Uncertainty is an emotion that amplifies during a pandemic. This is a written text on my experience with the asylum process in Germany. Living in exile and reminiscent of memories. A deteriorating sense of self that the waiting game produces.
I have been in my asylum process for 24 months, that is still ongoing. I had the police come into my home, twice to detain and deport me while I was under a Dublin deportation order. I was not at home. For 6 months, I had no legal documents and had to seek protection from the church. I had no health insurance, no access to the job market. I was in constant distress and walking outside became intolerable with fear. I began to isolate myself from my friends and retreated indoors, the only place where I felt safe. I told myself, it was only 6 months. After 6 months, I would be able to live a life where I have rights, as opposed to them taken away.
Six months pass by and Germany handles my asylum case. I receive a temporary residency permit valid for a year while the case is still in process. The fear that I thought I had left behind, only reinforced a foundation of despair. Moving to a country where you have to learn the language from scratch. Leaving your family behind and not knowing when you would be able to meet again. Having to deal with authorities that constrict your movement and rights. Finding safe housing in a city. Not knowing when the police will show up—again—at your place to detain you while you’re still in your asylum process. Living in a constant state of terror that starts to erode any sense of safety.
On August 4th 2020, an explosion took place in Beirut, Lebanon, that was caused by 2,750 tonnes of cargo containing ammonium nitrate that was stored in the capital of Beirut’s port, for six years. Minutes later, I tried to get into contact with my family back home. The phone lines were down and could not reach them. My cousin worked ten minutes away from the port at the time. In an hour of waiting for anyone to respond, the worst possible scenarios were going through my head.
I was thinking that either my family had died from the explosion or were severely injured. Thankfully, my family was safe with minimal injuries. They were lucky. The others, not so much. 207 deaths, 7500 injured. Streets were filled with blood and decapitated bodies as people rushed into the overcrowded hospitals. Doctors were forced to perform surgeries in parking lots as some hospitals were destroyed after the explosion. Nine months later and the Lebanese government has still not taken any action for this negligent massacre on its own people.
There is constant worry at the deteriorating living situation, that my family is experiencing back home. I speak to my family over the phone, and I miss them. When will I ever see them again in person, incessant thoughts come to my mind. Will they be okay, are they okay? How is life over there? They tell me it’s a struggle but that they are luckier than most and are managing. I never know when to believe their answer, their answer stems from wanting me not to worry. They tell me to focus on my life, get through the obstacles and barriers that this country firmly places on a platter. Systematic oppression sprouts hopelessness. This is what asylum seeking does to people. It reduces me to a statistic and collateral damage to be dealt with by PR protocol. I read the latest updates on racist mob attacks around Germany directed at refugees.
We are mocked, spat on and ridiculed for trying to live after losing everything. We are berated and made to feel inferior by authorities. We are unable to find safe housing spaces, are forced to stay in abusive situations and live on the streets. We are unable to find the dignity that we had hoped for before arriving here. Contemplating suicide after two years of living in the same predicament. Waiting in anticipation for a second-third-fourth- decision that predates my future can dissipate.
When I see mental health professionals, I am recommended to focus on my breathing. Superfluous at best. They tell me to change my perspective and outlook in life. How can I do that when we live in a world where systematic oppression exists. How can I focus on my breath when there is a boot crushing my neck? There are injustices surrounding me, that the capability of fighting back becomes vacant over time.
At a certain point, exhaustion grows into a central topic of existence and taking care of basic needs proves to be a struggle. It frightens me to think that I have let this procedure get to me, but how could I not let it get to me? It directly affects my living situation, in all arenas of life. Sometimes, just sometimes, I have the will to go on. To keep on fighting. I am still picking up the pieces as I go along.
Not knowing when this process will be over and what the outcome would be. Would my case receive another rejection in court and return to a country I have no ties to and risk prosecution? Would I be rendered without a residency again?
Why does the German government treat asylum seekers as criminals? Why are people being met with violence at the borders of the EU when carrying out their right to seek asylum as a fundamental human right.
Why are we only accepted to live here if we can prove to be a profitable asset to the economy?
