Ghassan has seen things that he will never forget. In a land brutalised by war, the Syrian refugee lived on his wits as he fled a vicious conflict that has killed many. Now living with his wife and two sons in Madrid, Ghassan (whose name has been changed to protect his identity) has been given the chance to start over and to conquer a past that has left deep mental scars.
Yet, the lively Spanish capital, thrust into the media spotlight last month when another Syrian refugee was offered a home on the city’s outskirts after being tripped by a Hungarian camerawoman at a border hotspot, is proving a tough fit for the 50-year-old. Jobless and lacking the necessary means to support his family, Ghassan has quickly become disillusioned with life in one of Europe’s oldest nations.
“Spain is a very good country, as are the people, and they are similar to us, but the help here is very bad,” says a weary Ghassan, who arrived in Spain from Syria via Lebanon at the end of last year. “We haven’t any help. How can I learn Spanish? And how can I integrate into Spanish society or find work here without help to learn the language?”
Ghassan was a civil engineer and his wife a pharmacist when the demonstrations began against the rule of Syrian president Bashar Al Assad in early 2011. A Druze from the town of Sahnaya in southern Syria, Ghassan watched in horror as surrounding villages felt the full force of the regime’s crackdown. Moved by the demonstrators resolve and angered by Assad’s response, Ghassan – through his wife’s pharmacy – soon began providing medical aid to the protesters, later joining them as they demonstrated against government soldiers.
“But after a time, the regime began to ask about my wife and me – and there were people watching our pharmacy,” recalls Ghassan, whose Druze sect made up about 3 per cent of Syria’s pre-war population of 23 million – has found itself caught between loyalists and dissenters of the regime, while looking to ensure its own survival. Just last month, a car bomb blast killed a Druze leader in southern Syria.
Soon, the regime’s internal security turned up at Ghassan’s family home looking for his wife – and it was then that he made the decision to send her and their oldest son to Lebanon, fearing that his wife would be arrested. They then appealed to friends in Spain for help, which resulted in an official invitation via the Spanish Embassy in Lebanon in 2011. By December 2013, his family had arrived in Spain – seeking asylum and gaining residency.
For Ghassan, however, his journey to Europe took a more perilous path. Forced to wait until his wife and older son had made it to Spain before he too could be officially invited, Ghassan was told to head to the Spanish Embassy in Lebanon to collect his documentation. With his younger son, he decided to go to the Syrian border with Lebanon and pass through the official crossing. But while his son was permitted entry, he was stopped by Syrian security, who arrested him and threw him in jail.
“They were very violent with us there – and I saw with my own eyes 81 dead bodies,” says Ghassan, emphasising the figure with a continued sense of disbelief. “They had been killed by torture – they were naked and black and blue.”
During his month in prison, Ghassan was interrogated and beaten. They broke his arm but not his spirit – and he was released after his jailers decided that he was not a threat. Again, he made for the Syrian-Lebanese border, but unprepared to head into Lebanon using the official route, he crossed elsewhere with the help of smugglers and made it to safety. In Lebanon he was relieved to discover that his younger son had been cared for, and at the end of 2014 he was finally reunited with his family in Spain.
Today, Europe is in the grip of its worst refugee crisis since the ravages of the Second World War. In Spain, the government caved in to pressure to accept its share of refugees under the European Union’s quota system. Earlier last month, Spanish prime minister Mariano Rajoy announced that he would be sticking to a summer commitment to accept less than 3,000 refugees on account of the country’s high unemployment rate – at 22.4 per cent, one of the highest in the EU. But, as opposition leaders called on the Spanish government to play its part in alleviating the strain on the rest of Europe and a massive banner was unfurled at Madrid’s City Hall in September declaring “Refugees Welcome” in English, Rajoy swiftly changed tack – agreeing to take in an additional 14,931. As things stand, Spain has already been allocated 8,023 refugees as per the new EU quota plan.
Yet, with the Spanish general election looming, the country’s role in the refugee crisis is gaining political traction. For many observers, Rajoy’s change of heart can’t disguise the initial reluctance on the part of the Spanish government to absorb more refugees in a country that saw 78,785 Spaniards emigrate in 2014, reflecting a drop in the resident population for the third consecutive year.
“The refugees are not stones – they are humans and if they come here we’ll say thanks to them for working to build our country,” says Yast Solo, a human-rights activist and social worker. “This country right now has a lot less people than 10 years ago, than seven years ago, because a lot of Spanish people went elsewhere, so there’s place for a lot of people here.”
As Germany prepares to receive up to one million refugees by the end of this year, the systems in place for taking care of the refugees themselves have also been highlighted. Germany’s much-heralded reputation for its long-term care and support of refugees has become well known among those seeking a safe haven. In Spain, meanwhile, the standard of care for new arrivals has been deemed insufficient by many activists and non-governmental organisations – with six months of support by the Spanish government making up the totality of the state’s contribution.
During this period, refugees are entitled to basic provisions, including food, shelter and Spanish lessons, but afterwards, most are forced to turn elsewhere for help, with some looking to leave Spain altogether.
“The first six months are the most difficult time for them anyway,” says Ignacio Urquijo, a Spanish field researcher in migration. “And there’s a huge period of adaptation for them during this time, so [any disruption to their situation] after that time makes their lives very difficult.”
But, Urquijo, a former volunteer at a Madrid-based NGO that helps refugees, says the only saving grace is the abundance of organisations that attempt to fill the breach.
“There are many NGOs and organisations in Spain that are prepared to support them, and you can see how, after a while, it’s possible for refugees and migrants to become integrated in the country,” he says.
Ghassan, his wife and two sons, now 21 and 17, are no exceptions. Relying on NGOs and the church for financial assistance, they have also been forced to seek handouts from family members abroad, with the odd Arabic newspaper report composed by Ghassan’s wife adding to a meagre income.
“I feel ashamed at this,” says Ghassan. “In Syria we had a large house, we had a car, our pharmacy and my work, so we were living well in our country [before the war]. But here it is very difficult.”
As the sole European country to share land borders with the African continent – courtesy of its two enclaves in northern Morocco – Spain has long played host to foreign immigrants. In Madrid, home to about 3.3 million people in the city proper, the most conspicuous are the largely undocumented migrants from West Africa hawking counterfeit designer bags and football shirts to passers-by in the heaving tourist districts of Puerta del Sol and other areas of the capital. Playing cat and mouse with Spanish police has become something of a faintly comical art form for the illegal vendors who can often be seen giving the prowling officers the slip, only to reappear moments later after the coast clears.
Yet, for many of today’s arrivals to Europe, from Syria and elsewhere, it is not Spain, but Germany and Sweden, that are the destinations of choice. For Ghassan and his family, however, their attempt to make a life for themselves in Madrid continues. Both of Ghassan’s sons are pursuing their education – and as a sanctuary from the desperate violence of Syria, Spain has offered the family a chance for a fresh start. But, while Ghassan is thankful for this new beginning, his frustrations with Spanish life are surpassed only by the pangs of sadness he feels towards the homeland he has left behind.
“I must be realistic – maybe the Syrian crisis will continue for a long time to come,” he says. “But in this time I cannot live my life with no work. I will try to make my life here, but my dream always is to return to my country. Nothing in the world is like your country.”
Alasdair Soussi is a freelance journalist, who writes regularly for The National and Al Jazeera English. His book, In the Shadow of the Cotton Tree, is out now.
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