’s refugee policy in the COVID-19 era

I think the post-Covid-19 will need a broader rethink of immigration policy than only the question of refugees, as opening up any one category has potential implications on the other categories and levels.

While the government may well decide to maintain planned ongoing immigration growth, likely economic impacts make that assumption risky at best.

Similarly, depending on the results of the US presidential election, Canada as many have noted, will be facing a whole series of challenges and need for policy rethinking, of which immigration will be one aspect:

The decision by the Trump administration on April 22nd to effectively freeze immigration flows into the United States is the latest in a series of moves by that government to restrict immigration. In Canada, the COVID-19 pandemic has led to a partial border closure that has disproportionately impacted refugees and been criticized by several human rights watchdogs including Amnesty International. In recent months, Canada also temporarily halted the flow of refugees travelling here from the US, stranding many asylum seekers.

While Canadians may take some comfort in knowing that Canada’s federal government has attempted to limit the impact of the current border closure, we should nevertheless learn from these experiences and pause to consider how the current pandemic and future ones might impact refugee policy. How can policy-makers balance very real health concerns with their obligations to protect refugees, whose need has not dissipated and whose circumstances may well be increasingly precarious due to COVID-19 outbreaks in their countries of origin?

Intermittent border closures may be a necessary component of the government’s response to pandemics, but we have little experience with such measures in a globalized world. Just as open borders must be carefully managed to balance health and security issues against economic and human rights concerns, so must closed borders. Canada needs a comprehensive border closure strategy for our new and still-changing times.

When it comes to refugee policy, liberal democratic receiving states often face duelling pressures: upholding the rights of refugees while at the same time controlling their borders and processing applications competently and efficiently. The COVID-19 pandemic poses new challenges on both counts that policy-makers must respond to in the coming weeks and months. Yet these new challenges also foreshadow long-term trends that will persist for decades due to future pandemics and climate change: new types of refugees, and peaks and valleys of migration flows in response to intermittent border closures.

More reasons to flee

For years, wealthy democracies have responded to humanitarian crises by hosting refugees from conflict zones as well as sending development aid and peacekeepers to these areas. Devised in the wake of the genocides committed in Europe and Asia during the Second World War, the Refugee Convention was meant to provide protection for people fleeing persecution. However, the spectre of a global pandemic that threatens prosperity or even basic economic stability and requires the suspension of international travel is a serious game-changer for refugee protection.

Like climate change, pandemics pose a global risk that could disproportionately impact developing countries. Since February, COVID-19 has wreaked havoc in many countries with world-class health care systems and high-functioning state infrastructures. One can only imagine how COVID-19 may critically weaken or even devastate public services in countries with high levels of conflict, socio-economic inequality or corruption. The World Health Organization is already projecting that African countries could be severely hit by COVID-19.

To meet this new challenge, the cabinet can do a lot with targeted development aid. However, given the long-term trajectory of forced migration, Canada’s policy-makers must anticipate receiving people who are fleeing displacement not because of persecution but because of pandemics, climate change and natural disasters that will make it difficult, and in some cases impossible, for people to return to their countries of origin.

The federal government should direct Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) and Global Affairs Canada (GAC) to identify a new category of potential refugee-sending countries: those in high-impact zones that have seen their public infrastructure collapse because of a pandemic or other crisis. As with previous refugee-producing crises, IRCC and GAC should consider collaborating with civil society groups to sponsor individuals from such high-risk zones as refugees to Canada or easing requirements for family reunification for Canadians with relatives from such places.

While the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act establishes a legal framework for accepting people escaping persecution, Canada has also extended protection to those fleeing other desperate situations, such as the refugees from a major earthquake that devastated Haiti 10 years ago. Furthermore, the government has already done research on the likelihood of people fleeing the effects of climate change and signed the United Nations Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration, which requires signatory countries to “identify, develop and strengthen solutions for migrants compelled to leave their countries of origin due to slow-onset natural disasters, the adverse effects of climate change, and environmental degradation.” At present, this agreement has not been codified into Canadian law. The federal government led by IRCC should work with advocacy groups such as the Canadian Council for Refugees and the Canadian Association for Refugee Lawyers to update the existing legal framework to accept climate change refugees as well as those fleeing natural disasters and pandemics.

