Thousands were slaughtered, whole communities were expelled and many hundreds imprisoned. In the shambles and persecutions that followed, a vindictive terror ruled our lives. At 18, the year after I finished school, I escaped. Lest I appear to make light of these events, I want to remember the terrible risks people took to escape. We have seen pictures of these people on our television screens, crammed into fishing boats, clinging to the sides of canoes or even crudely lashed bits of wood.
People take such risks because they fear for their lives.
It is an unarguable, terrible thing to be so afraid. I want to remember that, and to remind anyone who is inclined to forget or who has not got around to imagining what it might feel like. I did not cling to the side of a ferry or wedge myself under a train to enter Britain. My brother and I arrived on a Sabena flight and were courteously interrogated by an immigration official. We had no idea we had arrived in the middle of an exodus.