As an NHS doctor, I've seen the scars of torture. Blaming immigration won't heal our public services

Several had knees that had been repeatedly beaten. They spoke quietly, avoiding eye contact with me. What struck me most was not the bruises or the swelling, but the fear that remained. Even after escaping imprisonment, crossing deserts and surviving the Mediterranean, they were still frightened to talk about what had happened to them. Elsewhere in Europe, I met men and women who had survived sexual violence during their journeys. Long after physical injuries healed, the trauma remained.

Years later, I continue to see the consequences in NHS emergency departments. In a North London Hospital, I met a man who had lost a finger during torture in Iran. On another occasion, I cared for a survivor who had suffered severe injuries requiring reconstructive surgery after torture in his home country. He returned repeatedly to hospital in debilitating pain, carrying both physical and psychological scars.

These experiences taught me something important: torture does not end when someone reaches safety.

As an NHS and humanitarian doctor, I have met survivors of torture across Europe and here in Britain. Their stories rarely make headlines. Yet they reveal a reality often missing from today's debate about immigration, where some of the most vulnerable people in our society are increasingly blamed for problems they did not create.

Refugees have increasingly been blamed for demands on housing or healthcare. I completely understand why people are frustrated with the state of our public services: NHS waiting lists remain high, local services are stretched, and many communities feel under pressure.

But after years of working with migrants and refugees, I have become increasingly worried at the way those in power are, for their own political gain, scapegoating and dehumanising those who have fled indescribable horrors.

One of the greatest misconceptions in the immigration debate is that the story begins when someone arrives in Britain. But for so many of the people I have met, the story begins with persecution, imprisonment, torture and violence long before they ever reach our shores.

This is why the way we talk about immigration matters. When people seeking protection are reduced to statistics or political talking points, we lose sight of the fact that they are human beings and many have endured experiences most of us can scarcely imagine.

That does not mean we should dismiss public concerns. I know only too well the pressure the NHS is under. But we must be honest about the causes. Years of underinvestment, workforce shortages and rising demand cannot be explained simply by immigration.

The answer is not to pit struggling communities against vulnerable newcomers. It is to address the underlying challenges while recognising the humanity of those seeking safety.

And this matters especially now, as the Government proposes further changes to the asylum system through its new Immigration and Asylum Bill. Any reforms must recognise the needs of people who have suffered torture and ensure that they have a fair opportunity to disclose what happened to them and have that testimony and evidence properly considered.

I have seen up close how trauma can affect memory, concentration and a person’s ability to talk about deeply distressing experiences. For someone who has survived torture, being asked to recount those experiences in an unfamiliar and often intimidating process can be extraordinarily difficult. That is why the system must allow people the time, specialist support, and legal advice and representation they need to tell their story and have it properly understood.

Our Government can, and should, do more. We need an asylum system that can make the right decision first time on asylum claims. There will always be situations where the wrong decision has been made, so people must have access to an independent and effective appeal process.

We need to identify torture survivors earlier and make sure they can access the specialist, trauma-informed healthcare that is essential to their recovery. Organisations like Freedom from Torture who provide vital support to survivors, but too many people face barriers to accessing the care they need. Survivors should not have to navigate a complex asylum system while also trying to recover from experiences of torture without the appropriate medical and psychological support.

When I think about immigration, I do not first think about statistics or political slogans. I think about the people I have met. The man who lost a finger to torture. The survivor living with chronic pain years after his abuse. The women carrying the trauma of sexual violence. The men who sat quietly on a rescue vessel, too frightened to speak about what had happened to them in prison.

These are people trying to recover from some of the worst things human beings can do to one another. Years after the torture, years after the dangerous journeys, and years after arriving in Britain, NHS doctors – many of whom are migrants themselves - are doing what we are morally and professionally bound to do: we are helping them to heal. The scars remain. The trauma remains. The question is whether our compassion remains too.

____________________

Dr Priyesh Patel is a London-based NHS emergency medicine doctor, humanitarian and founder of Neglected Elements. He has worked extensively with refugees, asylum seekers and marginalised communities across the UK and Europe, and regularly speaks on migration, health inequality and humanitarian issues. Follow him on Instagram.

LBC Opinion provides a platform for diverse opinions on current affairs and matters of public interest.

The views expressed are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official LBC position.

To contact us email opinion@lbc.co.uk