In an ideal world, no one would ever be forced to leave their homes and families against their wishes to seek work in another country – let alone because they fear for their lives.

Clearly, that is not the case for the Mediterranean. Thousands of migrants leave their countries in Africa and make the perilous journey to the coast, a trip which often takes many years – and numerous traumas – to complete.

The first trips to Malta in 2002 were made in rickety boats and the cold and wet people on board were overwhelmed with donations of food, water, blankets and clothes. When the first 100 turned into 1,600, that year alone, charity and mercy started to be replaced by fear, xenophobia and racism.

The issue became ever more complex: transporting the migrants became big business for the human sharks ready to exploit them. Well-meaning humanitarian responses to the tragedy of sinking boats became an unintended partner to the human traffickers.

Irregular migrants were dumped into tent cities and detention centres, with no empathy for their past, let alone sensitivity to their tribal conflicts. They were allowed to apply for asylum and international protection, repatriation programmes were created and Malta reached agreements with other countries to take up some of the thousands that had ended up here, their trip to the European mainland curtailed by rough seas and empty fuel tanks.

And, then, along comes Yosuf Ahmed Adam, a 38-year-old Ethiopian who came to Malta by boat in 2011 and now even speaks the language. He was among several migrants arrested in August, told they would not be granted refugee status and would be deported to their home country.

He considers Malta to be his home, has worked legally and is terrified of going back to his home, wracked as it is by conflict. The home affairs ministry disputes that he would be in danger, saying it has checks, balances and safeguards to ensure repatriations are fair, efficient, humane and sustainable.

If only there were a fair and equitable solution. As the years passed, the number of migrants grew but so did the economy. Tens of thousands of thirdcountry nationals – without their families – are imported to fill the gaps in our workforce, on limited period work permits, forced to leave once their contracts are complete. We do not offer permanent residence – unless they are millionaires or are highly skilled.

The first question is why has it taken 13 years to decide on Yosuf’s application and why now? Is Yosuf the collateral in the government’s knee-jerk reaction to show they are doing something about the foreign population?

The European Commission is calling for controversial ‘return hubs’ – like the one in Albania – to process migrants whose asylum applications have been rejected. Prime Minister Robert Abela supports this approach, calling for “innovative solutions” for migration. The intention is to make it as hard as possible for irregular migrants, hoping that horror stories make their way back to their homes, deterring others from making the journey.

Activists, critics, migrants and the Church argue that Yosuf’s case demonstrates a harsh and inhumane treatment of people who have become integrated into Maltese society. Lawyers and activists raise the lack of due process and the potential violation of human rights.

So many countries with falling fertility are grappling with the need to balance demand for workers and embracing those who flee conflict and starvation, against offering short-term and long-term residence and work permits, while migrants must grapple with racism and the challenge of integration.

One thing is clear. Yosuf is not the problem but the catalyst we need to finally put aside all the rhetoric – and to remember that we are talking about individuals.