Alien Nation - Trespass

Since my involvement in the I-Team learning programme I have been thinking about the development of a new project that will focus further on freedom of movement and trespass. I am trying to make sense of my thoughts, especially now during the Covid-19 lock down (entering week 6 tomorrow) and my recent experience of spending time at a refugee centre in Izmir called Tiafi.org

I have learned a lot about the difficulties faced by refugees (in particular women and children) and organisations and individuals who are trying to help migrants.

Coincidentally, just before the UK went into lockdown, we had moved from Sheffield to an area on the edge of the Peak District National Park, about 10 miles from Kinder Scout, the highest hill in this National Park and only slightly further down the Hope Valley where in 1932, the mass Kinder trespass took place

“Though controversial when it occurred, it has been interpreted as the embodiment of ‘working class struggle’ for the right to roam versus the rights of the wealthy to have exclusive use of moorlands for grouse shooting”.

For me, the notion of trespass, commonly understood as an illegal entering of another’s land or property has begun to have different meanings. Our house looks out over Bamford Edge where from ‘ Glorious’ 12th August to 10th December, people come to and pay a considerable sum of money to shoot grouse. Outside of the shooting season the Edge offers fantastic views over the Hope Valley. Now that we are all told on a daily basis to ‘Stay safely at Home’, I feel immensely lucky to be able to use our daily exercise time to walk or run up to the edge and experience that moment of freedom. Perspective is what we all need but is not afforded to all.

I started to write a much longer post about the experience of being in Izmir but the Covid-19 has taken over all our thoughts and conversations. The daily updates on deaths, the confusing messages by government and WHO representatives, the debates and discussions around the ‘new normal’ and ‘life after’ or even ‘our moment of the great realisation’ …. it has invaded all of our minds and bodies. And yet, I need to keep reminding myself how acutely aware I was of the lack of movement, the weird new normal, the great adaptation faced by the women and children refugees I met. Not only were they not able to move anywhere else in Turkey, they were even stuck inside the refugee centre itself - their only place of safety that now, sadly, also had to close its doors because of Covid-19.

A refugee is a person who is outside that person's own country's territory owing to fear of persecution on protected grounds, including race, caste, nationality, religion, political opinions and participation in any particular social group or social activities. But unlike other refugees who seek asylum and are protected by the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the Syrian refugees in Turkey are treated as temporary guests paid for by money from the EU who struck a deal with Turkey in 2016 to keep them (basically) out of Europe. The Syrian refugees can only stay in the place where they are registered as new arrivals and so the 60,000 refugees in Izmir have to stay in Izmir.

Trespass is part of tort law and consists of 3 main elements. The not so commonly known is ‘trespass to the person’.

…”most jurisdictions now broadly recognize three trespasses to the person: assault, which is "any act of such a nature as to excite an apprehension of battery"; "any intentional and unpermitted contact with the plaintiff's person or anything attached to it and practically identified with it";and false imprisonment, the "unlawfull obstruction or deprivation of freedom from restraint of movement".

Covid-19 has placed us in lock down, has restricted our movement but it has also impregnated us with fear, anxiety and anger towards people seen to be breaking rules (although the rules are, in my opinion, deliberately unclear!). Around me messages are posted, placards erected, signs nailed into trees, warnings strapped around fence posts. Some these message are seemingly benign (‘stay at home, stay safe’), some are funny and others outright hateful.

The fear is palpable, the suspicious looks noticeable and the whispering and mutterings are too loud to be ignored. If we were once fearful of outsiders, we are all outsiders now. Isolation has brought us a false sense of security and maybe a new sense of superiority.

And yet, in fearful times also good things happen. A sense of ‘community’ spirit is revived - people do kind things for each other and renewed talk is of hope - how our lives can be lived better, in harmony with our natural environment, less greed and more shared resources. Maybe the problem remains that we are still persuaded to think as communities and nations rather than as humanity as a whole.

Not so far in the back of my mind but clearly visible is the image of the boy. I met him at Tiafi and he is about 8 years old. I was told that he had witnessed the brutal killing of his older brother during the Syrian war. I was also told that he was severely traumatised, spoke little and was often hiding and alone. If he was with other children, we was often aggressive. He once asked if a stick of wood could be made into a knife so he could kill his teacher. His mum is also very withdrawn and didn’t speak much, I rarely saw her smile. She worked in the kitchen. The boy was the youngest of her three children, her eldest daughter was wheelchair bound and unable to attend school but as helpful, polite and supportive as her middle daughter.

I was only there for 5 days and over the 5 days the boy and I became friends. He loved to draw and paint and he is good, expressive, inventive. He began to smile more, followed me around, helped me to clear up. He made a mask out of scraps of cardboard, paper and glue. He painted a ref face on it and wanted me to take his photo. So that is how I remember him, that is the image of the boy. And I remember his hug when I said goodbye. We shared something that week without expectations. I hope he is ok.