Ich schäme mich fremd für Berlin! Jetzt berichtet die NYT mit Negativschlagzeilen über die Hauptstadt:
Ach ja: und in UK bereiten sich derzeit Hilfkonvois fürs #LaGeSo vor...
Irre! Das ist wohl die Botschaft, um die es wirklich geht? Das Signal, das Sie skrupellos aussenden wollten, von dem Sie -dümmlicher Weise- glauben, dass es Kriegsflüchtlinge davon abhält, vor dem "modernen Krieg im Adidas - Gewand" mit all seinen schrecklichen Waffen zu fliehen - und derweil die Berliner Bevölkerung mit Verbalpillen und Halbwahrheiten ruhig zu stellen versuchen. Wo sind denn die Beratungsfolgen bzw. -erfolge von McKinsey, mit denen Sie sich fortwährend brüsten? Dummes, inkompetentes Geschwätz in powerpoint verpackt. Denn: Nur an den Ergebnissen müssen Sie sich messen lassen. An mehr nicht!
Ich schäme mich! - Sie haben das Schämen gewiss verlernt!
SOURCE: THE NEW YORK TIMES
Migrants Arriving in Germany Face a Chaotic Reception in Berlin
BERLIN — On a stretch of sidewalk in Germany’s
capital, migrant families huddle under blankets, their eyes locked on a
tall metal gate. Helpers in bright yellow vests hand out steaming cups
of tea to guard against the cold. Beyond that gate, in the courtyard of a complex of stately brick buildings in an up-and-coming Berlin neighborhood, is Germany’s
version of Ellis Island — a clearing point for hundreds of new arrivals
who gather long before dawn to submit their asylum applications. Many wait more than eight hours here each day, only to be told they will have to return the next day.
“They
always say ‘tomorrow,’ ” said Ezzat Aswam, 33, standing in the predawn
chill with his 6-year-old daughter and 8-year-old son nestled next to
him. He and his family arrived in Germany four months ago.
The
courtyard has also become the face of the country’s struggle to impose
order on the tumultuous wave of humanity arriving at its borders daily —
about 758,000 in the first 10 months of the year, with 181,000 in
October alone.
In
a country known for efficiency, the experience at the State Office for
Health and Social Affairs, known by its German acronym, Lageso, can be
startling. Many migrants risked their lives to get here, only to find
themselves waiting behind metal barriers in a dirt courtyard just to
pull a number for the next line.
The
scene has ranged from chaotic to downright dangerous. On a recent
morning, two hours before the center opened, an ambulance wound its way
through dozens of migrants huddled under blankets. A man had collapsed —
it was unclear whether it was from the cold or from exhaustion.
Police
officers have been brought in to back up private security guards after
several migrants were injured trying to storm the gates. Rumors of
guards accepting bribes are rampant.
And it is from here that a 4-year-old boy from Bosnia disappeared last month
— taken, the police said, by a man who confessed to kidnapping and
killing him. The boy and his family were not among the tens of thousands
of migrants who crossed Europe in recent months; they had been waiting
for a decision on their asylum application for two years. They are now
expected to be allowed to stay.
“I
mean, it’s Germany,” said Yazan Smair, a 31-year-old student who fled
Syria three months ago and has been granted asylum in Germany; he now
volunteers as an interpreter outside the registration center. “They have
a system for everything,” he said. “There must be an easier way.”
More
specifically, though, it is Berlin, where budget cuts and population
growth taxed resources long before the arrival of asylum seekers from
Afghanistan, Syria and other places. Klaus Wowereit, a former mayor,
sought to attract creative types to the city by describing it as “poor
but sexy” — far from many migrants’ experiences so far.
For
two decades, Germany has sought to streamline its government, and
nowhere has this been more visible than in Berlin. After the East and
West sectors of the city were fused in 1990,
its public work force was at 200,000. The city set out to halve that
number, spinning off some services and downgrading others, so that by
2004, the number of employees had shrunk to 149,000.
Even
as the population grew, the number of city employees continued to drop.
