I was ‘shop and searched’ at Westfield

I was halfway up the shopping centre escalator when I saw the team of immigration officers. I didn’t want the hassle of being questioned, so my instinct kicked in – and it told me to run, says Ava Vidal

‘I could have tried sliding down the handrail, but that would just have attracted attention’ (PA)

A few years ago, I went to Westfield in Stratford, east London. I find going shopping a bore at the best of times, so the idea of a place where all the stores I might want to go to are under one roof – a shopping centre, if you will – sounded super convenient, if also my idea of a living hell.

I was halfway up an escalator when I saw a team of immigration officers floating around the concourse. If you’re part of a visible minority in this country, you’ll know the drill. An overzealous official will stop you to ask a series of questions about who you are and where you come from, and demand to see some ID.

That day, I just didn’t want the hassle – so I went into flight mode. My instinct told me to run back down the escalator.

A quick glance over my shoulder told me that was going to be impossible, as it was packed. I would have had to barge past other shoppers. I suppose I could have tried sliding down the moving handrail, though either option would just have attracted attention. But to this day, I still imagine making a break for it and being chased and wrestled to the floor.

The usual question I get when I retell my “shop and search” story is: “Why did you think about running if you had nothing to hide?” It’s usually asked by the same people who ask: “Why would stop and search bother you if you’re not carrying anything illegal?”

The answer is because these incidents can be extremely traumatic, intrusive, and – especially when you’re laden with shopping bags – inconvenient. Technically, you have a legal right not to answer immigration officers’ questions, but try it and see how that works out for you. I’ve found some of them to be extremely aggressive, which I find genuinely terrifying. And if you give the “wrong” answer, have a look they don’t much like, or simply display the wrong attitude, they can and will detain you.

“Not if you’re in the country legally!” I hear the naysayers cry. Not true. It is depressingly common for people living in Britain legally to find themselves unlawfully held in detention centres.

Of the 25,000 people who left a detention centre in 2021-22, three-quarters were deemed free to go, with just 14 per cent removed from the country. The numbers swelled after the Home Office started offering staff bonuses when targets for enforced removals were met – but this also meant that, in 2021, the Home Office paid out a record amount of compensation, almost £25m, to 914 people wrongly detained over the previous three years. At a “high” point during Priti Patel’s tenure in charge, her department spent £25,500 of taxpayers’ money a day on those it had wrongly detained.

I am part of the Caribbean community. The Windrush scandal has seen our elders removed, mistakenly barred from working, and denied access to healthcare. Some have died as a result. And to add insult to injury, hundreds are yet to see the compensation awarded to them. The Windrush Compensation Scheme is so badly run, it has been declared not fit for purpose.

Earlier this week, I went on LBC to talk about my experience of being stopped and asked about my immigration status – for what it’s worth, I was born in south London. At that point, some listeners began questioning whether the Westfield incident had actually happened at all.

When you live in London, you can sometimes forget that we live in a two-tier country. There are some freedoms we take for granted, and, in so doing, we simply don’t see the struggles others face. I’ve never had to worry about holding my partner’s hand in public. I’ve never had to panic about whether there will be gender-neutral toilets at an event I may be attending.

And it seems that many people in the UK have no idea what an immigration raid is – either what it looks like or what it feels like. But if you go to a Black hairdresser’s or barbershop, or restaurants that serve “ethnic food”, the chances are you will have seen, been caught up in or at least heard first-hand stories of what happens, and how it leaves its mark.

After I spoke on LBC, others began to describe their own experiences on X (formerly Twitter).

Ashley (@theashrb) posted: “Immigration raids are traumatising, man. I got caught up in one in a shop in Bruce Grove [north London]. LOL, they wouldn’t let the customers leave.”

Gia (@GiaTabasco) replied: “Same happened to me in Upton Park [east London], in a hair salon. We all had to pull out ID. So scary.”

My experience that day in Stratford wasn’t too bad. I was asked a series of questions, not least about where I went to school (I went to public school, don’t you know?) The officer and I then had a long chat about how accurate Enid Blyton’s depictions of boarding school life are.

On this occasion, I needn’t have panicked on the escalators. The comedian in me was more concerned about how I could turn this incident into a routine.

My experience happened during the glorious era of then home secretary Theresa May’s “hostile environment”, when vans with “Go home” emblazoned on their sides drove menacingly up and down Britain’s streets. Despite several requests, none of the drivers, when I asked, ever gave me a lift. I should have sued for false advertising.

Since the Rwanda bill was passed last month, I have heard whispers that the ID checks in public places are starting up again. The Home Office recently released a video of raids in which migrants earmarked for deportation to Rwanda were shown being detained. They defended it by saying that the public have a right to see their new policy in action. In my opinion, the video is voyeuristic, cruel and humiliating. It is also triggering to those of us who have friends or relatives that may be caught up in this thirst to see people bundled onto planes and deported out of sight and out of mind, where they will finally become someone else’s problem.

Soon, we will need a new word for when a neighbour disappears and it transpires they’ve been deported to Rwanda.

“What happened to Mukhtar? Haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Ah, mate, didn’t you hear? He got Sunaked/Bravermanned/Cleverlied/Patelled!”

The irony that the Rwanda scheme was cooked up by people who resemble those they want to see gone will never, ever stop being pathetically sad to me.

Right, I’m off to the shops. If I’m not back soon, don’t send a search party. I’ll be in Kigali.