Hunger Strike in Solidarity with Asylum Seekers 20 - 27 October 1999

Last October I learnt some important lessons about myself and about the society I live in. Sitting opposite the Houses of Parliament for seven days between two banners opposing the Immigration and Asylum Bill (as it still was in October), I felt vulnerable and very exposed. And certainly, people were not shy about expressing their opinions. The hatred and rage that was shouted from taxi and van drivers was disturbing. The comments were usually fairly predictable - 'Get rid of the lot of them', 'Send them all back', 'Get a job' (to which I could respond 'Got one, thanks'), but there were one or two that took a while to recover from. The reaction of the well-dressed woman in her fifties sitting in a Jaguar who, not satisfied with giving me a two-finger salute, rolled down her window to scream 'Starve, why don't you just starve' was startling to say the least. 'Starve them out? I 'd burn the bastards out' from a van-driver leaning across his mates indicated that warnings to Jack Straw about the dangers of dispersal and detention centres were well-founded. A Rostock or Hoyerwerda did not seem inconceivable in the light of such remarks.
MP Glenda Jackson, who stopped to discuss the issue, argued that, if handled in the same way as the Kosovan crisis, dispersal need not be the disaster many of us fear. But the Kosovans were portrayed as 'genuine' refugees and we were expected to make them welcome. Those being dispersed now are asylum seekers and successive governments and media campaigns argue that the majority of these are 'bogus' - what welcome can they expect in areas that are neglected and impoverished?
However, not everyone just shouted and drove on. Some came to talk about their worries that 'their England' was being lost. Others talked about the costs to the tax payers, or crime and benefit fraud. The taxi drivers who took me and my banners to and from the church every day asked what about 'our' poor, 'our' homeless, 'our' unemployed. I have to admit that these conversations, in which I pointed out that arguing for the rights of one group was not incompatible with arguing for the rights of others, that in fact, the amount of money spent on asylum seekers was a tiny, tiny percentage of the social security budget, that anyway, one shouldn't count pennies when faced with people in need, that while there may well be a number of unpleasant people among those who come seeking asylum, why should we expect asylum seekers to be any different from the general population, often ended with 'well, I'm entitled to my opinion' or at best a grudging 'well, I'll think about what you've said'.
Luckily, though, there were others, lots of others, who would sometimes just smile and nod or say quietly 'Good luck' or 'Well done' as they walked by. There were the bus drivers and their passengers who would read the banners, then note how many days into the strike it was and nod seriously, or smile and wave, or give the Black Power salute. There were also a couple of Labour supporters who stopped to voice their anguish at Labour's treatment of asylum seekers (thank you to the man who brought his umbrella for me) and to say that they would no longer be able to vote Labour specifically because of this Act. Then there was the congregation of St Margaret's and St James', who believe in a Christian duty to care for the needy. And there were still more - from various socialist groups, from the Campaign Against Racism and Facism, to stalwarts from the National Coalition of Anti-Deportation Campaigns and the National Assembly Against Racism - all of whom are worried for the safety, dignity and well-being of those under attack from this government and who have warned of the consequences of this legislation.
The impression that remains from that week is that those who are sympathetic to the plight of asylum seekers (the majority, I still believe) are quiet and silent and drowned out by a noisy minority, most of whom are ignorant or ill-informed. The responsibility for that ignorance and misinformation lies with the Government and, with a few exceptions, the media.
The lesson that I learnt about myself was that I was able to fast for seven days without too much difficulty or discomfort and without any side effects beyond a little weakness and dizzyness. I realised this was because I knew that after seven days I would be able to eat again, that I could afford to buy food and that I could choose what and how much I would eat. I also had somewhere safe and warm - St James' Church in Picadilly - to sleep each night. I was surrounded by concerned friends and I was sitting still much of the time, rather than running scared from people looking to harm me and my loved ones.
Most importantly, unlike asylum seekers in this country - I was in control of my life, I had chosen to go without food for seven days - it wasn't forced upon me.
Knowing this, and comparing my situation with those who are dependent on the discretion of government officials, and whose lives will now become even more controlled and dependent on bureaucrats, helped me to put what I was doing in perspective.

It did nothing to alleviate the shame I feel at being part of a society prepared to watch while people go hungry and worse.
Liza Schuster