Manal was right, and everything changes for my parents-in-law and their children one day in June 2016 when the clerk manning the only open desk at the prefecture in Orléans hands them a receipt to acknowledge their application for asylum. This simple piece of paper is a huge victory: It confirms that it will indeed be France, and not Hungary, that handles their application. It is valid for only a month but can be renewed until they are given a definitive reply to their request for asylum. On the other hand, they have only twenty-one days to put together their official application for asylum with OFPRA, enclosing a full account of their lives, in French, and explaining why they would not be safe to return home to Syria. When OFPRA has had time to digest their application, they are given appointments in the Paris region—the organization has no other premises. Each member of the family must be interviewed individually, with the help of an interpreter, to go back over his or her personal story and describe his or her current circumstances. They are told there and then that they can expect to wait between three and six months for an answer.
However long the waiting time, this receipt means that Saif, Wafaa, and their children are now officially asylum seekers, with all the associated rights. As soon as they have this document in their hands, my parents-in-law tell Manal and Khaled they’re leaving: The apartment is too small for ten of them to live together comfortably and they can’t bear this constant feeling that they’re invading and in the way. Despite Manal and Khaled’s protestations, my parents-in-law stand their ground. Manal backs down and starts using the network of contacts she has built up through her translating work for the OFII* to find them accommodation in a CADA, starting in July. My mother-in-law calls Zena in a state of excitement—she will have a home of her own at last!
But the day they move into the apartment that they have been allocated in Joué-lès-Tours comes as a cold shower. They are to share the space with a family from Chechnya. They don’t know each other and don’t even have a common language. Each family has two private bedrooms and its own toilets, but all the other spaces are shared: living room, kitchen, and bathroom. Zena feels for her poor mother, who felt awkward sharing a house with her own family…she must be going through hell with these strangers, however courteous and respectful they are. And even though Wafaa tries to put a brave face on it, Anas eventually admits to Zena that their sheer timidity means they daren’t sit in the living room if the other family is in there, so they spend their evenings in their bedrooms. All the same, as the months go by, it becomes clear that everyone in the household wants this cohabiting to work as well as possible and the two families pull together—although Wafaa will never come to terms with even cooking at the same time as the other mother. Still, there is one very positive aspect to this CADA: the support that refugees are given in everything they do. Whether they have an appointment with the doctor, the welfare office, the unemployment office, or the prefecture, Saif and Wafaa are never left to fight it out on their own, and this gives them true peace of mind—as it does us because, at such a distance, we can’t give them this support ourselves.
Two wonderful pieces of news finally brighten 2016, which has been a very dark year.
In September 2016 Zena gives birth to a girl who’s perfect in every way. Our little Mila. Julia is as thrilled as we are, she adores her baby sister and brings her soft toys whenever she hears her cry. The house felt very empty after Wafaa, Saif, Mayada, and Anas left but it’s filled to the brim with love again now!
Then, in October, my parents-in-law receive confirmation that France is granting them political refugee status, and the longest period of protection available—ten years—because OFPRA recognizes the life-threatening danger they would face in their own country. We’re delighted with this news, and Zena now knows for sure that she was right to let them leave. They can start building their own lives here at last. Knowing that the French authorities acknowledge their suffering, understand that they had no choice but to flee, and guarantee their safety by offering them a permanent home is genuinely a rebirth for them.
* The French Agency for Immigration and Integration
13.
Happiness with no clouds on the horizon
ZENA’S STORY
September 2017.
A beautiful summer is coming to an end.
My parents are offered social housing and can move out of the CADA where they’ve been living since leaving Manal’s home. I’m so glad to see them properly settled. They were granted political refugee status a little under a year ago and now have a guarantee that they can stay in France, in safety. We hear regularly from Samer, who’s flourishing in France, despite the heartbreak of failing to get his mother to come join him.
It feels like we can breathe at last. Julia is four and Mila just turned one. Our family life is the same as millions of other families in France: happy and chaotic! I haven’t returned to work since Mila was born because I’ve had various health problems, but I’m still making progress with my thesis: I’ve written nearly two hundred pages and plan to finish before June 2018. I also do various translating jobs.
The Greek episode is now nothing more than a distant memory for us all. Toward the end of the summer of 2015, Stéphan wrote to the French consulate in Athens, asking them to recommend a bilingual lawyer. We were pointed in the direction of Mrs. D., a lawyer and honorary consul. Stéphan called her to explain his case and since then she has kept an eye on the timetable of legal proceedings and said she would warn us if anything happened. We have not heard from her since.
Every now and then, perhaps over a meal at a family gathering, someone will ask Stéphan, “What about the car, where did you get with that?”
“Nowhere, we don’t really have much information.”
“But are you trying to find out more?”
“Yes, but we’ve had no news from the lawyer, and every person or organization that we contact toys with us for a while and then says they need payment before they can supply us with a document or have something translated…We don’t have the budget for it! And anyway, we keep thinking that when they decide they want to contact us, they’ll go right ahead.”