This article has been published by an anonymous person in Daily Resistance #9 in English and Arabic (below)
الرّيبة والخوف من المجهول شعورٌ يتفاقم في أوقات الوباء. ما يلي هو نصّ كتبته عن تجربتي مع عمليّة اللجوء في ألمانيا. يمكنني أن اختصرها بحالةِ تدهورالإحساس بقيمتي الذاتية، نتيجة لعبة الإنتظار
بدأتُ بإجراءت اللجوء منذ 24 شهراً، ولا تزال العملية مستمرّة. أتت الشرطة إلى منزلي مرّتين لإحتجازي وترحيلي بينما كنت بموجب أمر ترحيل من دبلن. لمدّة 6 أشهر لم يكن لدي أي مستندات قانونية و اضطررت الى طلب الحماية من الكنيسة. لم يكن لديّ تأمين صحي ولا إمكانيّة للإنخراط في سوق العمل. وجدت نفسي في قلق مزمن وأصبح تنقّلي خارج المنزل أمرٌ لا يطاق بسب الخوف الدائم. بدأتُ بالانعزال عن اصدقائي و البقاء في المنزل لأنّه المكان الوحيد الذي كنت أشعر فيه بشيء من الأمآن. قلت لفسي بأنّ هذه المعانات ستنتهي بعد 6 أشهر وانني سأتمكن بعدها بالعيش بكامل حقوقي التي سُلبت مني
بعد ستّة أشهر بقيَت قضيّتي في قبضة السّلطات الألمانية. اعطوني تصريح إقامة مؤقّتة لمدّة عام واحد، لكن القضية بقيَت قيد النظر. الخوف الذي اعتقدت أنني سأتخلّص منه عاد، وعزّز فيّ الشعور باليأس. الانتقال إلى بلد جديد، تعلُّم لغة جديدة، ترك عائلتي دون أن أعرف متى سأتمكّن من رؤيتهم مجدّداً، التعامل مع سلطات تقيّد تحرّكاتي وحقوقي، كلّها صعوباتٍ واجهتها. كان الشعور بالخوف وعدم الأمان يلاحقني بإستمرار بينما كنت أحاول أن أجد مكان آمن للسكن. كنت في ترقّب دائم لزيارة مفاجئة من قبل الشرطة لاعتقالي مجدداً بينما كانت اجراءت لجوئي مستمرة.
في الرابع من آب/ أغسطس وقع إنفجار في بيروت/ لبنان نتيجة إشتعال 2750 طنّاً من نترات الأمونيوم المخزّنة في مرفأ العاصمة منذ 6 سنوات. حاولت الإتصال بأسرتي في لبنان ولكن الخطوط كانت معطّلة. كان إبن عمي حينها يعمل بالقرب من المرفأ. خلال ساعة إنتظار ردّاً من عائلتي في لبنان، مرّت في ذهني أسوأ السيناريوهات المحتملة
اعتقدت بأنّ عائلتي قد ماتت في الإنفجار، أو أُصيبت بجروح خطيرة. لحسن الحظ كانت عائلتي بأمآن وأصيبوا بجروح طفيفة. كانوا محظوظين عكس الكثير من الناس الأخرين. 207 قتيل و 7500 جريح كانت الحصيلة. الشوارع امتلأت بالدّماء و الأشلاء، وهرعت الناس إلى المستشفيات المكتظّة. إضطرّ بعد الأطبّاء لإجراء عمليّات جراحيّة في مواقف السيارات، لأن بعض المستشفيات كانت قد دُمّرت في الانفجار. بعد تسعة أشهر على هذه الفاجعة، لم تتخذ الحكومة أي اجراءت ولم تتحمّل مسؤلية هذه المجزرة المتهوّرة بحق شعبها.
لديّ قلق دائم من تدهور الوضع المعيشي الذي تعيشه عائلتي هناك. اتحدث مع عائلتي عبر الهاتف وافتقدهم كثيراً. لا أعلم متى سأرهم مجدداً. تراودني تساؤلات عديدة بإستمرار: هل هم بخير؟ هل سيكونون بخير؟ كيف هي الحياة هناك؟ يقولون بأن الحياة هناك عبارة عن صراع مستمر ولكن يقولون أيضاً بأنهم أوفر حظاً من غيرهم وأنهم يدبّرون أمورهم. يطلبون مني التركيز على حياتي وتخطّي العقبات التي تضعها هذه البلاد في وجهي
القمع الممنهج يولّد اليأس. هذا ما تفعله عمليّة اللجوء بالناس. تجعل منّي مجرد رقم، إحصاء، وضرر
