Migrants in Dachau: “We are afraid of being deported again” – Dachau

The glass door opens smoothly. Behind it there is a long corridor, doors to the right and left, in front of them are Adidas slippers and children’s sneakers. The building in the Deutenhofen district used to be a hospital, later a retirement home. Refugees have been living here since 2013, currently there are 62. There is not much left of the old people’s home: the walls have lost their brilliant white, the air smells stale, permeated by a light scent of freshly cooked food. Over the years, many feet have run, shuffled, walked down the hallway; the dirt has eaten away.

Peter Barth is the coordinator of the Hebertshausen support group and comes to the accommodation about three times a week. When he comes in, he greets a Syrian woman who has just returned from her work in the old people’s home. Another resident sleepily opens his door. “You have to look at your emails, I sent you an apartment ad,” says Barth. The resident has been looking for his own place to stay for a long time, maybe it will work this time.

A staircase leads to the second floor, at the end of the staircase is the living room: a sparsely furnished room with a leather couch, an armchair and a red sofa. There are two large signs on the wall that say “No Smoking”. There is an ashtray on the small coffee table, otherwise everything is empty. Barth is happy: “Oh, it’s clean today.”

One of the residents is cleaning the accommodation for 80 cents an hour. These 0.80 euro jobs are called “non-profit additional work opportunities” and asylum seekers can earn some extra money with them. Barth talks non-stop, he comes from the job opportunities to the accommodation to the asylum procedure: “The topic is endless,” says Barth.

“The conditions are good, there is nothing that bothers me”

The window front in the living room overlooks the neighboring balconies, most of the blinds are closed. “A woman fell over there two weeks ago,” says Barth. “I don’t know if it was an accident, whether it was domestic violence or a suicide attempt. We don’t know what to do about it.” The woman broke both her legs and is now in the hospital. Barth shakes his head thoughtfully. Then the door of the living room opens and Yannick comes in.

The 31-year-old Congolese wears shorts and slippers. He arrived here just before Christmas, together with his 24-year-old wife Herine. How is it to live here? “The conditions are good, there is nothing that bothers me,” says Yannick. The young couple is struggling with completely different problems: “My wife is seven months pregnant. We were in prison in Poland and are afraid of being deported back there.” After nine months in prison, they were only released on condition that they apply for asylum in Poland – otherwise it would have been another nine months. The young couple is now threatened with deportation back to Poland: Due to the Dublin procedure, the country in which asylum was first applied for is responsible for them.

The 53-year-old Mohammed Al Amiri was an Arabic teacher in Yemen. He is now learning German with YouTube videos in his living room. His 75-year-old mother also lives in the accommodation.

(Photo: Niels P. Jørgensen)

Asylum policy: A refugee from Senegal is cooking in the communal kitchen.  He has been in Germany for ten years, his status: "tolerated".

A refugee from Senegal is cooking in the communal kitchen. He has been in Germany for ten years and his status is “tolerated”.

(Photo: Niels P. Jørgensen)

Asylum policy: A note on the bathroom door is intended to remind residents to save water when showering.

A note on the bathroom door reminds residents to save water when showering.

(Photo: Niels P. Jørgensen)

Herine comes and sits next to her husband. “Did you go to school today?” Barth asks. He organized an entrance test for her, and for a few weeks she has been going to the professional integration class in Dachau. The concept only exists in Bavaria: young people who have fled are to be taught in special classes for a period of two years in order to ideally be fit for an apprenticeship afterwards. At 31, Yannick is too old for such a class, and Herine will no longer be able to attend classes after the birth of her child. But today she was at school, and now the app with the timetable is working on her cell phone. Before that, Barth wrote to her every evening about the lessons she had the next day.

Getting through the time somehow so as not to go insane

Yannick says: “We were at the office today, our ID card has expired. They told us to leave Germany.” He makes a gesture with his hand like someone shooing away an annoying fly. Barth asks what ID they have now. “Duldung,” Yannick replies. In the meantime it has grown dark and the ceiling light is not working properly. Yannick shines his mobile phone flashlight so that Barth can read the documents. “Oh, that’s not good,” says Barth. Duldung, that sounds good, but it means that your asylum application has been rejected.