14.
When your world falls apart and the sky falls in
Wednesday, September 20, 2017. I’m just coming out of a meeting that dragged on all morning. The beginnings of a migraine are quietly threatening and I head for the coffee machine to eradicate them. While my cup fills, I scroll through my personal emails on my cell phone. In among the usual messages there’s something unexpected: Mrs. D. is getting in touch at last. I haven’t heard from her for nearly two years.
From: Christina D.
Sent: Wednesday September 20, 2017 11:46
To: Stéphan Pélissier
Subject: Trial 11.9.2017
Dear Mr. Pélissier,
Your trial has been set for November 9 2017 please let me know if you want to defend yourself
Sincerely Christina D. Attorney at Law French Honorary Consul
I immediately email her asking for more information and she tells me nothing but arranges for us to have a telephone conversation that same evening, at 6:30 PM French time.
When I call Zena at lunchtime to see how she’s doing, I mention the email. We’re both kind of pleased, and neither of us has the tiniest inkling that this could get complicated. We just think we’ll finally have our car back, and our only concern is how much it might cost. Given that it all happened in Greece in the first place, we think there’s bound to be a fine or some kind of duty, something to grease the wheels…
“If they’re too greedy, we’ll just leave it there!” I tell Zena, laughing. “I mean, we’ve coped without it for two years, haven’t we?”
Zena gives the girls their bath every night at 6:30, but we both feel she should be with me on the call with the lawyer, so, just for today, Julia’s watching a cartoon and Mila’s playing in her playpen. A
fter the usual greetings, I feel like I’ve had a sack of cement dumped on me, because Mrs. D. tells me this has nothing to do with my car.
She breaks the news that this is actually about me, I’m being sued.
I close my eyes for a moment. I don’t understand any of this. The things she’s saying make no sense.
I ask her to explain, but all she does is reiterate that the Greek Ministry of Justice is pursuing a case against me and my trial will be in early November, as she wrote in her email. In order for her to have access to the case file and—crucially—the reasons for this suit, I must first officially appoint her as my lawyer and pay an up-front fee of five hundred euros. On autopilot, I ask her to email me, confirming what I need to do. Before hanging up she tells me she’ll be able to give me more information within forty-eight hours: She will ask to have access to the prosecutor’s report as soon as I return the documents appointing her as my legal adviser on the case.
I put down the phone, shaking my head in disbelief. Zena’s eyes are full of questions, she can tell something bad is happening. I tell her what I know, in other words, if I’m honest, not very much, but her eyes widen in horror: The word “trial” is enough to haul us both back to that dark chapter of our lives that we thought was closed. I hurriedly fill out the forms that the lawyer sent me—we need to be done with this frightening suspense as soon as possible.
Mrs. D. calls back two days later; Zena and I haven’t really slept or eaten since her first call. She details the charges against me: I’m being prosecuted for the mass illegal transportation of persons with no official documents. Put bluntly, as far as the Greek justice system is concerned, I’m a people smuggler. The only consolation is that I don’t need to attend the trial myself, my lawyer can represent me.
I’m reeling from the shock. This feels like a terrible nightmare but with the anguish of being perfectly awake and conscious, knowing it’s real and could dramatically change my life, our lives. The lawyer ends the conversation by telling me that, if found guilty, I would be liable for nine years’ imprisonment. I’m appalled and overwhelmed but I also chafe rebelliously: The family relationships that I proved in 2015 by showing my family records book to the examining magistrate don’t feature in the prosecutor’s report, only in my statement.
I suddenly feel very small, caught up in a huge soulless machine that’s going to crush me. The fact that the family records book isn’t mentioned is catastrophic. Was this a deliberate omission? Is my case being used as an example to Europeans who want to go and help refugees, to all the people whose “solidarity” is criticized by the justice system that deems them guilty of an offense? The examining magistrate studied that family records book right in front of me, she said nothing that led me to believe she wouldn’t document it. I was taken for a ride. I’m trapped between arbitrary procedures and judicial errors…and I can’t see a way out.
In the days after the lawyer’s call, Zena and I are battered against the rocky walls of anxiety and insomnia. Devastated by news of the trial and aware of how much time and energy she will devote to preparing my defense, Zena very reluctantly decides she must abandon her thesis. I, meanwhile, keep my teeth clenched all day, unable to concentrate on anything, physically at work but mentally absent, on autopilot with my daughters and, although I may fall asleep easily, it is only to wake up drenched in sweat at 3 AM, incapable of going back to sleep.
These lines from Baudelaire’s poem “Condemned Women” echo inside my head: “I feel such heavy dread dissolving over me […] Beneath a bloody sky that closes all around.”
15.
