The city of Amsterdam has come up with a new way to help its refugee population

A busker performs by an Amsterdam canal. Image: Getty.

In December 2013 Amsterdam’s city council devised a novel social experiment to deal with its homeless refugees: it put them all in prison.

Okay, this isn’t as bad as it sounds. No one was arrested; everyone was free to leave. The really novel part was what the council did to the refugees inside this repurposed prison: it helped them, offering medical care, food, and legal advice. All this it did with a view to either assisting the refugees to submit successful asylum applications, or to return to their countries of origin.

The undocumented immigrants of Amsterdam are also pretty unusual: they are organised. Known as Wij Zijn Hier (WZH; it translates to “We Are Here”), they worked with the Municipality of Amsterdam and actively campaigned for a longer stay in not-really-prison.

The project only ran for 6 months, the WZH refugees have now left the prison and are living elsewhere. So: did it work?

Some background is in order here. In the Netherlands, undocumented immigrants haven’t been entitled to access social services since 1998; in 2010, the Dutch government ruled that it was actually illegal to provide them with emergency shelter. This fell foul of the European Committee of Social Rights, the international body charged with monitoring human rights compliance, which declared that the ruling flew in the face of the immigrants’ right to “bed, bath and bread”.

This was when the Amsterdam Municipality hit on their social experiment. They converted a former prison into a shelter for all refugees who registered with the Dutch Refugee Council (DRC). For six months undocumented immigrants lived in the Vluchthaven (Refugee Haven), while working on their asylum applications.

There were no specific targets set by either the Amsterdam municipalities or the DRC before moving the refugees into the Vluchthaven. If the project’s only goal had been to encourage the refugees to leave The Netherlands, then it appears to have been a failure: of the 165 refugees housed in Vluchthaven, only three returned to their country of origin and another three are preparing to return. Look at the number of refugees who gained legal residence in that time and the figures improve, but remain fairly damning: just 12 (7 per cent) of the refugees were successfully awarded residency.

Taking into account those refugees who are deceased, have been rehoused or imprisoned, 76 per cent of the refugees are presumably once again living on the streets of Amsterdam. (I say “presumably” as Amsterdam has a limited number of shelters available to undocumented immigrants: although the Dutch are as caring as any other nation it’s highly unlikely they’ve opened their homes to a group of homeless strangers.)

These figures are fairly bleak. But, once we take into account the geographical origin of the refugees, a different story starts to emerge. Some 91 per cent of the refugees housed in Vluchthaven originated from countries where reports from the Dutch government describe human rights issues as “critical”. If return was never really an option the logical way to measure the success of this project is by examining the refugees’ ability to build asylum cases.

Attempting to build a case for asylum while living on the streets sounds like a a particular unpleasant twist in Jarndyce vs Jarndyce – but this is the reality faced by undocumented immigrants in The Netherlands. By providing respite from the endless need to find shelter, the Municipality of Amsterdam made it possible for the refugees to focus on collecting evidence. Out of the 165 immigrants housed in Vluchthaven 45 per cent are engaged with the legal process to gain residence in The Netherlands, while another 12 per cent are currently deadlocked in collecting evidence.

Ali Juma, a WZH co-ordinator and refugee from Burundi, sayss that the end of the Vluchthaven was the end of the group’s ability to effectively gather evidence for their asylum applications. The benefits to having a regular address while attempting to put together a legal case in a foreign country are clear. For the six months that they were housed by Amsterdam Municipality, the refugees of WZH were able to make progress in cases which, since their eviction from Vluchthaven, have ground to a halt.

Negotiations are now underway to continue housing the undocumented asylum seekers of Amsterdam; predictably the entire thing comes down to who will foot the bill. Will the cost of housing WZH be placed entirely on the city of Amsterdam? Or will the Dutch government offer financial assistance?

It’s probably too early to just the success of this scheme: that would require clear, pre-agreed targets, and a timeframe longer than six months. (For various reasons many of the refugees were unable to access the full 6 months worth of legal advice.) But what is clear is that undocumented refugees have a better chance of becoming legal residents of The Netherlands if they aren’t forced to submit asylum applications from the streets.

 
 
 
 

The ATM is 50. Here’s how a hole in the wall changed the world

The olden days. Image Lloyds Banking Group Archives & Museum.

Next time you withdraw money from a hole in the wall, consider singing a rendition of happy birthday. For today, the Automated Teller Machine (or ATM) celebrates its half century.

Fifty years ago, the first cash machine was put to work at the Enfield branch of Barclays Bank in London. Two days later, a Swedish device known as the Bankomat was in operation in Uppsala. And a couple of weeks after that, another one built by Chubb and Smith Industries was inaugurated in London by Westminster Bank (today part of RBS Group).

