I Just Wanted to Save My Family
Page 14
A few weeks later I get a phone call at two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon.
“Mrs. Pélissier? This is Thierry M. of the national police force. I will be with you in an hour for an inspection with regard to your application for French citizenship.”
The police officer arrives in civilian dress and explains that he needs to inspect our home to check that our marriage isn’t a front. Luckily, the officer and I realize immediately that we know each other because I recently applied to work as a sworn translator and had an interview at the police precinct. This is just as well because it’s normally not a good thing for one half of the couple to be out of the house…but this is a weekday afternoon so my husband’s at work, like most people, wouldn’t you think? Thierry M. tells me that he usually inspects the bedroom and bathroom but in our case he’ll settle for letting me tell our story over a cup of coffee.
It took another year but it’s now done: I’ve officially been French since August 2018. I still have my original nationality and in my heart I have a double feeling of pride—I’m Syrian and French.
22.
Today and tomorrow…
It is late 2018 and my father-in-law, mother-in-law, Anas, and Mayada now live together in an apartment in a housing project in Joué-lès-Tours.
Saif Eddine wants to become a bus driver and already has the equivalent of the relevant qualification thanks to the heavy goods vehicle license that he obtained in the Syrian army. All that’s missing now is competence in the French language, so he’s diligently attending French lessons. He’s a very active member of the small local Syrian community, always ready to help people out, especially with home improvements, which are his passion. According to Anas and Mayada, he’s completely changed since settling in France: He’s much more relaxed about everything, and particularly about when and how often they’re allowed out. In Damascus, he was always afraid something terrible would happen to one of his children; in France he knows that he and his family are safe. The only thing missing is a feeling of some standing in society, and that’s something a proper job would give him.
Wafaa speaks very good French, much better than her husband’s, and she too really wants to find work. If she’s to achieve this she’ll need to overcome her natural reserve, and she’s increasingly enthusiastic about the idea of working in catering, in a canteen maybe…after all she so loves cooking for other people! She’s admitted to her daughter that, even though she misses the scents of Damascus, she does really value how peaceful her life feels in France. Back in Syria she was terribly restricted by oppressive conventions and other people’s judgmental gossip. She doesn’t have to play a game of appearances here and doesn’t live in constant fear of being judged.
Mayada still has serious health problems that mean she can’t work. She has undergone several operations for her pancreatitis but it’s not over yet. Sadly, she is probably the one who’s having the toughest time: She used to be a legal expert at the Ministry of Transport and had a busy social life, but now her prospects are reduced to medical treatments and the strict diet she must follow. Although she misses Syria, of course, it’s really her illness that’s hampering her progress.
Anas has made his big sister Zena so proud: Now that his father no longer feels he must watch over him all the time, Anas is free to demonstrate what a dazzling young man he is. He’s made friends and always manages to be kind and humorous when confronted with prejudice; he’s trilingual and shows true excellence in his engineering studies and at chess; and he’s hoping to become a computer engineer.
Mirvat, who came to France in October 2016, now also has political refugee status, and she lives and works in Joué-lès-Tours.
Meanwhile, Samer stayed in Castres when the rest of Zena’s family moved to the Loiret region. At the end of tenth grade he decided to train as a cook in Castres. He’s very excited about his work prospects, and my parents-in-law still keep an eye on him long distance. As a minor he was entitled to have his own family with him, but the process took too long and stopped dead as soon as he turned eighteen, so his mother is still stuck in Syria, where she has a very tough life because she has extremely limited resources. Samer is doing everything he can to secure a visa for her that would allow her to apply for asylum in France.
* * *
—
Zena and I work hard at continuing to support the cause of refugees—we feel it’s very important not to think only of ourselves. Sure, we have busy schedules like anyone else, what with work, Julia and Mila, and everything we need to do to prepare for the appeal and maintain the profile of our case. And, like many French people, our finances are often tight.
I personally pass on huge amounts of information on social media to inform my followers; and I ask people to sign petitions and offer support to movements or individuals who help migrants, people such as Laurent Caffier and Cédric Herrou. Every now and then we donate clothes to the charity Emmaüs or send tarpaulins to Calais (refugees need them to shelter from bad weather and, unfortunately, they need a lot of them because the tarps are often torn up by hostile gangs or stolen by selfish profiteers who then resell them). Whenever I can, I also publicize events that will encourage people to make donations: I contributed to a day organized by Réseau Education Sans Frontières (RESF, a network committed to “education without borders”), and Zena and I responded to an appeal by an organization called La Parlote that was running a Syrian evening at a literary café near where we live. It was a wonderful opportunity for people of all ages and from all walks of life to meet, and the donations raised were given to Syria Charity, a responsible and well-run NGO that really does make a difference in Syria. It is active in a number of fields, offering food, medical supplies, and security, as well as sponsoring and giving regular support to 6,500 orphans. Zena and I also give a modest monthly donation to Doctors Without Borders in order to contribute to its humanitarian work all over the world. After what happened to her parents when they asked for political asylum, Zena also likes to offer her legal expertise to refugees: She helps foreigners with their research, their applications, and sourcing of documents, sometimes working pro bono when the refugees have no funds.
