Anyone horrified in 2017 by the government’s shamefully inadequate response to helping lone child refugees trapped in makeshift camps in France should know that the situation has become even worse, with reports that the Dubs scheme (to get unaccompanied minors safely to the UK) is to be stopped.
The government has been relentlessly criticised, not least by Lord Dubs, after whom the scheme is named, for offering to help only 480 children, when in 2016 local authorities in the UK pledged to help thousands more if government funding was made available. (In short, it wasn’t.) Now it’s reported that only nine more children are to be helped via the Dubs scheme, closing the only direct legal route for unaccompanied child refugees to the UK (apart from a lengthy, complex process where children can apply to have their case transferred to another EU country where they have family).
There are so many horrific details about the conditions in the camps and shelters where these unaccompanied children are struggling to survive – filth, squalor, intimidation, the sabotage of food and water supplies, abuse … the list sprawls on. Learning about the Dubs scheme being axed, despairing children are reported to be returning to the streets, or to the camps in Calais and Dunkirk, to “take their chances”, which, for many, means trying to reach the UK illegally or suffering sexual exploitation.
This should shame us all, but first let’s shame the Home Office and past and present home secretaries, from Theresa May to Amber Rudd, now Sajid Javid. While a statement waffles about making a “significant contribution to protecting vulnerable children”, the Home Office refuses to confirm whether the Dubs scheme is being stopped, while stating that it is “fully committed to relocating 480 children under section 67” and is “determined to deliver on that”. Which appears to suggest that, thus far, it hasn’t even managed to reach its paltry target of 480 children.
Indeed, charity figures show that by the end of 2018, only 220 unaccompanied children had been brought to the UK. To add to the confusion, in 2018, there was news that the cut-off date for children qualifying for the Dubs scheme would be removed, resulting in charities such as Safe Passage hoping that more children could be helped. Now, it seems, it’s not the cut-off date that’s been removed … it’s the entire Dubs scheme.
This issue can’t be quietly shelved, as perhaps certain government departments might hope. This is happening to vulnerable children a mere stretch of water away – not only kids, but kids who are all on their own. Or maybe that should read, nothing is happening to help such children at present and the UK government needs to account for its inglorious part in that. Lord Dubs will be raising this vital child human rights issue in the House of Lords this week. Javid and the Home Office should be aware that Lord Dubs won’t be the only one demanding straight answers.
Grumpy might have been a real sourpuss, but what a star
How sad to hear that Grumpy Cat has died, aged seven, from complications from a urinary tract infection. Owned by Tabatha Bundesen, Grumpy Cat (real name Tardar Sauce), whose downturned mouth was caused by feline dwarfism, was the most famous “internet cat”, with millions of devoted followers – think of her as the Kylie Jenner of online felines. She inspired innumerable memes, going on to star in a Christmas special, while becoming a merchandising sensation, with perfumes, shoes, comics and her own “Grumppuccino coffee”.
Grumpy Cat even made it into Madame Tussauds, where, in what must have been one of her proudest moments, an unnamed Observer journalist-superfan posed “grumpily” next to the wax effigy in tribute. Of course I liked Grumpy Cat – she was a feline David Bowie, calling out to all sour-faced goth misfits, not to mention any woman who has ever endured the line: “Cheer up, love, it may never happen.”
Sure, there are issues with amusing pets on social media. However, while Grumpy Cat’s mouth was an accident of genetics, arguably she proved something about how pets have their own personalities and don’t just exist to reflect their owners.
RIP, Grumpy Cat. Gone too soon and, one hopes, not too grumpily.
There’s no smoke without ire for the Who’s Roger Daltrey
Roger Daltrey, 75, was performing with the Who at New York’s Madison Square Garden – the Who are on a 25-date US tour – when he told off audience members for smoking cannabis. “Whoever it is down there, you fucked my night,” said Daltrey. “I’m allergic to that shit and my voice just goes.”
Such a loss of rock’n’roll cool is especially amusing in the context of the Who song, My Generation, which includes the line: “I hope I die before I get old.” This lyric has followed its creator, Who guitarist Pete Townshend, around like lavatory paper stuck to his winklepicker. Now it appears to be Daltrey’s turn to be mocked, with a video of the incident now up on YouTube. Perhaps Townshend should take note and change the lyric: “I hope I die before… I start telling people off for having a cheeky spliff.”
On the other hand, maybe Daltrey should be commended for daring to act his real age. Moreover, however much we giggle, we’re all on the same trajectory. I used to be able to drink all day and into the night; now I only have to pass an open pub door to get a hangover.
Whether we like it or not – or admit it or not – most of us go from being the person who’s asked to keep the noise down to being the person who’s whingeing at someone else to keep the noise down. It happens to everyone – even rock gods. In a way, we’re all Roger Daltrey.
• Barbara Ellen is an Observer columnist