Managing waves of migration

Periodic border closures complicate flows of forced migration by incentivizing migrants to arrive in larger numbers while host countries’ borders are open. The implications for government agencies that handle immigration are significant. Managing administrative capacity — keeping visas and refugee claims running smoothly through the departmental machinery — is critical not only for carrying out policy goals but also to ward off negative political impacts that could undermine public support for hosting refugees. When governments are perceived to be losing control over immigration because of backlogs or bungling, it is not hard for critics of the government (including but not limited to far-right parties) to trigger public anger and anti-refugee sentiment. Despite Canada’s tradition as an immigrant nation, it is not immune from such public backlashes. The significant number of Canadians expressing frustration with the Trudeau government’s willingness to admit tens of thousands of asylum seekers from the US since 2017 is a case in point.

For this reason, ensuring that Canada’s immigration bureaucracy can keep up with surges in applications is essential — especially during pandemics, when the movement of people can easily provoke public fear and anxiety. Policy-makers could effectively manage increased administrative pressures by developing a strategy for closing and opening the border that involves civil society organizations who have been essential partners in helping develop and implement Canada’s immigration and refugee policies. Specifically, lawyers, NGOs and community organizations have provided channels for gathering information about refugee flows and developments in source countries that is critical for ensuring that policy is applied equitably.

In the past, the cabinet has commissioned independent reviews to assess the impact of procedural changes to immigration and refugee policy. The federal government should appoint a similar commission of policy experts from IRCC and civil society to study two core aspects of refugee policy: first, how immigration procedures can be improved to operate effectively during periods of open and closed borders; and, second, to what extent Canada’s existing settlement services and infrastructure need to be altered in order to comply with social distancing measures and adapt to the changed economy. Finally, IRCC and the Canada Border Services Agency should establish facilities and recruit medical staff at all ports of entry before the border is reopened so that they can screen all international travellers, including refugees.

Many of the administrative capacity and rights issues associated with refugee policy stem from governments and migrants of all sorts reacting to uncertainty. In developing a comprehensive border closure strategy, the government can work with civil society to reduce uncertainty and set clear expectations. An expansion of Canada’s categories of refugees is also needed, to acknowledge new global realities. No government may be able to predict what events will unfold, but Canada can utilize the COVID-19 pandemic as an opportunity to update its immigration and refugee policies in order to meet similar challenges we are likely to face in the coming years.

Source: Reassessing Canada’s refugee policy in the COVID-19 era

How a haven for refugees became home to the worst COVID-19 outbreak in Toronto’s shelter system

Of note:

In March, staff at Willowdale Welcome Centre, which would become the site of the largest COVID-19 outbreak in the city’s shelter system, grew concerned about infection control at the facility.

The refugee centre had opened in the fall. It housed about 200 men and women on separate floors, many of them professionals from Uganda and Nigeria seeking a better life in Canada.

It was soon operating seamlessly and clients quickly found housing and jobs.

“Once the shelter had its roots in place, it was pretty well-run. I was impressed,” said an employee who is not being named because he is worried about his future employment.

As March progressed, concerns about COVID-19 transmission grew — concerns which the employee and others at Homes First Society, the registered charity that operates Willowdale, felt were not being heard by management.

This account is based on interviews with staff at Willowdale and other shelters at Homes First; on e-mails between employees and management and official complaints made to the Ministry of Labour, Training and Skills Development.

Staff at the shelter were being told not to wear masks — not unusual in the early days of the pandemic, when the focus was on preserving supply for front-line workers and as research suggested masks provided limited defence against the virus outside of health-care settings.

Staff were told to focus on proper handwashing and increased cleaning with disinfectants. But Lysol wipes, used to clean tables in the cafeteria between services, quickly went missing and were not replaced.

Responding to questions from the Star, Patricia Mueller, Homes First’s chief executive officer, said the charity followed public health guidelines at all times when it came to infection control measures, including personal protective equipment for employees.

Meanwhile, the outbreak is now over at the shelter, Mueller said, as no active cases remain.

In the beginning, the Willowdale employee said, it was difficult to get the shelter’s clientele — most of them 40 or younger — to consistently abide by the rules of social distancing and to follow the detailed recommendations related to handwashing and other measures.

“Younger ones said, ‘I’m not going to die,’” said the employee.