Tolerated people are given a period of time to leave the country, after this period, according to the Asylum Act, a “measure to end the stay” is initiated. Perhaps the young couple will be lucky and their deportation to Poland will be suspended. A doctor has certified Herine a high-risk pregnancy, they are still waiting for an answer from the Federal Administrative Court.

“My wife also has mental problems. She cries at night and doesn’t sleep properly,” says Yannick. He looks at Herine, she says: “With all this – my head is bursting. I’m afraid that we have to go back to Poland, to prison, with the baby.” What do you say to that?

The asylum helper also finds it difficult to give advice, but he tries: “You have to get through this together. You have to try to be strong. If you can, then learn German, go to school.” They should do something to distract them a bit, something to help them get through their time here. “So you don’t go crazy,” says Barth. Yannick looks at him and replies: “Okay.” He says it so softly that you can hardly hear it.

Acting locally doesn’t change big politics

The prospects of staying for people from the Congo are poor, and the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (BAMF) only counts Eritrea, Somalia, Syria and Afghanistan as countries with so-called “good prospects of staying”. Around 228,000 asylum applications were made in Germany last year. Refugees from Ukraine are not included, as they do not have to apply for asylum. The result of the applications: 56 percent of the asylum seekers are allowed to stay – at least for the time being – the other half are tolerated, but are actually obliged to leave the country, like Herine and Yannick. “You will try everything to deport them, but you won’t be able to because they don’t have a passport,” explains Barth.

Herine and Yannick lost their papers while trying to escape. If they don’t manage to identify themselves somehow in the coming months, they will face sanctions. “If you have a criminal record, you can’t do anything anymore,” says Barth. The process may then stretch out for years, and here, too, Barth says again: “The subject matter is endless.”

According to the Federal Office Bamf, the only way to get out of a Duldung and to be allowed to stay is “sustainable integration”. The new “opportunity and residence law” has been in effect since the end of last year: According to this, refugees who have been “permanently tolerated” in Germany for at least five years can apply for a right of residence. Further conditions for this are: no previous convictions and own gainful employment. That should also be difficult for Herine and Yannick: “Without a minimum knowledge of German, we can’t find a job for Yannick, the two are far from ready,” says Barth.

If he were younger, Barth would be in politics today

When he started as an asylum helper ten years ago, he only taught German. Later, as the coordinator of the helper circle, he no longer had time for it. “It’s a shame, that was the best time,” says Barth today. And something else is bothering him: Today he walked past a door he had never knocked on before, with people he had never spoken to. He’s still happy about every single person he can help, but he also says: “My work is purely local. That’s not the big policy that you change with it.”

If the 75-year-old were 40 years old now, he would go into politics and specialize in the topics of asylum and migration. But after ten years of voluntary work, he too is slowly getting tired, although he describes himself as a person who is creative, who always tries to implement any chance that is available. “We can’t shut ourselves off from the refugee issue in the world,” says Barth. People will continue to come to Germany, even if the districts occupy gyms again. “And if the boat is supposed to be full now, then God help us what happens then.”

Demands of the asylum helper groups in the district of Dachau

The helper circles confirm that there are “indeed major problems at the municipal level”. However, the increasing number of refugees is not the reason for the lack of apartments or daycare places – these problems “have existed for many years”. Now they are getting worse because there are fewer and fewer volunteer asylum workers; not accepting any more refugees is not a solution. For years, the helper circles have taken on tasks “that should have been carried out by the state and municipal levels”. A “voluntary work can only ever be a supplement to the main office.”

Specifically, the helper groups are calling for new integration concepts and appropriate management in the municipalities: the range of advice and support must be increased and “focused on asylum accommodation” and the procedures must be reduced in bureaucracy. They are also demanding more intensive job placement by the job centers and more social housing. Around 1,400 refugees are currently living in state accommodation in the district, almost half of them are so-called “false occupants”, i.e. people who have an asylum decision but cannot find their own apartment.

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