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Why it is illegal to leave Algeria

Diversity may be frowned upon throughout Algeria, but it reigns, apparently, on the little vessels that ferry illegal migrants away.
In Algeria, these adventurers are called by a strange name: harragas, or border-runners - in other words, the bold and the crazy. The term has long stopped denoting any standard characteristics other than being young, preferably minor; Spanish law, for one, forbids the expulsion of anyone under 18 years of age. Today, the call of the sea is chiefly heeded by Algerians - students or not, women or men. Sub-Saharans passing through Algeria prefer to head for Europe by overland routes, via Morocco.
This migration, known as the harga, is a problem, of course, because it kills people. But it troubles the Algerian government in a particular way. That Algerians are voluntarily leaving on such a dangerous journey is glaring proof of the political and economic failures: repression, unemployment and the rising cost of living, among other things.
The escape corridors are well known. From the easternmost part of the country, about 500 kilometers from Algiers, the capital, migrants head for Italy. From the region around Oran, they tend to set out for Spain. The harga has its rules, its professionals, its seasons, its fees - and its success stories.
The trip, not including food and emergency supplies, costs about $1,200 all around - compared with the monthly minimum wage, which is set at 18,000 dinars, just over $100 dollars at common black-market rates. The crossing to Spain takes one day, two days at most. Never mind that the smugglers often are illegal immigrants who returned home and figured out that they could make more money doing this here than doing anything else over there. The harga has sent the prices of speedboats, boat motors, life jackets and GPS systems skyrocketing.
Mostaganem, my hometown, is a small coastal city between Algiers and Oran. It was once a lovely weekend destination, with its stilt bungalows by the sea and its sardine restaurants, but today tourism lags for lack of investment. The government is suspicious of all foreigners. Algeria sells oil, and unlike its neighbours Morocco and Tunisia, it doesn't need money from tourists. What's more, it is run by a gerontocracy that clings to power by any means and is increasingly out of step with the country's very young population: 29 per cent of the total is under 15.
Young people suffer from the lack of employment and opportunities, and especially from the lack of leisure activities. In Mostaganem, as in other towns and villages throughout Algeria, there are no movie theaters, no swimming pools, no dance floors and no restaurants. Lovers may not kiss or hold hands in public. So Mostaganem's beautiful, still-wild coastline is a point of departure. More than 110 small craft set out from there in a single week last year, according to the local authorities; 286 Algerians are said to have been intercepted on the open sea in just three days in November. The Mediterranean Sea regularly throws up the corpses of the drowned, but that doesn't seem to discourage prospective travellers.
The harga's scale is difficult to measure. There are no definitive statistics; very few numbers have been made public. Some sources say there were more than 3,100 illegal immigration attempts from the coasts of Algeria in 2017. Others place the number closer to 5,000.
The harga already signals the authorities' failing twice over. First, it's proof that the government hasn't managed to build a nation that is attractive to its own people. And the government's disastrous attempts to stem the problem have only made it worse: Emigration has increased since the state criminalised it in 2009. (Any citizen or resident of Algeria who tries to leave the country illicitly is subject to a fine and a prison term of two to six months.) Was it fair to penalise the victims of a national failure? Worse, the law designed to do that, controversial from the outset, has turned out to be ineffective.
On their makeshift boats, departing migrants often sing instead of staying silent and being discreet. They seem to be mocking those who stay behind. Really, they are yelling things at the government from the sea that for years they didn't dare tell it to its face. To leave illegally is, above all, to speak out.
Kamel Daoud is the author of the novel "The Meursault Investigation." This essay was translated by John Cullen from the French.