Many clients were diligent. Others were not.

The employee had heard, for example, that even after the city banned gatherings of more than five people, some refugees at the centre continued to attend church services — meeting in private residences.

“We have a friend’s house that is running it,” one of them told the employee.

It was while he was watching a newscast from New York City, fast becoming an international hot spot for the virus, that the employee made his decision.

“It made me realize we were on the same trajectory and I didn’t want to be a part of it,” said the employee. He quit soon thereafter and hasn’t been back.

He remains healthy. Meanwhile, more than two dozen of his former co-workers and more than 180 clients at Willowdale have been diagnosed with COVID-19.

“I have really close friends who got it. My heart breaks for them,” he said.

The Willowdale outbreak highlights the challenges of fighting COVID-19 in a congregate setting — anywhere people are grouped together indoors — and how a top-down, one-size-fits-all approach can go awry.

The refugee centre became the location with the highest number of infections in the city’s shelter system, which includes 72 locations. As of Wednesday, 185 clients had tested positive for COVID-19, and more than a dozen staff. No one has died.

At one point, the large number of clients at Willowdale being moved into COVID-19 recovery sites set up by the city raised concerns that there would be no room for clients from other shelters at the recovery centres.

So Willowdale was itself turned into a recovery centre, and medical personnel were brought to the shelter to attend to clients there, Mueller said.

Four Homes First workers who were interviewed for this story, including two who worked at Willowdale, say things would not have gotten so bad if their early concerns had been addressed in a timely fashion.

They are not being identified because they are fearful of being fired or not being rehired.

“Homes First dropped the ball on guarding against the disease,” according to a statement from Warren (Smokey) Thomas, president of the Ontario Public Service Employees Union representing workers there.

Homes First Society lists 18 properties on its website, offering shelter ranging from single rooms for single men to townhouses for families.

According to an email exchange provided to the Star, union representatives at Homes First shelters began discussing the need to talk to management about safer working conditions on March 15. They spoke to human resources on March 19 and Mueller on March 23.

Their fears proved prescient: After scanning the news and medical literature for what was going on in other parts of the world, they asked for measures that would soon come to be regarded as routine, including maintaining a two-metre distance in shelters, ending the practice of allowing staff to work at more than one location, and face masks.

They tried to escalate their concerns in some cases, taking their complaints to the Ministry of Labour, Training and Skills Development.

A spokesperson for the ministry said it investigated complaints regarding PPE at three Homes First locations in March and April, including Willowdale.

A ministry inspector investigated by phone and no orders or requirements were issued.

“It was determined that all appropriate guidelines were being followed and no orders were issued,” according to the ministry.

An employee at Willowdale who spoke to the Star was diagnosed with COVID-19 and became so ill she thought she would die.

In the early days of the pandemic, she said she was told by management that she could wear a mask if she liked, but she had to provide them herself — and at that time, masks were impossible to buy in stores.

Initially, there were Lysol wipes on the lunch tables to keep the surfaces clean between shifts, but they were removed because management said they were being stolen.

After that, the wipes were locked in offices, the employee said.

There were sinks with soap and paper towels, where people could wash their hands before sitting down to eat, but they’d sometimes run out of paper towels, she added.

Staying the recommended two metres away from clients was difficult because of the layout of the shelter, she added. The lobby is where the intake office is located and the security desk, and it’s where people would line up for the cafeteria. People were constantly criss-crossing paths.

“It’s a pretty small bottleneck,” she said.

Mueller agrees there were issues around supplies, including Lysol and paper towels — in some cases they were being stolen, in some cases overused, she said, and it took a while to figure out how to address that.

Another concern for staff at Homes First was the high rotation among staff between homes, according to a third employee, who asked to remain nameless.

Homes First employs about 300 people, including about 175 relief staff who used to move between facilities, Mueller said.

She said that after the meeting between staff and management on March 23, Homes First began taking steps to end the practice, but it took several weeks to accomplish.

“I’m with them, I would have wanted it done faster,” Mueller said. She added that it simply wasn’t possible to manage the change more quickly.

Before the pandemic began, there were more than 7,000 people in Toronto’s shelter system, including nearly 3,000 in hotels and family settings, according to the city’s Shelter, Support and Housing Administration.

The city operates 11 shelter and respite locations; 61 are operated by community non-profit agencies like Homes First.

