Facing hatred with hope

In July and August, we watched in horror as racist and Islamophobic riots raged across towns and cities in other parts of the UK. While there were warnings about the potential of unrest coming to Glasgow, we were thankful that – apart from a couple of isolated incidents and an underwhelming ‘pro UK’ rally – we didn’t see the same level of disturbance here. 

But what does it mean to be a refugee in Glasgow? What support do we have here in Govanhill? And what can we all do to make sure that people feel welcome in the face of hate? We heard from different people about their experiences…

Sadia Sikander writes about the challenges she faces as a refugee in Scotland, from the emotional toll of societal hostility, systemic barriers, navigating unfamiliar systems and finding employment. Sikander also highlights the need to hold onto hope in the face of overwhelming obstacles.

By Sadia Sikandar | Photos by Stefan Krajcik

As a new refugee in Scotland, life is far from easy. Each day, I wake up burdened by the constant need to think about where to go and how to find a solution to my endless problems. 

The landscape here is unfamiliar, not only in its physical sense but also in the systems and structures that I must navigate. I reach out to different organisations for support but each one has staff members with varying levels of knowledge, and every interaction leaves me more confused than before. 

Whose advice do I rely on? Which information is correct? The uncertainty feels suffocating, and I find myself questioning if I am making the right choices as I try to rebuild a life that feels constantly out of reach.

Finding a job has proven to be an even more difficult challenge. Back in my home country, I was someone. I had experience, skills, and the ability to contribute meaningfully to my community. But here, the journey to employment is like wading through deep waters and no matter how hard I swim, the shore seems to move further away.

The job centre calls me every week to demand updates on my job search. Every time the phone rings, my anxiety spikes. It feels like a relentless reminder that I am not doing enough, that I am failing. I wonder why once a month wouldn’t be enough. It’s as if the frequency of these meetings might somehow speed up the slow and painful process of finding meaningful work. It's exhausting.

And then there are the everyday challenges, like buying groceries from the store. It seems like such a simple task, but when you are living on the edge of survival, everything is difficult. 

Every pound spent on food feels like a painful decision because the little money I receive is barely enough to cover basic necessities. For asylum seekers, it's a crushing weight. For those living on just £8.86 a week [in full board accommodation], it feels like a cruel joke. How can anyone survive on this? There is so much talk about human dignity and compassion, yet here we are, trying to make do with the bare minimum, barely scraping by while the world moves on without us.

I try to participate in meetings, to raise my voice, to bring attention to the struggles we face. As a Muslim activist, I have always been passionate about speaking up for those who are marginalised, to find solutions that will help us rise above our circumstances. But lately, it feels like every time I try to speak, I am drowned out by the hateful rhetoric that surrounds us. Politicians on TV use language that stings like poison, fueling division and hatred. They speak about people like me as if we are the problem, as if we are not human beings with dreams, families, and the desire to live peacefully.

The Scottish Government recently scrapped plans to provide free travel for asylum seekers, despite knowing the difficult circumstances we face. For many, travelling to attend important appointments or even just to visit friends is now a burden. The isolation that comes with being cut off from these small but vital interactions is soul-crushing.

I wonder sometimes: do we deserve this hate? Every time I see or hear these hurtful words, it feels like a punch to the gut. It makes me question if the problem lies within us or if we are simply the unfortunate victims of a broken system. It’s hard not to internalise the blame. It’s hard not to feel as if, somehow, we are responsible for this mess, as if our very presence here is an inconvenience, an intrusion. Deep down, I know that the problem is much bigger than that. 

We are not the ones spreading hatred. We are not the ones dividing communities. Yet, every hateful word has a negative impact on our lives, a consequence that many cannot see. The rise in hate crimes, the sense of alienation, the feeling that no matter how hard we try, we will never truly belong – these are the consequences. It wears down your spirit. It makes you question everything. And worst of all, it strips away hope, which is perhaps the most dangerous thing of all. 

I try to hold on to hope. I try to remind myself that there are good people here, people who care, who want to help. But on the darkest days, it’s hard to remember that. When I feel invisible and powerless, I wonder if things will ever get better, or if this is the reality I must learn to live with: a life where I am constantly pushing against walls that refuse to move.

A day in a life of a refugee

By V

7am 

My breakfast is a mix of Scottish and my home country in Africa. There is an overlap with items like porridge, which I had at home and I have in Scotland. But the way I make it, the taste is spicy, nutty, bitter and salty. It is a colourful food, full of protein, minerals and vitamins. 

8:20am

I get the bus to go to my counselling skills class and I volunteer every day. Or I walk if it is close enough and the weather is good. I love walking as it is good for my wellbeing and it helps me to explore things surrounding me. Sometimes I notice something which makes me feel homesick.  For example, seeing children playing around the street. 

10:30am

I volunteer with a Community Peer Advocacy to support New Scot women, and my volunteer work gives me pleasure.  It empowers women. I use my digital communication, finance, counselling and interpersonal skills.  

I gained financial skills at university. Back home, my career was in finance but I couldn't get a paid job because of lack of experience in this country. My ambition still is to get a Certified Management Accountant qualification, and I hope I will achieve it eventually. I also still am  looking for  somewhere I can volunteer in the finance department to gain experience.

1pm

Most days I have a light lunch like Scottish soup or soup made up with my own recipe from home and a piece of fruit (I miss papaya lots).

6:30pm

Today, I'm happy, I’m going to see my friend. I met her for the first time when I arrived in Scotland. We laugh together, dance and play games. We support each other emotionally, spiritually, informationally, and physically. 

You know it is good to have someone who understands my past, believes in my future, and accepts me today the way I am.