The "double punishment" that leaves migrants out of extraordinary regularization

BarcelonaIsabela doesn't want to think about what will become of her life if she cannot avail herself of the extraordinary regularization that the Spanish government is to launch in the coming weeks to grant residence permits to half a million foreigners who meet criteria that, at present, are provisional. The decree approved by Pedro Sánchez's executive still has to go through the Council of State to return once more to the council of ministers. Although there are unknowns about how the fine print will turn out, Isabela is sure that hers is an impossible mission because the relevant 10 years have not passed since she completed her sentence to be able to annul her criminal record and, in the draft of the text, any stain on the criminal record is invalidating.

This regularization process represents a unique opportunity for many – and perhaps the last – after years of trying through the ordinary route of social integration, which requires a job offer for one year or a minimum stay of two years in the country. But, as for Isabela, for another group it means a door slammed shut on expectations of starting from scratch and paving the way towards a "normalized life".

As soon as she set foot on Spanish territory, this woman in her thirties from Brazil went from the airport to the courts, accused and subsequently convicted of drug trafficking. She was sentenced to six years and six months in prison, from which she was released under an open regime when her son turned three and could no longer live in the module with her. The reintegration plan approved by the Department of Justice allowed her a contract with a multinational until her temporary NIE (the identification for non-EU foreigners) expired in February 2023. The paradox of the case is that for the same reason she started working, she was denied a residence permit: having a criminal record. "Without documentation, they force you into a life of vulnerability, of not existing," and even to have "unhappy relationships out of pure necessity," she says, referring to her own experience.

Two rejections

In two attempts to regularize her administrative situation, Isabela has received the same negative response. She hasn't even managed it through her son, who is of Spanish nationality. Mother and son live alone, even though the judge granted custody to the father, who does not take care of the maintenance.

Without shirking any responsibility, she finds herself in a dead-end alley, and although she does not expect "any miracles," she does present her story "in case someone can intercede": "I have regretted it. I ended up in prison for a terrible decision that I am not proud of. I take the blame – she reflects –. I have already paid." She complains about having had more rights in prison than now, to the point that even with job offers she has not been able to leave "the mistake" behind.

Unlike condemned Spanish citizens, foreigners have the "double punishment" of a record before they can erase it, because it conditions them and has a greater impact, states Elisabet Ureña, head of human mobility at Càritas. At this point, Isabela compares her case, of a "frozen life," with that of a Spanish prison mate who, once out, has integrated into work life without problems.

Càritas and other social entities are finalizing the system these days to advise and accompany the maximum number of migrants in regularization. It is estimated that in Catalonia, around 150,000 people can benefit from it, but, without the final text of the published decree, one can only "advise applicants to prepare documentation," admits Ureña. For the first time in a process of this nature, the Spanish government counts on social entities to speed up procedures. The administration is totally collapsed in its day-to-day operations and it is dozens of entities and self-organized collectives that are rushing to inform migrants due to the "lack of response from the administration," reproaches Maria Creixell, spokesperson for the Open Borders Coordinator, who gives talks or provides community support to resolve doubts. The activist criticizes that on the eve of the start of the process, it has not been resolved who will bear the expenses of "fees, documentation renewal or notarial acts" that are necessary for the procedures for those people without income, and questions whether organized society is capable of setting up aid circuits, of creating leaflets in different languages because government offices do not handle this.

Even for those without a criminal record, obtaining their history from their country of origin is a bureaucratic race, even more so if it has to be done against the clock. Ureña also points out the fear that undocumented people or those with expired passports will not arrive in time to obtain the documentation to start the procedures, or those who, without municipal registration, cannot prove five months of permanent residence. "Many people are being given dates for June" at consulates and embassies, which is the month the process is expected to end, says the Caritas manager, who insists that official data shows that "the vast majority of migrants do not commit crimes nor have a criminal record".

El Youcef is Algerian and arrived six months ago, and although he barely qualifies for the process in terms of length of stay, he also lives in fear because during this time he has been living on the street and has not been able to register. Like the other witnesses in this report, he avoids identifying himself so that his name is not associated with irregularity. He keeps a folder with documentation signed by police and municipal bodies as a "treasure" because he understands that it will serve to prove his minimum stay required for regularization and to get a job that allows him to "live with dignity and send money for his son" who has remained with his mother. His challenge, however, is to find an appointment to obtain his criminal record for the last five years in his country of origin and to be able to renew his passport, which has been expired for just under a year. "I never did any harm in Algeria and I trust that someone will help me," he says at the entrance of the tent where he survives.

Awaiting trial

Little did Cuban Alfredo imagine that he would spend his first three years in Spain without a stable job and an organized life. A highly recognized artist in his country of origin, he took advantage of a tour in Spain to stay there with the entire company, but none of his dreams have come true and he has to work as best he can. He trusts in regularization, but he is not sure because no one can tell him if he will meet the requirements.

He explains that they "took advantage" of his need to "deceive him with a scam" for which he has been accused and is awaiting trial. "They used me like thousands of migrants who cling to anything to survive," says this 44-year-old man, who claims to be a "victim." When it came to collecting payment for a bricklaying job, his boss told him he would pay him with a check for 1,900 euros. He says that the first month he had no problem cashing it, keeping 800 euros and giving the rest to the man, but before the end of the next month, the Mossos arrested him, alerted by his bank. Two and a half years later, the trial date has not been set. "I am very worried, this process is the great opportunity to be able to restart my life and continue with my artistic career," he laments, emphasizing that the irregularity leaves little room. "Why do they allow us to live in the country, but without being able to work and contribute with taxes?" he asks.