In order to increase social distancing, SSHA began moving people within existing programs on March 18, according to SSHA general manager Mary-Anne Bedard.

By the end of April, 1,400 shelter clients had been moved. The figure now tops 2,000, Bedard said in an interview.

Activists have criticized the city for not moving enough clients quickly enough, and for moving some to community centres, which don’t provide enough opportunities for social distancing or isolating people who begin showing symptoms.

A group of activists sued the city, which, as part of an interim settlement, agreed to meet physical distancing targets at all homeless shelters.

Bedard said community centres were chosen because they were easy to convert quickly.

“I know there is criticism out there, but I am confident that we’ve done everything as quickly as we could,” Bedard said.

While masks were provided to shelter staff in March, there was significant concern about the availability of PPE, and the pressure was on not to use valuable stock if it didn’t have to be used, she added.

She said SSHA doesn’t yet understand why there were outbreaks at some shelters and not others.

She warned that the numbers of infected at shelters will continue to rise.

“There’s good reason for that — because we are doing more testing,” she said.

If all the recommendations put forth by Willowdale staff early in the pandemic had been put into place, would the outcome have been different?

Dr. Isaac Bogoch, an infectious disease specialist at the University of Toronto and Toronto General Hospital, who has also worked with Willowdale, said masks may have made a small difference.

“The masks aren’t perfect — it’s not like you’re sealing the secretions from leaving your face — these are porous masks and you can still contaminate surfaces around you. Masks are helpful in these settings, but they aren’t the saviour,” he said.

Listening to front-line workers is critical, according to Tiziana Casciaro, professor of organizational behaviour at the University of Toronto, Rotman School of Management.

While drafting policies at the top — like the public health policies that informed decisions at Willowdale and other institutions — is the most efficient way to meet challenges, it has drawbacks.

“It allows top-down directives to take over the life of an organization without any opportunity for the bottom-up loop to ever close. This is something that I think applied in this particular case,” Casciaro said.

Bedard and Mueller meanwhile, say they did the best they could with the information at hand.

“There is always going to be, in retrospect, things that you look back on and say I wish, I could have, and we will learn from that for sure, but I don’t think we can second-guess the things that we did,” Bedard said.

Source: How a haven for refugees became home to the worst COVID-19 outbreak in Toronto’s shelter system

Freeland mum on whether Hong Kong asylum seekers will be granted refuge as bigger wave predicted

Hard to see why these claims would not be accepted by the IRB:

Deputy Prime Minister Chrystia Freeland, asked about dozens of asylum claims made by Hong Kong protesters in Canada, praised the rich contribution immigrants from this former British colony have made to this country but declined to indicate whether Ottawa would grant the applicants refuge.

Ms. Freeland told media Monday that while she can’t comment on specific asylum claims, which she said need to be adjudicated “very carefully and very thoughtfully,” Canadians agree that migrants from Hong Kong have been a boon for this country.

“Canada has benefited hugely from the immigration of people from Hong Kong to Canada. They contribute tremendously to our society and I think all of us are very glad that so many people from Hong Kong have chosen to make their home and their lives here,” Ms. Freeland said.

As the Globe and Mail first reported Monday, 46 Hong Kong citizens – many of whom took part in the massive demonstrations that began last year as China tightened its grip on the Asian city – are seeking asylum in Canada, citing harassment and brutality at the hands of police and fear of unjust prosecution.

This may only be the start of a bigger wave of asylum seekers, experts say.

Guy Saint-Jacques, a former Canadian diplomat, and Richard Kurland, an immigration lawyer and immigration policy analyst with extensive experience in dealing with Asian migration, both say these cases are likely the beginning of a surge in refugee claims from Hong Kong as political turmoil there continues.

The 46 would-be refugees from Hong Kong applied for asylum claims between Jan 1, 2019, and March 31, 2020. The claims, which are all pending, were received at airports, Canada Border Security Agency bureaus and Immigration, Refugee and Citizenship Canada offices (IRCC) across the country. Many of those claiming asylum in Canada face charges in Hong Kong in connection with the protests.

