Under the grey sky of an Essex seaside town, you’ll find the remnants of a broken wheelchair with its blue front wheel shattered. Inside an office, a hoist frame sits unused. A sign on the lift reads “Out of order”. Desperate attempts have been made to block out the outside world by sticking scraps of cardboard onto broken windows and doors, leaving the rooms in darkness.
This is a Home Office center for disabled asylum seekers, a shameful secret hidden away in Britain. Shipped in from a crowded asylum center in Kent, the 55 residents of this privately run facility have severe disabilities or life-limiting conditions. Some have lost limbs, others are deaf or blind. Half a dozen are paraplegic. Some have been disabled since birth, while others were injured in the war zones they fled.
Officially, this site may be called a “former care home,” but there is a distinct lack of care to be found. Grab rails are nowhere to be seen, and there are no beds suitable for incontinent residents or commodes for those who can’t make it to the toilet. Bathrooms lack shower chairs for people to bathe comfortably.
There are security guards present, but no trained care workers. Instead, disabled residents are left to fend for themselves. A young man from Pakistan with cerebral palsy is paralyzed and unable to speak, yet he has not been provided with a carer. His mother accompanies him, doing her best to help, but she requires knee surgery herself. Overwhelmed by the situation, she has resorted to using her son’s walking frame. “His mom cries and sobs all the time,” says Maria Wilby from the local charity, Refugee, Asylum Seeker and Migrant Action. “A few weeks ago, she begged for help on the floor.”
Normally, the charity focuses on advocacy, but it has transformed into a makeshift healthcare provider, sourcing everything from white canes to incontinence pads. The young man mentioned earlier only has a wheelchair because it was donated, although it doesn’t fit him properly. He must be enduring immense suffering, unable to express it, says Maria.
Just a few months ago, an Iranian man living in the center passed away. Doctors had repeatedly advised the provision of a wheelchair, but he never received one. It is believed he suffered a fatal stroke. “We’re essentially waiting for the next [death],” Maria warns. “And it will be due to a lack of care.”
This is the reality of Britain’s asylum seeker system, where disabled individuals seek refuge, only to be abandoned without support for basic needs like food, hygiene, and mobility. As Rishi Sunak boasts about “stopping the boats,” asylum seekers are being subjected to increasingly dire conditions: from living on barges and cruise ships to inhabiting camps on former military sites. Last week, the first public inquiry into mistreatment at an immigration center revealed “credible evidence” of human rights violations, including torture and inhumane treatment.
Naturally, one would expect shock and outrage at such atrocities occurring on our own soil. However, it is not an accident; it is a deliberate and widespread culture of harm. The recent revelation that the Home Secretary stopped safety checks for vulnerable individuals in asylum centers is a clear indication of this.
Housing asylum seekers in unsafe and undignified accommodations is not just a policy; it is a performative act of brutality. It serves as a political broadcast, proclaiming that under this government, “the invasion” will not be made comfortable. In this context, disabled asylum seekers being left to suffer in an old care home is not an isolated incident, but rather the system functioning precisely as intended. As the saying goes, the cruelty itself is the point.
The food provided in the Essex accommodation is indicative of its prison-like nature: a falafel squashed between slices of white bread or a pile of beans in a polystyrene box. Three residents have developed diabetes since arriving at the center, and one resident has lost two toes.
One elderly woman in her 70s has lost 4 kg since her arrival. She has resorted to cooking instant food in a kettle, but with a meager weekly allowance of £8.24, all she can afford is expired produce. “Now she goes door to door, begging nearby residents to cook for her,” Maria recounts.
When questioned about the conditions, the Home Office insists that “the food provided meets NHS Eatwell standards” and they are committed to ensuring the safety and well-being of those receiving asylum support. They also claim that accommodation providers are contractually obligated to ensure accessibility for disabled people and address any concerns raised.
However, Maria’s account presents a different reality. Only a handful of residents have been offered social care, leaving the exact number unknown. Some individuals are unaware they’ve had an assessment and don’t even have a copy of the results, let alone a translated version if needed. The available reports often contain errors. For instance, one man who was a Paralympian in Iran was mistakenly reported as being in prison. He now lives in constant fear that the Home Office will accuse him of lying.
After almost a year in this facility, the residents are effectively trapped. Some have been granted dispersal rights to leave the center while their asylum claims are processed, but they can’t exercise that right because there is no accessible accommodation available.
Before we conclude our conversation, Maria implores me not to reveal the location of the center. She reveals that an elderly resident was recently attacked on the street, raising fears of further hate crimes. “He was speaking a foreign language on his phone… and that was enough.”
This hate didn’t materialize out of thin air; it has been fueled by sensationalist headlines and government officials. Even the Labour Party has failed to challenge this mistreatment. While Keir Starmer rightfully pledges to consider all asylum claims, he also finds time to criticize “wasteful spending on hotels” and “people who have no right to be here.”
We must find it within ourselves to see the “small boats problem” not as a threat, but as fellow human beings in need. Until then, asylum seekers will continue to endure mistreatment by British authorities, while the political and media elite either justify or applaud it. In Essex, disabled individuals will remain hungry and suffering, waiting to learn their fate. Out of sight, out of mind.
Frances Ryan is a Guardian columnist.
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