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olina reports that she was initially assigned an \u201cassistant\u201d who was neither a therapist nor a psychologist. Through an interpreter, he asked stereotypical questions to Russian refugees - for example, whether they dealt with their problems by drinking alcohol. Polina, who does not drink, filed a complaint along with other women - only then was she assigned a real therapist. She says it only worked because she was over 30, came from Russia, and knew how to make herself heard. Younger trans people often do not have that experience - and for them, the situation can be fatal. Katya Mikhailova, a queer refugee from Moldova, took her own life because she did not receive adequate psychological care. Other queer refugees - Hina Zakharova, Antonina Babchenko, Mikhail Zubchenko, Alisa Serova - also died by suicide in the camps, without ever waiting for their second decision. The pressure, the fear of deportation, and the daily homophobia - even from camp staff - wear people down. Officially, about 70,000 people are housed in Dutch asylum shelters, most from Syria, followed by Turkey, Iraq, Eritrea, and Somalia. In practice, refugees are often housed far beyond the legal limit in gymnasiums, sports halls, or emergency facilities - with rows of beds, no privacy, no structure. In Ede, Ukrainian refugees lived in military barracks without kitchens, their children received schooling only twice a week, and gunfire from a nearby base was regularly audible. The situation is clearly a systemic failure - but how it is described depends on who is speaking. The right calls it a \u201cmigration crisis,\u201d while the left refers to a \u201creception crisis.\u201d In truth, the Dutch immigration service massively reduced its staff in 2017. Later hires - over 400 people - did little to help, as training takes nine months. Documents disappeared, appointments were missed, and instead of interview transcripts, lawyers were sometimes sent documentaries about countries of origin. An absurdity that has become routine.<\/p>\n\n\n
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At the same time, the far-right \u201cParty for Freedom,\u201d which won the 2023 elections, tightened the system: instead of granting permanent residency, refugees would receive temporary stays limited to three years - with uncertain renewal. Family reunification was to be eliminated, and integration redefined as an individual burden. The obligation to attend expensive language and integration courses - funded through loans - worsened the situation further: those who failed the test were required to repay the course, plus a fine. The European Court of Justice has since banned the fines - but the system remains. A law aimed at evenly distributing refugees across all municipalities was supposed to bring relief in early 2024 - but in many places it failed due to local resistance. In Elst, for example, 800 people were to be housed, but protests were loud, aggressive, and shaped by xenophobia. Posters warned: \u201cNo to the reception center - keep Elst safe.\u201d In many communities, people prefer to block new shelters than risk delaying a housing project for locals. Meanwhile, the Ter Apel reception center remains overcrowded - it was never meant for such numbers, but in times of backlog it remains the bottleneck. Those who are lucky are eventually transferred. Those who aren\u2019t live for months or even years in limbo, cut off from society. Refugees are allowed to stay privately - but only if they give up their official right to shelter. Working is forbidden for the first six months. After that, they need a personal ID number, an employer with a special permit - and a solid understanding of Dutch labor law. The few jobs available are physically demanding, poorly paid, and humiliating. Polina cleaned for nine hours a week for a few euros in compensation. Salim, another refugee, was simply glad to have something to do - the money was secondary. Language classes, movie nights, board games, a refugee orchestra - all of that exists - but it\u2019s not enough. Most of the time is waiting. Waiting for a decision. For a mistake. For a breakdown. For the end. In a country that prides itself on being civilized, open-minded, and efficient, refugee policy is a dark chapter. A system that has paralyzed itself. An apparatus that does not protect, but delays. And people who want nothing more than to live, but fail along the way. Waiting in hell - this is not fate. It is political will. And for some, a death sentence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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