Day 236, Year of #Mygration: Where would you escape if you had no place to go?

Marco Distinto, a Research Student at the OU, shares his experiences from fieldwork in refugee camps in Italy. Through stories of individual refugees, he explores the reason behind their plight and what civil society is doing to ease their integration in Italy once they have settled their status. He concludes by highlighting the fact that integration should be tailored to individual circumstances rather than based on what happens during an arbitrary time frame.  

Commonly, the word "reception centre" evokes images of a classic refugee camp (often militarised or secured), located far from the eyes of citizens and where migrants are immured and often abandoned to themselves. However, as part of my doctoral research, I spent six months in two centres for refugees and asylum seekers in Italy. These centres have a different purpose constituting what the Italian system defines as the "second reception". This phase is formally carried out by the SPRAR (Protection System for Asylum seekers and Refugees), a publicly funded system based on the participation of local authorities, NGOs and social enterprises working alongside various organisations within the local communities.  

The SPRAR network is composed of small autonomous reception structures offering integration support to migrants through individualised projects. The majority of the guests have already received a protection status while some are in the process of obtaining it. The idea is to surpass the classical refugee camp and promote what has been called the “widespread reception” to facilitate the integration of migrants within host communities. Every SPRAR project takes charge of migrants for six months (occasionally extendable). Here they are provided accommodation in apartments distributed throughout the city and are given a small financial allowance. Moreover, they participate in Italian language courses and receive career guidance along with legal, psychological and medical support.  

Currently, these centres are operating within particular social pressures, affected by changes to the government and the growing popularity of right-wing nationalist parties. Current Italian political debates have prompted a halo of unease around migration and a sense of distrust which divides regions, municipalities, third sector organisations and citizenship, compromising the development of the general SPRAR project. Their goal to create a robust network connecting migrants and host community for the benefits of both appears as a gruelling one as they are often forced to act within an institutional void. 

Despite the structured system of refugee support, according to the 2016 SPRAR report, only the 30% of the SPRAR beneficiaries leave the centres with employment; while little is known about the living conditions of the remaining 70%. Integration process through SPRAR, as it were, is a system with significant room for improvement both concerning numbers and practices. However, the new “security decree”, passed by the lower house of Italian Parliament this week, favours the emergency perspective of large reception centres and abolishes residence permits on humanitarian grounds and their replacement with temporary “special permits” accorded only in extreme circumstances including natural disasters, trafficking, domestic violence and heavy exploitation. This change will weaken the SPRAR networks and may promote norms that risk producing more illegality and irregularities. 

During my fieldwork I had the pleasure to meet many of the beneficiaries of the SPRAR services, these were mainly African adolescents or young adults full of hopes. Each of them, in his/her way, was looking for a second chance in a world that was anything but generous with them. I met Diara, who escaped after criminals plundered his father’s shop. Met Ekow seeking medical treatment for his eyes. Keita, an entrepreneur, persecuted for his sexual orientation, who was forced to abandon his activity. Malik, marginalised by his community as the only survivor of a family decimated by the Ebola epidemic. Richard the albino and his mate Sekou, fancying success within the Italian hip-hop scene. The women were often victims of violence or the sex trade, exchanged as objects or sold to the highest bidder. Haifa escaped from a forced marriage and found safety and the companionship of a peer migrant; Ulu, who reluctantly spoke about her past but dreamed about her future as a fashion designer; and Jahzara who, after giving aid to the refugees in her war-torn region, was forced to become one of them.  

There were also a few children, whose parents risked everything to guarantee them a better life. One of them, the eight years old Ibrahim was considered "the man of the house", a life-enthusiastic wannabe doctor who was known and loved by the whole neighbourhood. One day we were speaking about my unfortunate relationship with the surf. He replied with a laconic tone: "No, you made a serious mistake. If you wanted to learn you should have never given up". His and his mother's time with the SPRAR ended during my time there, and they left without a secure occupation nor accommodation. Unfortunately, despite the support offered in the six to twelve months, many migrants depart without a solid base to start a new life. After leaving the project, they disappear from the institutions’ radar and the public consciousness. Those who fail to get a steady job risk to find alternative solutions within the black market or in criminal organisations. 

As researchers and ethnographers, with colleagues, we sometimes discuss our responsibility towards research participants. In the words of a fellow researcher: "Often there is not so much we can do but listen to their words. They entrust their stories to us, and we must do our best to get their life acknowledged by those reading our work".  We are responsible for that and as wardens of their tales this is one of our duties: to bring to light the experience of people who too often are isolated and with no place to go, forced to become invisible in a society in which social closures and institutionalised prejudice turn individuals into disembodied entities branded by cold bureaucratic labels.