John Attard Montalto
Friday, November 29, 2013
Up until a week or so ago, I thought I had heard and learned enough about Maltese passports. But that was before I visited Somalia, on a personal fact-finding mission to the land from where many irregular migrants to Malta originate.
I arrived from Ethiopia and landed in Hargeisa, Somalia’s second city and the capital of Somaliland, an autonomous region within the country.
Autonomy has meant that Somaliland has acquired a reputation for good public order, at least when compared to Somalia, the State it legally forms part of.
The people of Somaliland had been victims of vicious massacres
conducted by the regime of Siad Barre, which collapsed 22 years ago.
Those massacres themselves contributed to the civil war that followed.
Since then, the local government
declared independence, seeing itself as a successor to the British
Somaliland protectorate, that was fleetingly independent half a century
ago before being joined up to Somalia. However, Somaliland’s claims to
statehood have received no international recognition just yet.
A reputation for good order is very relative, as I was soon reminded at Hargeisa airport.
Perhaps good order compared with Somalia, which is only now building
up the semblance of a State administration after years of struggling
with a failed State.
However, to a European the first impressions were of a country that had its own struggles.
The airport was strewn with aircraft that had crashed or been
abandoned. I cleared immigration with relative ease, possibly because of
the impact of my diplomatic passport in a airport that cannot have seen
too many diplomats.
I had to walk quit a distance from the so-called terminal as it was
heavily protected by soldiers with Kalashnikovs. The perimeter was
heavily defended by concrete boulders, evidently to prevent the
penetration of car bombs.
As soon as I cleared the barrier, half a dozen Somalis offered their transport services.
One thing caught my eye. All the vehicle windows were blacked out to
prevent recognition of the passengers. I took my pick, informed the
driver that I wanted to go to the Ambassador Airport Hotel and he answered me: “No problem! Only one hotel open.”
Ali, my driver, took only 10 minutes to arrive at our destination. I
noticed that the hotel was almost as heavily fortified as the airport
perimeter: barbed wire, concrete blocks, metal barriers and, of course,
armed soldiers.
It was at the hotel reception desk that my Maltese passport acted like a magic wand.
The receptionist took one look at it and started to shake my hand
vigorously, repeating the word: “Malta! Malta! Malta!” The hotel staff
in the immediate vicinity surrounded me, shaking my hand wildly, and
patting me on my back.
The receptionist explained that all Somalia knows about Malta. “When we reach Malta, we know that Malta takes care of us!”
I cannot deny that it was a very emotional moment for me. Several
feelings welled up inside me at once. Patriotic pride. Being moved by
the trust and the gratitude of the men around me. Self-doubt, about
whether all that gratitude was deserved. Shock, when I realised that
these men could easily be some of those who will drown in the future or
the harrowed survivors of a near-death experience on their way to the
Malta they praised.
From then on, I could not have been treated better. After putting my
luggage in the room, I decided to go to see Hargeisa. Ali, my driver,
was still there, holding in his hand the money that I have paid him for
the fare. “You from Malta, I drive you free.” Naturally I could not
accept such a wonderful gesture.
Another surprise awaited me, in the backseat there were three soldiers with Kalashnikovs - evidently self-appointed security.
During the trip, with Ali as my guide, I could not help but notice
the dire conditions in which the Somali people live. The shops, if one
could call them so, were also in a very poor condition. Most were made
of wood and corrugated iron. Not so the mosques.
Somalia is an Islamic country. All the women are dressed with
headscarves but most of their clothes are brightly coloured. Only a
minority were clothed all in black with a slip for the eyes. What struck
me was the interrelationship between men and women (joking, laughing,
working), which I have not witnessed in most Islamic states.
What also impressed me was that everywhere one sees dryness, dust and
sand on either side of the potholed road. In the main square of
Hargeisa, I saw the city’s principal monument: a fighter plane (a MiG, I
think), which was shot down during the civil war. The most honest
possible monument, perhaps.
I was slightly angered by the contrast with the main government
buildings, which seemed to occupy a completely different town,
luxuriously built and finished.
Returning to the hotel, the road was illuminated only by the light shining from the so-called shops.
Despite the respect in which I was held, for the simple reason I was
Maltese, I was never allowed to forget the security situation.
I was advised that if I wanted to leave the hotel I would be provided
with a “security policeman”. A 160-kilometre trip I wanted to make was
considered inadvisable. It would have required a far stronger security
detail.
It is visits like these that give a human face to the present
migration crisis, to the hopes and insecurity behind it. Obviously, our
national decisions cannot be based on our emotional response alone.
But empathy can help us be less flippant and casually cruel in how we discuss other people’s troubles and tragedies.
John Attard Montalto is a Labour member of the European Parliament.