The Kids Foraging for a Future
In the Dominican Republic, thousands of stateless children are struggling to secure their right to a nationality.
3 November 2015
Dominican Republic
Joe Hullman looks you in the
eye and speaks in Spanish with a calm authority that belies his 13
years. “I am on vacation,” he says, referring to his school’s summer
break, before stepping over the carcass of an unidentifiable animal and
using a stick to poke and prod at the ocean of refuse surrounding him.
We are at the San Pedro de Macoris
municipal dump, an expansive landfill set between sprawling sugar
plantations in eastern Dominican Republic. Joe spends entire days here
during the summer, scavenging amid the garbage for any scraps of metal –
a pursuit he says can pay up to 50 pesos (just over one US dollar) per
day. Like thousands of people in this country, he is stateless and must
prepare himself for an uncertain future. Not that this ever stops him
dreaming.
“When I grow up I want to be a baseball player,” he confesses. “But I don’t play baseball this summer.”
Joe Hullman, 13, works at San Pedro de Macoris municipal dump during his summer vacation, looking for metal scraps. UNHCR/Markel Redondo
A boy collects rubbish at the municipal dump in San Pedro de Macoris, Dominican Republic. UNHCR/Markel Redondo
In 2013, a ruling by the country’s
Constitutional Court deprived tens of thousands of people of their
Dominican nationality. The ruling applied to anyone born in the
Dominican Republic, whose parents were undocumented migrants in the
country at the time of their birth and was backdated to 1929. The vast
majority of those affected are of Haitian descent, a historically
marginalised community whose ancestors travelled over the border to work
primarily on sugarcane plantations. This includes Joe who, like many
teens, finds solace in education.
“I like going to school,” he says. “I especially like math.”
“If you don’t have any papers, anything can happen to you.”
Joe’s friend, 13-year-old Adrian Jean,
also spends his summer vacation days searching for metal at the San
Pedro dump. Like Joe, Adrian was born in the Dominican Republic and
speaks Spanish with native ease.
But because his parents, both foreigners
without a residence permit in Dominican Republic, were born in Haiti,
Adrian is not recognised today by either country as a citizen and faces
problems obtaining copies or renewals of his birth certificate. He is
keenly aware of the effect that this will have on his own life.
“When you turn 18, if you have a cedula
[a national identity card] you can work and you know you are going to
be able to eat,” he says. “If you don’t have any papers, anything can
happen to you.”
Like Joe,
13-year-old Adrian works at San Pedro de Macoris municipal dump during
his summer vacations, looking for metal scraps. UNHCR/Markel Redondo
A man collects rubbish at San Pedro de Macoris municipal dump. UNHCR/Markel Redondo
Joe and Adrian, both 13, work at San Pedro de Macoris municipal dump during their summer vacation. UNHCR/Markel Redondo
Rudimentary weighing scales at San Pedro de Macoris municipal dump. UNHCR/Markel Redondo
All across the Dominican Republic, the
fate of tens of thousands of families remains clouded by the same
uncertainty – a state of limbo that makes daily life difficult and
planning for the future practically impossible. They are deprived of
fundamental human rights like voting and freedom of movement,
employment, healthcare and education. The increase in deportations of
Haitian migrants without documentation has brought a sense of an even
greater uncertainty to their lives, despite assurances given by the
authority that these people will not be deported.
UNHCR is committed to working with the
Dominican authorities to find a solution that guarantees protection of
their human rights, including the right to a nationality.
For now, all Adrian and Joe can do is continue to dream.
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