Wednesday, 11 November 2015

Our asylum system is forcing vulnerable teenagers to relive their trauma

At the age of 13, Janan witnessed his father being beaten to death by members of the Taliban in Afghanistan and his mother dragged off into the night. Recognising the danger to Janan, his relatives sold his parents’ land and paid traffickers to take him to safety. Traumatised and vulnerable, he set off on a horrific nine-month journey. He recalls gruelling marches over mountains in the snow and witnessing the shooting of fellow travellers who fell behind through hunger and fatigue. Every new day that dawned, Janan thought would be his last. Sadly, his story is not uncommon.
Fortunately, once unaccompanied children like Janan arrive in the UK, our health and social care systems offer excellent support, and usually they settle well into their new lives here. However, as a clinical psychologist who has worked in the NHS for the last 15 years with many young people like Janan, I have become increasingly troubled by what happens as they approach 18 – the age at which they must reapply for asylum. Their temporary leave to remain expires at this age, and they must return to court to argue their case again. This process can have a devastating impact on their mental health. All the good work done since their arrival in the UK to heal trauma and help them to settle rapidly unravels.
In the child and family refugee service at the Tavistock and Portman NHS foundation trust, we see many young people who arrive alone in the UK. Most travel for more than a year or more from places such as Afghanistan, the Middle East or East African countries, experiencing appalling and dangerous journeys to reach our shores. With the right mental health intervention, they are able to come to terms with the multiple losses and trauma they have experienced, and usually demonstrate the most extraordinary resilience. They rebuild “families” within their networks of support and develop dreams for their future, which motivate them to work hard in school.
Izat had been an excellent student, polite to staff and popular with his peers. He was referred to our service aged 17, when teachers noticed him becoming increasingly withdrawn and angry. When I first met him, he was reapplying for asylum, and in despair about the possibility of losing the life he had built here. He had left one life behind already in Afghanistan, and the prospect of that loss being repeated was unbearable.
He had started having night terrors – dreams where he relived the murders he had witnessed, accompanied by the smells, sounds and intense fear he had experienced at the time. He would wake, covered in sweat and crying out, unable to get back to sleep. These memories began to intrude into his days in the form of flashbacks, which made it impossible to concentrate at school. He started thinking about killing himself.
Although psychological treatment has helped Izat to manage the worst of his symptoms, it has been impossible to address his traumatic memories in any significant way while the insecurity of his asylum status hangs over him. Izat has been to court several times, but his case is still unresolved after four years. Three times, he has been granted leave to remain in the UK, and each time this is contested by the Home Office, at which point Izat becomes suicidal again. In the refugee service, we feel we are constantly firefighting with cases such as Izat’s.

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