‘Even if you scream, it doesn’t make any difference. That’s when they will hold you even tighter.’
TW police violence
On 21 April 2026, a military flight, believed to have been organised by the Belgian government in cooperation with Cyprus, Slovenia, Romania, Switzerland and France, took off from Melsbroek (Steenokkerzeel) military airport to deport around 50 people to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
One of the people on that flight tells us what happened during the deportation. He was deported to the DRC despite having lived in Belgium for 15 years. He was being held at the Merksplas detention centre when he received the ticket informing him of the flight.
“On Saturday, they came to collect us from the Merksplas detention centre at 8 pm. They took us to an isolation cell. We stayed there until Sunday. They took our phones away. I was in a tiny room, with just a toilet.
If you need anything, you press the bell. He comes and you speak to him like that, through the door. It’s a prison.
On Sunday morning I went to wash. Then we left Merksplas. The other guy who was with me couldn’t wash.
We set off.
When we got there, we stayed in the vehicle. The guards got out to hand over the documents to the centre. And then we got out one by one.
When it was my turn, we went into a room next door. Once in the room next door, they told us, “Now, these are the clothes you have to wear on the day of the journey.” I had to choose my clothes for the flight. They took the rest of my belongings with them.
They told me to undress and searched me, completely naked. They ran a device over my whole body. My arms, my legs. They said, “Open your mouth, stick out your tongue.” As if I’d killed someone.
As I was undressed, they gave me some clothes, a tracksuit top, underpants, trousers, socks and slippers. Like pyjamas.
I was all alone in the room they put me in. The phone had been taken away on Saturday. I’m cut off from the world.
At one point they told me: “You can call the lawyer at any time, but you can only call your family once.” I hadn’t heard from my family since 8 pm on Saturday. I called my wife. We only had five minutes. As it was Sunday, I couldn’t call the lawyer.
It was a special flight, a military flight.
On Tuesday I was at the window, I saw the bus and everything. 40 police officers got off the bus.
They took us one by one. They searched you, again. I said: “I’m under surveillance, we had nothing left, no rights left. What are you going to search for?”
They put a vest on you, like a bulletproof vest, with both arms tied down, it’s tight against your body. Both arms on your hips. It’s like a sack. You can’t move at all, nothing. Your arms are tied down.
They took us back to the bus, each of us with two police officers.
They didn’t give us anything. It was as if we were being led to the slaughterhouse. They told us, “Stay calm, it’ll be fine.”
When I left 127bis, I heard people screaming. But even if you scream, it doesn’t change a thing. That’s when they tighten their grip on you even more.
There were people saying, “It hurts, it hurts,” but they didn’t care: “We’ll let you scream all you like. Even if you scream, what are you going to do? We’ll handcuff you.”
There were several people who didn’t want to get on the plane. They picked them up by their feet. Five police officers. They lift you up. They carry you to the seat where you have to sit; you can’t move anymore.
There must have been about 50 of us being deported. They’d taken us from France, Switzerland, Cyprus, the Netherlands. We all ended up in Belgium. It was Belgium that had organised the flight, for sure. There was an officer from the Immigration Office there. There were also soldiers on the plane.
When the plane gained altitude, we started taking off our life jackets. With police officers standing next to you, you couldn’t move.
Then we arrived. The police stayed on the plane. The immigration officials came to collect me. They put us on a bus, took us to an office, and identified us one by one. We were handed over to the Congolese authorities.
We had to give an address where we were going to live. Some people had nothing, no family left. We completed the formalities. A friend had to sign a release form so that I could be set free.
It’s as if you’ve been thrown into the desert. You’re lost in a maze. I don’t even know where to start.
They’re trying to belittle you. They’re stripping you bare.
They didn’t even take my medical report into account.
I told them: “See you soon”.
The week before this flight, it was reported in the press that the Belgian Minister for Migration, Anneleen Van Bossuyt, was visiting the DRC as part of a “deterrence mission”. She was quick to praise the “good cooperation” between the two countries: “I am determined to regain control of migration flows to Belgium. We are implementing the strictest asylum and migration policy in our history, with fewer arrivals, more returns and zero tolerance for abuse,” she declared.
Her arguments are based on the fact that the asylum recognition rate is below 15% for people from the DRC. She speaks of an “explosion” in asylum applications from Congolese people – the figures have indeed doubled, but this amounts to 2,500 people in 2025. 2,500 people is 0.021% of the Belgian population. The use of fear-mongering language (such as referring to an “explosion”) merely serves to justify and further a racist, classist and colonial far-right policy. Moreover, we know that the economic arguments do not hold water. We know that their despicable repressive and security apparatus costs them far more than it would cost (and, in the long run, yield) to provide decent reception for people.
Van Bossuyt points out, however, that people who comply with the rules on residence applications are “welcome to visit our country”. A facade of hospitality that leaves one speechless.
The same man wanted to add further thoughts and questions regarding the lack of transparency and the unfairness of the procedures leading up to deportations. We present them here:
“First and foremost, I wish to denounce the procedural irregularities that prevail in Belgium regarding the identification of Congolese nationals within the framework of this deportation procedure, which is carried out with injustice, contempt and malice, flouting all international laws on migration and removal from the territory.
Having spent several months in a detention centre in Belgium, I have observed that other detainees were taken to the embassy of the country of their declared nationality to be identified before being granted a residence permit, provided they are recognised as nationals of that country. Unfortunately for the Congolese, no one who has been deported will tell you that they were taken to the embassy for this purpose.
So, I have so many questions:
On what basis were they able to identify people who do not have a Congolese passport? Since among us there were people who claimed to be Angolan…Why this double standard in the procedure?Why such contempt for the people of a country that Belgium considers a friend, yet whose natural resources it has coveted for centuries?
During her recent visit to the DRC, the Belgian Minister for Migration spoke of a new partnership with the Congolese Migration Service, which raised further questions for me:
Is this service aware of the lives or identities of Congolese people in the diaspora?
If not, this demonstrates a lack of respect on Belgium’s part, which brings shame upon the authorities of this service by offering them small subsidies to buy their trust. Bunch of greedy people.
Why not leave this responsibility to the embassy, which is the competent authority?”
Shame on Belgium and its colonial actions. Support for those violently deported.Solidarity with all those imprisoned.
DOWN WITH THE STATE AND ITS BORDERS
STOP DEPORTATIONS
FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT AND SETTLEMENT FOR ALL