Wenran Jiang, an adjunct professor at the University of British Columbia’s School of Public Policy and Global Affairs, said Canada should proceed cautiously. “If Ottawa officially encourages and offers political asylum to protesters in Hong Kong, even [if] some of them clearly broke the law by being violent, Beijing is likely to interpret such a move as interfering in China’s domestic affairs, leading to adding more chill to an already cold-bilateral relationship.”

Canada’s relations within China deteriorated significantly in late 2018 after Ottawa arrested a Chinese high-tech executive on a U.S. extradition request and Beijing, in what was widely seen as retaliation, locked up two Canadians – former diplomat Michael Kovrig and entrepreneur Michael Spavor.

Conservative MP Garnett Genuis, who sits on the House of Commons Canada-China committee, said there are valid reasons for granting asylum to pro-democracy activists from Hong Kong. He said he hopes Canada doesn’t turn away these claimants for fear of offending China.

“The adjudication of asylum claims is an independent process and certainly determination should never be influenced by politics or fears of political retaliation,” he said. “We should absolutely be accepting asylum claims on their merit and … based on what I have heard about these claims there is a strong case to be made for their merit given the human rights abuses that we know of in Hong Kong.”

Mr. Saint-Jacques, a former Canadian ambassador to China, agrees that Beijing would be displeased if Canada were to grant asylum to Hong Kong pro-democracy advocates, but he also says they merit refuge.

“Given what is happening in Hong Kong and the fact that China is encroaching more and more on the rights of Hong Kong citizens …. clearly these people have a legitimate [reason] to think that their rights will not be respected,” he said.

Mr. Saint-Jacques said he expects there will be a large influx of people coming from Hong Kong in the months ahead, including many of the 300,000 residents of the Asian city who hold Canadian passports.

“I think these people would make a good contribution [to Canada] but the big dilemma for the federal government is that this is happening at the time when we need China’s goodwill to supply medical equipment we are desperate for,” he said.

Mr. Kurland said he thinks the 46 asylum claims may be the beginning of a rise in refugee applicants from Hong Kong.

“There may be legs to this,” he said. “Planning for a sudden climb in Hong Kong refugee claim numbers is prudent.”

Today, as many as 500,000 Canadians of Hong Kong descent live in Canada, according to Hong Kong Watch.

Source: Freeland mum on whether Hong Kong asylum seekers will be granted refuge as bigger wave predicted

Mexico Deports Most of Its Detained Migrant Population

Of note, reflecting in part the effect of the Trump administration cutting off Central American access to the American asylum system:

On Sunday, Mexico’s National Institute of Migration (INM) announced the repatriation of 3,653 Central American migrants. The measure comes after growing concern over Covid-19 spreading in INM detention facilities throughout Mexico.

Mexico recently has faced issues attempting to deport Central American citizens back to their home countries. Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador closed their borders to citizens and aliens.

The INM said: “In the face of the health emergency caused by Covid-19, the Ministry of the Interior, the National Institute of Migration (INM), acts responsibly and safeguards the integrity of the population in the context of migration by seeking to fully guarantee their human rights.”

Guatemalan nationals were sent back by bus and Honduran and Salvadoran migrants were transported by aircraft to their countries of origin. The International Organization for Migrants administered the flight arrangements to Central America.

In March, the INM had 3,579 foreign nationals housed throughout its 65 detention facilities and shelters. As of Sunday, the number had decreased to 106 migrants — a 97 percent reduction in the detained migrant population.

The remaining aliens gave their consent to stay in Mexican custody. Religious organizations have assisted with shelter accommodations for migrants choosing to stay in Mexico.

The United Nations, the National Human Rights Commission of Mexico, and dozens of other activist organizations supported the mass release of foreign nationals from INM custody.

Additionally, the INM expressed its support of Mexican nationals being repatriated from the United States to prevent the spread of Covid-19 amongst their countrymen.

And Mexico’s Ministry of Foreign Relations announced that it had been able to repatriate more than 129 Mexican people from Honduras and 30 from El Salvador.

Source: Mexico Deports Most of Its Detained Migrant Population

Some refugee claimants can now enter Canada

Good overview of the limited exceptions:

Some refugee claimants from the United States can once again enter Canada.

The Canada Border Services Agency announced Wednesday that claimants eligible for exemptions under the Safe Third Party Agreement between Canada and the U.S. can enter the country through official land border crossings. Those entering through irregular border crossings will still be returned to the U.S.

