The Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (BAMF) turned down most of the church asylum cases in the first four months of 2019, according to media reports. Humanitarian groups have criticized the rejections as harsh.
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Germany's Funke media group reported Saturday that this year, the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (BAMF) had accepted only two out of 147 church asylum cases through April. In 2018, the figure for the same period was close to 12%.
Overall, there were 250 reported cases of church asylum in the first four months of 2019, compared with 1,520 for the same period last year. Between 2015 and 2016, BAMF had recognized up to 80% of cases presented to it by the churches.
German churches grant protection to refugees facing difficult situations, called "hardship cases." They then present a request to BAMF for further examination. The main aim is to prevent imminent deportations of refugees into dangerous situations.
Left party politician and journalist Ulla Jelpke criticized the high rate of rejections. "This hard-heartedness is unbearable," Jelpke told reporters, adding that humanitarian principles were being sacrificed. "I urge the BAMF to deal with these cases sensitively and carefully."
Church communities see helping refugees as a Christian duty, but German authorities see church asylum as something that should be limited to exceptional cases, with deportation remaining an option.
For rejected asylum-seekers in Germany, turning to the church is often their last hope. Many parishes open their doors to delay or prevent an imminent deportation. The refugees then live for several weeks or months on the congregation's premises, which gives them temporary protection from police access.
Church asylum in Germany was inspired by the American Sanctuary Movement and other, similar European movements. The Charter of Groningen in 1988 was drawn up to help refugees in need and a Charter of the New Sanctuary Movement in Europe followed in 2010.
In a cathedral in southwestern Germany, 40 Balkan refugees are seeking church asylum. DW's Kate Brady went to Bavaria to find out why returning to their statutorily "safe" homelands isn't an option.
Image: DW/K. Brady
Church asylum
In the quaint Bavarian town of Regensburg, about 40 refugees have sought church asylum in the cathedral to avoid deportation. Most of them come from Balkan states such as Albania, Kosovo and Macedonia. In Germany these are classified as "safe countries of origin" - meaning citizens have no legal right to seek asylum here.
Image: Getty Images/AFP/J. Macdougall
'Refugees Welcome'
A group of locals have set up camp in front of Regensburg Cathedral in solidarity with the refugees. In a bid to boost the humanitarian aid supplied by the Malteser help organization, the locals have called on supporters to donate basic goods such as tea, nappies, cool boxes and bread.
Image: DW/K. Brady
Cramped conditions
As temperatures reach 30 degrees Celsius, the refugees are sleeping on makeshift camp beds in the cathedral, which is dedicated to St. Peter. Among the refugees are two cancer patients who are unable to receive the necessary medical help in their native Kosovo and Albania. Almost half of Kosovo's 1.8 million inhabitants live in poverty, with about 40 percent of employable people out of work.
Image: DW/K. Brady
Threats from the mafia
Bardhok Bardhoku, 43, told DW that Albania isn't a safe country. A quarter of a century since the end of nominal communism, the country remains one of the poorest in Europe. Bardhoku, who previously ran an internet cafe, said he was being pursued by a crime syndicate back home over a property dispute. "We can’t go back," he said. "My children could be murdered."
Image: DW/K. Brady
As long as it takes
Twenty-seven-year-old Ademi Albana was born in Bielefeld, in northwestern Germany, where she spent the first 12 years of her life. After the wars of the 1990s, she and her parents were sent back to Kosovo. She told DW that the refugees plan to stay in the cathedral until they receive the right to remain in Germany.
Image: DW/K. Brady
Prejudice against Roma
Mohammed Shakiri, 33, moved to Germany with his wife and four children in 2013. His wife suffers from mental illness, and his 6-year-old has epilepsy. Ingrained prejudices make life in Kosovo particularly difficult for Roma, he said: "They don’t want to give us work. They won’t let us go to school. We can’t get a house. We have no chance.”
Image: DW/K. Brady
Nothing to return to
Albana's family comes from Mitrovica, in northern Kosovo. Eight years since the country declared independence, their hometown continues to be divided, with ethnic Serbs in the north and ethnic Albanians in the south. "We can’t go back now anyway," Erzan, Albana's 10-year-old son, told DW. "Some Serbs destroyed our home. Two years ago, they came and shot at the house. Just shooting for an hour."
Image: DW/K. Brady
Longing to learn
Matilda and Alberta, both 12, moved from Albania and haven't been to school in months. "I'd love to go back to school," Matilda said, adding that their education back home did not compare to what they received in Germany.
Image: DW/K. Brady
Mixed reactions
Since the refugees' arrival, school trips and tours around the cathedral have continued as usual, with some members of the public stopping to wish them well or to ask if they need anything. Not everyone has been as welcoming, however. DW witnessed one incident where a woman demanded that the group leave. "A church is not a refugee home," she said.
