In Brussels they do the government’s work without paper
From tent camps in the freezing cold to tightly organized squats, thousands of people are taken in every day in our capital, not by the government, but by undocumented migrants and other volunteers.
“Today it must succeed.” A smile appears on the face of Reza R. (39). Despite the freezing cold, he stands with bare arms and wet hair in front of his hut in a tent camp on the Materialenkaai in Brussels. The cold is bearable for those who have just received good news.
After seven years in Belgium, including three years in various tent camps in Brussels, he has been recognized as a refugee. ‘Soon I have an appointment for my first apartment. Then I can finally leave here’.
It tent camp on the Havenlaan walks on its last legs. After two fires in a week’s time, the result of the 80 departed residents. ‘It wasn’t good here at the end,’ says Reza, who lived there for a year. Heroin and crack had entered the camp, combat and theft became daily fare. ‘The Moroccans slept on the left, the Nigerians in the back, and we, the Afghans, sat at the entrance.’ From asylum seekers in their first procedure, homeless people, drug addicts, to sans-papiers, the camp has seen many residents. In the meantime, some elders in Brussels have pitched their tents. The largest group has sought refuge in the Palace squat, twenty minutes’ walk away.
Almost all residents of the tent camp on Havenlaan have left.
Kristof Vadino
From asylum crisis to reception crisis
While Belgium thinks from an asylum crisis to a reception crisis, an alternative reception network has emerged in the streets of Brussels, which fills the gaps left by the government and helps where official networks cannot or do not want to.
It is almost impossible to know how many tent camps, squats or temporary occupations there are in the metropolis. De Standaard visited eight of these camp buildings. While one building is being vacated, a new one is shrinking. Often organizations such as Doctors Without Borders (MSF), the Humanitarian Hub and Samusocial are the only organizations that have contact with the residents.
All three organizations saw an explosion of care demands in the streets of Brussels last year. “And we certainly don’t see everything,” says Anne-Sophie Loobuyck, coordinator of the MSF team that visits the various camps and squats. She also saw the profile of the Brussels residents changing: ‘In the past, these were mainly people who passed through Belgium on their way to another country, now it is mainly people who have applied for asylum in Belgium and are therefore actually entitled to reception.’
In the squat Palace is the officially tell from the government just past. Those who are counted wear a white wristband with the Brussels Iris. At least 784 of the estimated 900 residents are asylum seekers and are entitled to bed, bath and bread. Outside, a few newly arrived people are clamoring: “Where can we get such a tape?”, they ask everyone who passes by. They don’t get an answer.
The well-known stories about the unsafe and unhealthy situation in the building seem to be an underestimate. Despite the passage of volunteers who have come to clean the building, and frantic efforts by residents to keep it clean, the smell of urine is so strong that it causes retching. “Don’t go to the top floor,” one of the representatives of the Burundians in the building distinguishes, “it’s dangerous there, we don’t know those people.”