Someone sent me a short video clip called ‘a public guide to challenging immigration raids’. It came with a message which read ‘It doesn’t have to be this way, time for solidarity anywhere and everywhere.’ No doubt this was in response to the Labour Government’s announcement today to launch a ‘fresh wave’ of immigration raids (yet again). Watching the clip, I gave in to my 10-second-rule – my rule says it’s OK to cry for 10 seconds, before facing a fresh hell. 

During those 10 seconds, I recalled other times I allowed myself to invoke this rule. The time I stood by the door of an isolation unit in an immigration detention centre, hearing a muffled conversation between a detained man and two guards inside, while accompanying a  MP for her official visit to the centre. The time I stepped outside the visiting room of a detention centre by Heathrow Airport and walked towards a desolate bus stop by the motorway to get home in darkness, having said the final goodbye to a man who was to be removed the following day. 

My tears are nothing compared to the tears Cecilia must have shed on a van to Yarl’s Wood detention centre. One day in 2008, the Home Office raided her house at dawn to kidnap her and her 8-year-old son. She recounts her story in a documentary film Cecilia’s Story, which is currently being shown at the National Justice Museum in Nottingham. Cecilia says that uncontrollable tears ran down her face constantly during that fateful journey in a van – and she sang non-stop in the van. When I asked her why she sang, she said ‘You might have nothing, but they can’t take away what’s in your mind.’ 

Fast forward to 30 January 2025 – I was hugging Cecilia who was beaming with a smile. She and the producer of the film, HEAL Collective, were holding a reception for the first public screening of Cecilia’s Story: Ghosts of Yarl’s Wood. I was invited – actually, chosen by Cecilia, I say so with pride – to do a call to action to end immigration detention at the screening. 

I first met Cecilia a few months ago, at the detention workshop that Right to Remain hosted in Nottingham which I wrote about previously. There was a woman who arrived a little late. As I invited her to join one of the tables and she sat down, she looked up and said to everyone ‘I was detained myself’. From my experience, normally and understandably, people with experience of detention are reluctant to share such information with strangers; it’s too painful. But Cecilia shared her experience with generosity, grace and thoughtfulness with everyone at the workshop. I was startled by her grace and emailed her after the workshop to thank her for sharing space with us. A few months later, when HEAL Collective asked me to join Cecilia at the screening, I was intrigued – she said absolutely nothing about the film at our workshop! 

After I watched the film online, I immediately called Cecilia. We talked for a long time about the film, about her experience, why she is doing this now after all these years, and what she hopes for her future. The film captures a story of an extremely determined and resilient mother who relentlessly sought her and her family’s dignity and safety. She examined her own pain and the injustice she experienced while trying to survive. The film also captures her loss and the devastating impact of the Hostile Environment which Cecilia continues to live with. What stands out in the film is the portrayal of numerous human connections and relationships that sustained Cecilia and her son to survive and ultimately win.

Cecilia explained to me that she would like a future generation to not to face a world like this, where people are treated with such violence that befell on her and her son. In her own words, she says:

‘Nobody deserves to be in detention, nobody is illegal.’

The film was screened, appropriately, in the Victorian Civil Courtroom at the National Justice Museum. I am not going to tell you everything in the film because I’d like all of you to watch it. But I’m happy to tell you what happened at the screening after Cecilia ended her speech. Looking directly at her son, who was detained with her, she said ‘I am sorry I was not able to protect you’. It was WE, as a society, who were not able to protect both of them. Then her children spoke about how proud they were of Cecilia, including her adult son, who was detained with her as an 8-year-old child. Other migrant women, some with tears in their eyes, stood up one after another and talked about how Cecilia helped them at their most difficult times. Cornel West famously said ‘Love is what justice looks like in public.’ That summed up the screening. It was as if immigration detention and the Hostile Environment were judged in that courtroom, and a verdict of a win was handed to humanity, to Cecilia. 

My turn to speak came. I faced Cecilia and said ‘Cecilia, there is something you said in a film that I disagree with. At the scene when you revisited Yarls Wood, you said, “My life is still there. I died in there. I am just a living ghost.” ‘Now I am sorry to say, I don’t agree with you. You told your story so powerfully, and your power brought all these people together here today. Your family, your friends, lots of people whom you helped. We all came here to celebrate your courage and love. You are not a living ghost, you are a real living person.’ We both smiled and hugged each other again. 

How do you create solidarity? How do you sustain hope? These are impossible questions to answer. Yet already, our Nottingham workshop in November has created so many new connections, united in our belief in human dignity. After the screening, I am being contacted by people who want to organise a coach to attend the next national demo against immigration detention outside the Derwentside detention centre. I needed to remind myself of the miraculous power of solidarity on a day like this. We have a long, busy battle ahead, and I might not even have time to invoke my 10-second-rule any longer. 

Cecilia’s Story – Ghost of Yarl’s Wood is on until March 2025 (FREE).

Eiri Ohtani, Director