A decade later, there were just 117,000 of them, and those who remained
complained that their ranks were too thin to provide needed social
services to Berliners.
At
the same time, inexpensive rents, extensive public transportation and
the image of Berlin as one of Europe’s hippest cities drew thousands of
newcomers — 175,000 from 2011 to 2014. City planners had projected that
Berlin would have another 175,000 arrivals over the next 15 years, but
that estimate did not account for the thousands of migrants.
Over
that same period, affordable housing grew scarce. The glut of
apartments after reunification led the city to reduce subsidies for
low-income housing. Because of growing demand for housing, rents have
shot up 7.7 percent in the past two years. And although city-owned
housing companies plan 30,000 new apartments for 2016, that number was
formulated before so many newcomers landed at Berlin’s doorstep, many
sent there by the federal government from points south.
Last
month, Berlin’s mayor, Michael Müller, tried to reassure residents that
the city was financially stable enough to meet everyone’s needs. “We
have many social problems in our city — that I can’t deny,” Mr. Müller
said on RBB state radio. “We have unemployed, we have the homeless.”
However, he added: “We have many different social services to help
people who need it. That is important to me.”
But the scene at the state office reflects a city that is stretched, if not overwhelmed.
Those
who know the situation best — the volunteers who donate their time and
energy to feed, clothe and counsel the new arrivals — worry that city
administrators are failing to ensure the migrants’ welfare.
“We need to work hard, otherwise we will see the first people dying of cold,” said Victoria Baxter of Moabit Hilft,
an organization formed over the summer to help asylum seekers left
waiting for hours in the sun without sufficient water or food.
Berlin’s
role as a city of refuge has dominated much of its post-World War II
history. West Berlin served as a haven in the heart of East Germany for
people fleeing communism, predominantly in the 1960s; for Tamils
escaping civil war in Sri Lanka in the 1980s; and for pacifists from
West Germany seeking to avoid compulsory military service.
But
Europe has not seen migration of this scope since World War II. In
Berlin alone, a city of 3.5 million, more than 62,000 people have
arrived to seek asylum this year.
In
August, the city made 3 million euros, or almost $3.2 million,
available for the integration of refugees. That includes money for
language classes, transportation and medical services, as well as for
hiring and training more people to process applications.
A
former state bank building that was repurposed as a new, integrated
registration center opened in October. Asylum seekers can submit their
applications, undergo required medical examinations and, eventually,
consult with officials from the labor office about possible jobs.
City
officials say the new system has allowed them to process as many as 700
applicants a day, compared with fewer than half that number this
summer, when new arrivals first picked up.
“The
processing of the applications for asylum is moving ahead with full
power,” Mario #Czaja, Berlin’s senator for health and social services,
told the Berlin public radio station Radio Eins on Monday. “We have
taken big steps to improve.”
But
those seeking to apply for asylum, or to secure social benefits, must
still brave the courtyard to start the process. Only newcomers who have
arrived since mid-October can qualify for the new system, leaving a
backlog of several thousand people, like Mr. Aswam and his family, still
waiting at the old center.
Last
week, Berlin’s departm
ent for health and social services instituted new
rules aimed at easing the crush outside the registration center,
including allowing one member of a household to apply for a whole family
and prioritizing those who have been waiting the longest.
Toryalay
Jamshidi, an 18-year-old from Afghanistan, said he had waited five days
and nights just to acquire the gray plastic bracelet needed to board
the bus to the new processing center. During the wait, he said, he slept
on the street some nights.
Since
the temperatures dropped below freezing, women and children have been
allowed to wait in heated tents. Yet volunteers worry that too many
people are still left at the end of the day with nowhere to sleep.
Olivia
Mandeau has been volunteering at night over the past two months,
helping to distribute blankets and warm clothing as well as organizing
emergency shelter for migrants on the street.
“Nowhere
else in Germany is this a problem — every other city manages to find
everyone a roof over their heads,” Ms. Mandeau said.
“This is not a refugee crisis,” she said. “This is an administration crisis.”