These events fired the starting gun for today’s self-service banking culture – long before the widespread acceptance of debit and credit cards. The success of the cash machine enabled people to make impromptu purchases, spend more money on weekend and evening leisure, and demand banking services when and where they wanted them. The infrastructure, systems and knowledge they spawned also enabled bankers to offer their customers point of sale terminals, and telephone and internet banking.

There was substantial media attention when these “robot cashiers” were launched. Banks promised their customers that the cash machine would liberate them from the shackles of business hours and banking at a single branch. But customers had to learn how to use – and remember – a PIN, perform a self-service transaction and trust a machine with their money.

People take these things for granted today, but when cash machines first appeared many had never before been in contact with advanced electronics.

And the system was far from perfect. Despite widespread demand, only bank customers considered to have “better credit” were offered the service. The early machines were also clunky, heavy (and dangerous) to move, insecure, unreliable, and seldom conveniently located.

Indeed, unlike today’s machines, the first ATMs could do only one thing: dispense a fixed amount of cash when activated by a paper token or bespoke plastic card issued to customers at retail branches during business hours. Once used, tokens would be stored by the machine so that branch staff could retrieve them and debit the appropriate accounts. The plastic cards, meanwhile, would have to be sent back to the customer by post. Needless to say, it took banks and technology companies years to agree common standards and finally deliver on their promise of 24/7 access to cash.

The globalisation effect

Estimates by RBR London concur with my research, suggesting that by 1970, there were still fewer than 1,500 of the machines around the world, concentrated in Europe, North America and Japan. But there were 40,000 by 1980 and a million by 2000.

A number of factors made this ATM explosion possible. First, sharing locations created more transaction volume at individual ATMs. This gave incentives for small and medium-sized financial institutions to invest in this technology. At one point, for instance, there were some 200 shared ATM networks in the US and 80 shared networks in Japan.

They also became more popular once banks digitised their records, allowing the machines to perform a host of other tasks, such as bank transfers, balance requests and bill payments. Over the last five decades, a huge number of people have made the shift away from the cash economy and into the banking system. Consequently, ATMs became a key way of avoiding congestion at branches.

ATM design began to accommodate people with visual and mobility disabilities, too. And in recent decades, many countries have allowed non-bank companies, known as Independent ATM Deployers (IAD) to operate machines. The IAD were key to populating non-bank locations such as corner shops, petrol stations and casinos.

Indeed, while a large bank in the UK might own 4,000 devices and one in the US as many as 12,000, Cardtronics, the largest IAD, manages a fleet of 230,000 ATMs in 11 countries.


Bank to the future

The ATM has remained a relevant and convenient self-service channel for the last half century – and its history is one of invention and re-invention, evolution rather than revolution.

Self-service banking and ATMs continue to evolve. Instead of PIN authentication, some ATMS now use “tap and go” contactless payment technology using bank cards and mobile phones. Meanwhile, ATMs in Poland and Japan have used biometric recognition, which can identify a customer’s iris, fingerprint or voice, for some time, while banks in other countries are considering them.

So it’s a good time to consider what the history of cash dispensers can teach us. The ATM was not the result of a eureka moment of a single middle-aged man in a bath or garage, but from active collaboration between various groups of bankers and engineers to solve the significant challenges of a changing world. It took two decades for the ATM to mature and gain widespread, worldwide acceptance, but today there are 3.5m ATMs with another 500,000 expected by 2020.

Research I am currently undertaking suggests that ATMs may have reached saturation point in some Western countries. However, research by the ATM Industry Association suggests there is strong demand for them in China, India and the Middle East. In fact, while in the West people tend to use them for three self-service functions (cash withdrawal, balance enquiries, and purchasing mobile phone airtime), Chinese customers consumers regularly use them for as many as 100 different tasks.

Taken for granted?

Interestingly, people in most urban areas around the world tend to interact with the same five ATMs. But they shouldn’t be taken for granted. In many countries in Africa, Asia and South America, they offer services to millions of people otherwise excluded from the banking sector.

In most developed counties, meanwhile, the retail branch and the ATM are the only two channels over which financial institutions have 100 per cent control. This is important when you need to verify the authenticity of your customer. Banks do not control the make and model of their customers’ smart phones, tablets or personal computers, which are vulnerable to hacking and fraud. While ATMs are targeted by thieves, mass cybernetic attacks on them have yet to materialise.

The ConversationI am often asked whether the advent of a cashless, digital economy heralds the end of the ATM. My response is that while the world might do away with cash and call ATMs something else, the revolution of automated self-service banking that began 50 years ago is here to stay.

Bernardo Batiz-Lazo is professor of business history and bank management at Bangor University.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.