“People who arrive irregularly between border crossings are still prohibited from entering Canada to make a refugee claim,” the federal agency said on Twitter, in French.

“As of today, claimants can enter the country at designated land ports of entry only if they are among the few who are eligible for exemptions under the Safe Third Party Agreement.”

Those exempted from the agreement include claimants with family in Canada, unaccompanied minors or people who already have permits, like a student visa. They will also be subject to the mandatory 14-day quarantine for new arrivals.

Last month, in announcing the closure of the Canada’s border with the United States, as part of efforts to contain the spread of the COVID-19 pandemic, the federal government said it would return all refugee claimants coming into the country via irregular crossings back to the U.S. The Americans also said they would do the same for those entering their country from Canada.

At Monday’s sitting of the House of Commons, Public Safety Minister Bill Blair, answering a question from Conservative MP Joël Godin, said that at least 10 people had made irregular crossing since the ban. They were returned to the United States, Blair confirmed.

News of the change to allow some refugee claimants to enter Canada through designated ports of entry first came on Wednesday when Jean-Pierre Fortin, president of the Customs and Immigration Union, gave radio interviews.

Fortin called the change a “surprise” move that was communicated to his members at the end of the day Tuesday.

“We are in a state of crisis,” Fortin said. “We think it is too early to open the border.”

He added that the Canadian Border Services Agency has reserved a nearby hotel, with about 50 rooms, where refugee claimants who take advantage of this new opening would have to go into quarantine for 14 days before the claims could be processed.

Fortin also expressed concerns that Customs officers would need protective equipment and safeguards to deal with people who may have the COVID-19 virus and he said the waiting room for people coming through the border crossing is not large, making social distancing difficult.

In Ottawa, when he was asked about the change at his daily pandemic briefing, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said as far as he knows the Canada-U.S. Safe Third Country Agreement is still in force. He then referred the question to Minister Blair.

CBSA media relations staff disclosed the Order in Council to reporters seeking more information. The new rules remain in effect until May 21, the date the Canada-U.S. border is set to reopen.

The change was requested by Health Canada, according to a CBSA official, who said the intent is to “minimize the risk of exposure to COVID-19 in Canada.” The official confirmed that foreign nationals are still prohibited from entering Canada from the United States if they have “COVID-19 or have signs and symptoms of COVID-19” or officials have “reasonable grounds to suspect they have such signs and symptoms.”

Refugee rights advocates have called on the government to reopen the border to all asylum seekers.

Janet Dench, the Canadian Council of Refugees, said the ban is “wrong and unnecessary.”

Still, she said changing the rules to allow refugee claimants who have family members already in Canada to enter represents “a step in the right direction.”

“I doesn’t solve the problem, though,” Dench said, calling on the government to respect the rights of asylum seekers to come to Canada.

Source: Some refugee claimants can now enter Canada

More Than a Place of Refuge: Meaningful engagement of Government-assisted refugees in the future of work. An Action Canada Task Force report

From the recent Action Canada report, on ways to improve participation in the workplace for Government Assisted Refugees. Most of these are reasonable but I would question the need for a national anti-racism strategy specific to former refugees as hard to see that anti-Muslim or anti-Black racism is specific to refugees and former refugees:

Recommendation 1: The Government of Canada should support the development of collaborative options in which GARs can access programs to simultaneously improve their language skills while acquiring Canadian work experience and earning wages.

Recommendation 2: The Government of Canada should support the prioritization of creating enhanced social capital for GARs through an emphasis on social bridging/integration.

Recommendation 3: The Government of Canada should reduce the amount of the claw-back on income above 50 percent of the Resettlement Assistance Program amount from 100 percent to 50 percent to encourage former refugees to find full-time employment.

Recommendation 4: The Government of Canada should extend Resettlement Assistance Program eligibility to 24 months.

Recommendation 5: The Government of Canada should direct Statistics Canada to work with federal ministries, provincial governments and settlement agencies to collect and publicly distribute relevant, updated and on-time data regarding newcomer refugees, and especially relating to uptake of different social programs and employment.

Recommendation 6: The Government of Canada should establish a national strategy to combat discrimination against former refugees, with an emphasis on Islamophobia and anti-black racism.

Source: https://ppforum.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/AC-Meaningful-Engagement-Report.pdf