Towards the end of April 2018 I received a letter from Guy Hewitt, the high commissioner for Barbados to the UK. It was quite an exceptional letter, one which Ill never forget.
Never was so much owed by so many to so few, it began.
This wartime quote by Winston Churchill is to me the most apt way of expressing the gratitude of the Caribbean high commissioners and the West Indian diaspora for the incredible work by Amelia Gentleman on the issues confronting elderly, Caribbean-born, long-term UK residents.
In less than a week, a story that was for too long begging for attention became front-page news and in the process won the hearts of the nation and engaged the mind of a government. I want to recognise the seminal work by Amelia in almost singlehandedly leading the charge.
The Caribbean owes her an immeasurable debt of gratitude, and I commend her for an immense dedication to her craft and outstanding service to the people of the Caribbean.
While we are not there yet, I am now optimistic that soon, in large part because of Amelias work, those elderly West Indians who lived in fear will be able to embrace their loved ones.
What a beautiful way of expressing the extraordinary impact of Amelia Gentlemans reporting in the Guardian.
In October 2017, Amelia had started investigating why law-abiding, pension-age people, who had been born in Commonwealth countries but who had spent much of their childhoods and all their adult lives in Britain, were being classified by the Home Office as illegal immigrants. Some were being detained and threatened with deportation. Others were being sacked from their jobs, losing their homes and being denied NHS treatment. Most had no idea that they had been silently illegalised by changing legislation and they were struggling to obtain the complicated documentation needed to prove they had done nothing wrong.
These were untold stories of institutional cruelty that shocked Guardian readers when they were published. The government paid no attention to them. It was clear that officials did not consider those affected to be people who mattered, or imagine that anyone would care about them. Ministers thought this was an issue they could safely ignore.
And for months these stories were highlighted only in the Guardian, until in April 2018 the government was finally forced into action. Inspired by Amelias focused tenacity, and backed by our readers outrage, the Guardians editorial team was determined to make sure this issue could no longer be overlooked. For two weeks, we put it on the front page of the Guardian every day both in print and online and made headlines around the world. We refused to allow the government to bury the scandal that Amelia had exposed.
The impact of this reporting has been extraordinary. In the year since the government was finally forced to acknowledge it had made a mistake and to promise to put things right, more than seven thousand people have called the Home Office hotline asking for help. Thousands of people have been granted citizenship or given paperwork confirming that they are living in this country legally. A compensation scheme has been announced, which could end up paying out as much as 570 million in damages to people who were wrongly deported, detained, made homeless or pushed out of their jobs. No one knows how many people have been affected but Home Office staff believe as many as thirty thousand may apply under the scheme. Aspects of Theresa Mays hostile environment have been suspended. The Home Secretary, Amber Rudd, resigned and her successor, Sajid Javid, promised to make Britains immigration system fairer and more compassionate. We are still waiting for comprehensive reform to happen, but the lives of many caught up in the Windrush scandal have unquestionably changed for the better. Some people have been allowed to return to the UK, years after they were deported. Others have got their jobs back. People who have for years lived unsettled lives, terrified that Immigration Enforcement officers were going to arrive in the night and take them away, say they can now sleep easily.
Before the Windrush revelations, the concept of the hostile environment was unfamiliar to most people. These stories revealed the toxic nature of an immigration policy that humiliates and exhausts applicants into submission, routinely ruining lives so the Home Office can help the government meet its quest to bring down net migration figures. And the scale of the outcry showed, I think, that British people are not quite as racist as their government took them to be.
None of this would have happened without Amelias reporting. The Home Office mostly responded with cynicism when those affected tried repeatedly to explain that a terrible mistake had been made. But Amelia listened to their stories, really listened, calmly and carefully and empathetically. For many of those interviewed, talking publicly about their immigration difficulties was an act of real bravery. Im so glad their courage proved worthwhile.
This was one of the most shameful episodes in recent British political history. The hostile environment which drove it has been revealed as a social catastrophe and a moral failure. This was a stunning example of the capacity of journalism to bring about dramatic, positive change. While Guardian readers were shocked by what they read, no one in government wanted to listen but Amelia pressed ahead, defiantly publishing articles that revealed the depth of the scandal. The voices of those affected were finally heard, their stories finally told, and justice, at last, is in sight.
Katharine Viner
Editor-in-chief, Guardian News & Media
April 2019
How do you pack for a one-way journey back to a country you left when you were eleven and have not visited for fifty years?
Around lunchtime on 24 October 2017, staff at the Yarls Wood Immigration Removal Centre in Bedfordshire told sixty-one-year-old Paulette Wilson to gather her belongings and get ready to be taken to another holding centre near Heathrow airport, where she was due to be placed on a plane and sent back to Jamaica. After half a century in Britain, she had been classified as an illegal immigrant and was scheduled for imminent removal. Packing did not take long. The clothes she had been wearing when she was arrested a week earlier had been confiscated, leaving her with nothing she could call her own. She put the detention centre-issue toothbrush and nightclothes into a large plastic laundry bag, along with a towel, some soap and some underwear which had been provided by the guards. She looked at the grey prison tracksuit she had been given and wondered how she would manage in Jamaica with no appropriate clothes and no money. Staff led her to an upstairs room to wait for a van to transfer her to Heathrow.
For a moment Paulette, a cook who had worked in the House of Commons canteen, was quiet, dazed by her own terror. Then she asked if she could call her daughter Natalie. She dialled the number, waited for Natalie to pick up, and began to scream.
Theyre taking me away. You have to stop them.
This was a distressing call for Natalie, at home in Wolverhampton. She barely recognised her mothers voice, which had become distorted by fear, and she had trouble understanding the words. The only thing that was really clear was a repeated plea: Natalie, you have to help me.
Staff were disgruntled by the noise Paulette was making, and tried to remonstrate with her. She told them she would strip herself naked if they tried to put her on a plane and would try to kill herself. Most officers at Yarls Wood get rapidly jaded by the daily business of handling distraught detainees; they paid little attention to the threats. Calm down, Mrs Wilson, they told her, as they led her to a prison van. She was driven sixty miles to an airport detention centre and locked on a wing with about eight cells. An official prison inspection report describes the high-security centre as gloomy, bleak and in many areas unclean, but Paulette was too alarmed to take in her surroundings. She could hear the roar of aeroplanes taking off from the nearby runways and, somewhere out of sight, the cries of another woman, who she assumed was being taken away for immediate deportation.