Zena and I signed up for and participated in an ECI (European Citizens’ Initiative) called “We are a welcoming Europe”: We were included in a series of film portraits of people who, like us, had legal problems after helping refugees in distress for no personal profit. Other subjects of these portraits include Cédric Herrou, Martine Landry, Rob Lawrie, Pierre-Alain Mannoni, and Francesca Peirotti. As I finish writing this book, I don’t know whether this ECI film will succeed in its aim of being viewed by the European Commission…but I sincerely hope it does.
23.
The fight goes on
It isn’t until June 2018 that I’m notified of the date of my appeal: It will be heard on March 1, 2019. Of course, I have continued to be active since I was first sentenced. I know that, whatever happens, I mustn’t disappear off the media radar…or the political radar.
As soon as I know the date for my new trial I activate my loyal network of supportive journalists, and the information is spread far and wide through La Dépêche du Midi, France 3, and, thanks to Maxime Macé, France-Soir. Other media outlets go for more in-depth profiles, rather than reporting in the heat of the moment. In July 2018 l’Humanité devotes a long article by Émilien Urbach to the case. I was put in touch with Émilien by the man often referred to as “the Zorro of the Calais Jungle,” Laurent Caffier, who I met through social media; I was impressed by the tenacity with which he does whatever he can to help refugees on a daily basis.
Laurent Caffier has also been prosecuted for helping three Iranians to flee France in 2016, even though he did this for no financial gain. The three men were among the “bouches cousues” (sealed lips), a group of twelve refugees who stitched up their own lips live in front of TV cameras and mics in their appeal for help: They wanted to go to Eng
land but were stuck in the notorious Calais Jungle refugee camp. Three of them had tried and failed to go via Spain and were then held prisoner by their smuggler. They miraculously managed to escape, and it was at this point that Laurent picked them up, in very poor health. He took them into his own home, with his family, and ended up in a stalemate: He couldn’t ask them to go back to the Jungle because their smuggler would find them and kill them. Nor could he take them to the police precinct because they were undocumented immigrants; they would have been sent back to Iran where they would have been executed for fleeing the country. He had only one option: To help them get out. So he decided to find a boat that would take them to England. When I met Laurent, he was waiting for his appeal hearing, having been found guilty in June 2017 of “aiding illegal entry and residency,” and convicted with no specific sentence announced. After the appeal in 2018, he received a suspended six-month prison sentence.
Like me, Laurent acted for no personal profit. Like me, he’s fighting to shine a spotlight on this sort of conviction as an affront to basic human solidarity. He powerfully asserts his sheer humanity and his inability to walk on by when he sees someone suffering. I have huge respect for his commitment and courage.
After Zena and I appeared on Yann Barthès’s show, several publishing companies contacted us offering book deals, and that’s how you come to be reading this today. It’s my dearest wish that this book will open up discussions at a European—perhaps global—level on the need to standardize immigration legislation and on how we view and handle the distress of exiles. Countless anonymous individuals help refugees and take substantial risks in the process, threatened by the law as much as by far-right factions. Many people who know us would like to help but don’t dare take the plunge because of the risks involved. But this help wouldn’t simply be welcome, it’s absolutely indispensable. There are thousands of refugees in great distress in France, and the people who want to help them out of simple generosity should be able to do so without fear. Solidarity can’t be—mustn’t be—an offense.
* * *
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Staying visible and maintaining a presence in the collective subconscious—these are vital.
Because I’m dreading the outcome of this appeal.
In May 2018 I finally receive the documents that explain my conviction in November 2017. Of course they are in Greek, and when I have them translated I’m devastated.
First of all, one of the police officers who arrested us and held us in custody (I’ll never know which one) claimed in his statement that I never mentioned that the passengers in my car were members of my family.
Most significantly, I discover that, contrary to the information given to me by my lawyer, I wasn’t facing up to nine years in prison, but fifteen! This is because the Greek judicial system can allocate a three-year sentence for each refugee that the accused has helped.
Lastly, I gather that a sentence cannot always be converted into daily fines. So Zena was right: It all depends on what the defendant looks like, and I look like a Frenchman, which, as far as the Greeks are concerned, means I can afford to pay.
The good news is that Zena and I have found a new lawyer whom we really trust. Mr. Kerasiotis has a lot of experience in cases like ours. He is a member of the Human Rights League and has already defended cases at the European Court of Human Rights. He was also instrumental in the first marriage between two Syrians in a refugee camp in Greece. Zena and I have a lot of faith in him. Since he took over our case, he’s been very communicative and has advised me not to relax for a moment with my media campaign because he too believes it’s a crucial form of support.
