Returned triumphant today Identity Card in hand! Spent the morning in a long line of
Nigerian, Somalia, Eritrea and Syrians and waited for an
hour to collect it. Began by feeling
very sorry for my fellow queue members.
It seems work permits/ID officers, the world over; seek to instill
Job-like patience in their clients. I
remember in Greece having a practical suitcase of documents, wedding certificate,
utility bills, passport, qualifications - translated in Greek and stamped by
relevant authorities (25 pounds per document), my birth certificate, work
contract, bank statement, drivers licence, rental agreement only to be asked
for my grandmother’s birth certificate!
No wonder all around me people clasp to their chests their own
paperwork. Armed with documents signed
and stamped, those without such armour gradually feel a growing fear as they
approach the official window. Some lose heart and scurry away from the field of
battle and with each one that flees the rest of us hug our precious paperwork a
little tighter. How precious they have become, shielding us from the public
humiliation of failure and defeat.
One Somali woman cloaked in a long chador dropped her papers
by accident. Her head covering had
caught on the corner of a sheet causing an avalanche of documents in all
directions. Everyone is shocked by her
carelessness and she throws herself on her knees on top of the paperwork
obviously expecting others to seize this treasure trove of identity. Frantically, she retrieves them eyes
scanning in case she has missed a vital one.
The rest of us hug our armour a little closer to our hearts in case we
too falter on the eve of battle.
By now I am not so sympathetic to my fellow ID hunters. An hour has passed and the three men in
front look and sound like a Nigerian drug cartel. The large lady pushing me from behind, with a colourful head
scarf, has not only a horrendous hacking cough (with my luck it is probably Ebola)
and her face is covered in weeping sores especially around her mouth and
nose. Now, I am suddenly of the opinion
there should be two queues one for EU citizens and the other for non-EU
characters. I have noted the lack of UK
queuing etiquette in front. One
fidgeting man with a woollen hat filled with hair braids thinks he is entitled
to allow all family members, friends and passing acquaintances to jump in
beside him in the queue. I am impressed
at how quickly one’s sympathy can turn to resentment in the mist of inconvenience
and discomfort.
Much of Southern Europe has experienced this sea
change. As the economic situation
deteriorates people have turned on immigrants/refugees with depressing
consistency. It appears inbred in our
species that when things become difficult we need to blame someone. Usually, we round on our governments who in
turn will find a convenient scapegoat to deflect that anger on. The invading foreigners are a good bet. Easily identified and fairly defenseless
they make handy targets for our discontentment.