Dear Mr. Pélissier, the French president has asked me…
As soon as I hung up with Mrs. D., I emailed the French consulate in Athens to inform them of the situation. Their reply comes back swiftly on Monday: Greece is a sovereign country and it is not possible to intervene in matters handled by an independent justice system…to be honest, I was expecting this. Over Sunday lunch I was already telling my parents, “I’m going to write to the president himself!” Sandra was dubious and my father thought it over the top. But my mind was made up, and still is. And anyway, this means I can do something, and that’s what I need if I’m to stay sane. It wouldn’t be accurate to say calm is restored, but the moment I start contacting politicians about my case, I find it a little easier to sleep.
Time being of the essence, I go straight to the website for the Élysée Palace. No email address is listed, but I find a “Contact Us” form in which I give a quick outline of my situation and ask for help from the presidency. But I need to give fuller, more precise details, and over the course of the next week I draft and send a three-page letter to the French president, Emmanuel Macron. In it I describe the nightmare experienced by my in-laws before they left Syria, as well as my ordeal being held in custody in Greece and supplying my family record book to the court. I describe my astonishment when, nearly two years after the incident, I found that I am to be tried as a people smuggler. “I am therefore being prosecuted for trying to save my father-in-law, mother-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law. Prosecuted like a common criminal, by a European state.” Before ending the letter with a request to the president for diplomatic intervention to restore justice and humanity, I cite the articles of French law that reassured me, just before I left, about the legality of my undertaking:
Article L. 622-4 of the Code of Entry and Stay of Aliens and Right of Asylum (CESEDA)…assisting an irregular nonnational to stay illegally in France will not give rise to criminal prosecution on the basis of Articles L. 622-1…when the assistance is provided by
1) ascendants or descendants of the nonnational or his/her spouse, brothers or sisters of the nonnational or his/her spouse;
2) the spouse of the nonnational, or a person who cohabits with the nonnational, or the parents, children, brothers, or sisters of the spouse of the nonnational or of the person who cohabits with the nonnational;
3) any person who provides legal advice or the provision of food, accommodation, or medical care to ensure dignified and decent living conditions for the nonnational, or any other assistance to preserve the dignity or the health and well-being of the nonnational, providing that this assistance does not give rise to any direct or indirect compensation.
On September 29 I have a surprise: an email from the Élysée Palace. The presidency has replied, and so promptly! I can already picture people leaping to my aid, but my happiness dissolves as soon as I understand the content of the email, which is signed by the president’s principal private secretary. I’m informed, in essence, that the principle of Greek sovereignty doesn’t allow the French president to intervene. Nevertheless, I’m told that my correspondence has been passed on to Mrs. Nathalie Louiseau, minister for European affairs.
In the time between that first email from my lawyer and the date of my trial, I also contact the prime minister’s office, but they don’t demonstrate the same responsiveness: It takes more than a month for them to reply with a simple email telling me that my request will be passed on to the attorney general, Nicole Belloubet, and the secretary of state, Jean-Yves Le Drian.
In the meantime, we’ve heard that my trial has been deferred. Zena collapses when I read her the email from Mrs. D. informing us of the delay, and I understand her distress: We can’t take any more, this needs to end, one way or another. I want to know my fate, I want to know what’s going to happen to my life.
In the end the trial takes place on November 29, and, despite my efforts to inform the French authorities, my lawyer really will be the only person defending my case. I’m forced to acknowledge—bitterly—that my country is not behind me.
Even though, at least in the first instance, this reaps no better rewards, I also contact several local elected representatives, including the senator for the Tarn, Philippe Bonnecarrère. This former mayor of Albi is now vice president of the Committee for European Affairs at the Senate, a sinc
ere and committed man who is the first politician to offer me any assistance, and whose support never slackens.
Principal private Secretary
to the President of the Republic
Monsieur Stéphan PÉLISSIER
[Address obscured]
Paris, September 28, 2017
Dear Mr. Pélissier,
The President of the Republic has asked me to reply to the correspondence you addressed to him.
I would have willingly offered you assistance but the principle of individual state sovereignty does not allow the presidency of the French Republic to intervene in the case to which you refer.
I have nevertheless forwarded your correspondence to the minister responsible for European affairs, who works alongside the minister for Europe and foreign affairs, in order that she be aware of your case.
Yours sincerely,
François-Xavier LAUCH
Reference for all correspondence
[text redacted]
16.
Raising awareness and media coverage
I’m very pessimistic about the trial and its outcome, but I can’t let myself be beaten down. No, I want to fight with all my might. And these first exchanges with the world of politics quickly prove that appealing single-handedly to the authorities for support in an extraterritorial case is virtually pointless. This therefore validates a choice that I made at a very early stage, before even receiving the verdict from the court in Patras: We must warn the public, we must let the French people know the fate meted out to one of their kind who simply wanted to save his family, so I decide to secure as much media coverage as possible.
I Just Wanted to Save My Family Page 11