Smuggled from Syria to Glasgow by boat, plane and train: A refugee's story

There are parts of the East End of Glasgow, a deprived urban area notorious for its low life expectancy, that the locals themselves call "Bandit Country". It makes Bilal, 34, half-wonder if this is why the Home Office recently resettled him here – to make him feel more at home.

A quiet-spoken nutritionist from Damascus and a one-time activist against the Assad regime, he is one of 1,500 Syrians granted asylum in the UK last year. His new housing association flat may look austere but it is paradise compared with the crowded basement jail he once spent time in. His journey here took him through a dozen countries, and almost cost him his life. "I wouldn't do it again," he says, "not even for five million dollars."

Last August, after flying from Istanbul to Algiers on a fake passport, he was smuggled through the desert by local militiamen to the Libyan port of Zuwarah, 100km west of Tripoli. After a two-week wait in a smuggler's house, he was put aboard a 13m-fishing boat crammed with 280 people, 80 of them also Syrian, including many mothers with children. "Some of the Syrians tried to turn back when they saw how small the boat was," says Bilal, "but the smugglers forced us aboard at gunpoint."

The boat set off for the Italian island of Lampedusa, with a co-opted migrant at the helm. The Syrians, who had paid more than the African migrants on board, were placed on the open deck, with the Africans in the hold below.

That night, after 12 hours at sea, a passing gas tanker hove into view. Desperate to attract its attention, the Africans forced their way onto the deck, causing the overloaded vessel to roll and ship water. Some of the Africans, according to Bilal, were armed with knives, and attacked the white Syrians, demanding money.

"We were forced to defend ourselves. Many people, even women and children, jumped overboard to escape. But the seas were rough and the tanker couldn't come close enough to rescue us all. Eighty-one people died that night."

Bilal was taken to Sicily, from where he caught trains to Calais. Here he paid €1,000 to be smuggled aboard a lorry to Dover, where he claimed asylum. With other Syrians on his truck he was then sent to Glasgow, one of a handful of British cities set up to receive such migrants. The small flat he has been assigned is a palace compared with his previous accommodation, in a crowded Damascus basement cell where he was tortured for sedition by the notorious Assad-supporting militia, al-Shabiha.

Although grateful to the British for their help, he does also wonder why the UK government has not taken in more of his countrymen. In January 2014, Westminster announced a new Vulnerable Persons Relocation Scheme for Syrians, intended to help the neediest victims of violence and torture. So far, however, just 143 Syrians have been resettled under the scheme.

Amnesty International and others argue that this figure is shamefully low, as almost four million Syrians have been driven out of their country by the war. It compares poorly, too, with countries like Germany, which has offered to rehome 30,000 Syrians.

"Before we came here to the UK, we viewed this country as the number one for human rights and welfare for asylum seekers, but we were quite shocked by what we found," he says. "As refugees from war we are different to economic migrants, yet we are treated the same. It can take up to a year to gain asylum. Why?"

His reception in Glasgow, although friendly, had also not entirely been as he had hoped. For instance, no one had warned him that in Scotland, throwing a cigarette butt in a gutter can result in an on-the-spot fine of £80 (€110): no joke for someone on a job-seeker's allowance of €95 a week. "We felt very lost in Glasgow when we arrived, and there was no orientation, no training. I still feel afraid to go out sometimes."

Bilal doubts whether the EU's recent decision to go after the smugglers' boats in Libya will make much difference to the numbers of Syrians arriving in Europe, as the desperate will always find ways of getting to safety. A better policy, he thinks, would be for the West to create genuine safe havens for refugees in the countries neighbouring Syria – Turkey, Jordan, Lebanon – and perhaps to resettle them in the West directly from there. "If you don't start helping young people to escape from Syria, what options do they really have? In order to survive they must fight for Assad, or join Daesh [the Arabic acronym for Isis] or [al-Qaida-affiliated] Jabhat [al-Nusra] or one of the other groups. And that means more fighting, which just makes the refugee problem worse."

His views echo those of Alexander Betts, director of Oxford University's Refugee Studies Centre, who wants far more international co-operation and responsibility-sharing for refugees in the region; he called this month's EU proposal for "voluntary" resettlement of 5,000 extra refugees as "absurd" compared with the numbers of people in need.

The need is clearly not exaggerated. Al-Shabiha are canny intelligence gatherers, and their tentacles are long. Even in Glasgow, Bilal declines to give his real name or be photographed identifiably, for fear of what they might do to family members back home.

Among his few friends in Glasgow is Jan Xal, 28, a Syrian Kurd from Qamislo on the Turkish border, who was smuggled into Britain on the same cross-Channel lorry as Bilal. A qualified doctor who speaks five languages, he was twice imprisoned by al-Shabiha – who whipped him and rubbed salt into his wounds – for taking part in Kurdish demonstrations.

"I was emotionally destroyed by what they did to me," he says. In 2013, he was captured by Isis, who decided to execute him. The bullet somehow failed to penetrate his skull. Left for dead and rescued, he was in a coma for a month, and he still bears a deep scar on his head. "I know how lucky I am to be here," he says.

Jan Xal's ambition is to practise as a doctor in the UK, after a two-year conversion course. In the meantime he is slowly recovering from the trauma of his experience in Syria, via weekly counselling sessions on the NHS and with an NGO called Freedom from Torture. He is also a volunteer at two refugee support schemes in Glasgow. "I want to help others like me, and to be that proud Kurdish man who shows that there is a better way than violence," he says.

His story, like Bilal's, illustrates why the asylum system exists in Britain, and how it looks when functioning as it should. It is puzzling – and perhaps morally reprehensible – that sanctuary has not been extended to many more of the millions of Syrians in need.