I know that I’m not obligated to appear before the court for the appeal hearing so I’ve asked whether it would be appropriate for me to be there. He’s looking into this but will suggest it only if there’s absolutely no risk—only if he’s quite sure that I will be able to get out of Greece after the trial, whatever the outcome. Because he’s warned me that if we do succeed in securing an appeal, it would not be suspensive, and it goes without saying that I refuse to spend so much as a minute in a Greek prison.
I remember what I tweeted the day before the original trial: “Should we impose legal sanctions on actions that are not morally reprehensible?”
Truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever return to Greece, and this is a particularly bitter assertion for me to make when I remember my grandmother Voula Paraskevi and the country where I once had strong ties and wonderful memories. After my grandmother died, I traveled to Crete with my parents and my sister; none of us had been there before but we suddenly felt a need to visit. My mother in particular wanted to reestablish links with her family, including her cousin Nikos, who’d never left the island. We instantly fell in love with its Middle Eastern way of life, a sweet simple existence where it takes just tomatoes, bread, cheese, and olive oil to share the most wonderful meal as you look out over the sea…that meeting with Nikos was magical for me. He is a wise, gentle, and cultured polyglot who cultivates a beautiful form of freedom far removed from the frenzy of this world. I’ve lost count of the hours I spent talking with him, putting the world to rights until the sun came up…so long as we had souvlaki and cigarettes, there was no stopping us. I was in my thirties and I had an urge to leave behind my French life and move to Crete, but Nikos helped me understand that this environment of happiness and well-being is something we carry within us and can build wherever we choose. I took great pleasure in introducing him to Zena just after we were married, but we haven’t returned to Crete since the girls were born—I would so love them to meet him. After what happened in Patras, though, we need to face the facts: It will never happen. And that makes me very sad.
* * *
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In the end—and I’m sure it’s down to pressure from the media and the public—the French authorities may actually make a difference to my appeal hearing.
After I wrote to the French president, I eventually received a reply from Nathalie Loiseau, the minister for European affairs, just after Christmas 2017.
MINISTRY FOR EUROPE AND FOREIGN AFFAIRS
The Minister
Responsible for European Affairs
Paris, December 26, 2017
[text redacted]
Dear sir,
Your letter has reached the President of the Republic who has instructed me to reply to you.
I’m moved to hear of your situation relating to the crisis affecting the Syrian people and the personal crises experienced by your in-laws in fleeing the war.
I gather that you have been able to assert your rights, on the one hand thanks to the advice of our honorary consul in Patras who is a lawyer by profession and is helping you with the Greek legal process, and on the other hand by appealing against the decision reached by the court in Patras.
It is not appropriate for me to comment on a court’s decision, nor to intervene in an on-going legal process. While respecting these limitations, I apprised my Greek counterpart, Georgios KATROUGALOS, of your situation during the last meeting of the General Council in Brussels on December 12. He is well aware how baffling it will appear to the French public.
This matter is all the more sensitive because, although it is a crime to assist illegal immigrants in France, French law allows an exception in the case of family members.
…/…
While we wait for a ruling on your appeal, the Ministry for Europe and Foreign Affairs and, more specifically, our consulate in Athens are of course mobilized to help you defend your rights.
Yours sincerely,
Nathalie LOISEAU
Mr. Stéphan PÉLISSIER
[text redacted]
MAILING ADDRESS: 37 Quai d’Orsay 75700
Paris 07 SP—SWITCHBOARD: 01 43 17 53 53
This letter with its talk of “mobilization” when I’d just faced such a resounding co
nviction felt almost ironic. But everything went into overdrive in the summer of 2018. Senator Bonnecarrère, who has followed my case from the start, had a meeting with me in his office to be brought up to date about my situation and to inform me that a representative of the French consulate could attend the appeal trial. This is extraordinary news, if it actually happens. The problem is France has only a little room for maneuvering in its efforts to help me. Greece is a sovereign state and as such it must be allowed to carry out its legal proceedings perfectly independently. If the French consulate sends a representative to attend my trial, the message will be both subtle and clear: France is giving the defendant her support and standing by his side. There is no offense in that to Greece, the court will acknowledge it without taking exception.
Naturally, I immediately discussed this with Zena but we didn’t want to celebrate too soon, not before we were sure. Luckily, we have received assurances on this point since then.
In early November 2017, just before the trial, my coworker Alexandre O. put me in contact with José Bové who is a member of the European Parliament. His response was as swift as it was heartfelt: He officially stood up in my favor and, in our various exchanges, asked me to give him regular updates through his parliamentary attaché, Anne L. And so, after my meeting with the senator, I contacted her to discuss this possible support from the consulate. She then decided to ask José Bové to write to Nathalie Loiseau for official confirmation. On August 3, 2018, José Bové received this confirmation that Anne L. immediately forwarded to us.
MINISTRY FOR EUROPE AND FOREIGN AFFAIRS
The Minister
Responsible for European Affairs
Paris, August 03, 2018
[text redacted]