So, this needs to be said: two weeks ago something happened that made me proud to be Belgian.
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So, this needs to be said: two weeks ago something happened that made me proud to be Belgian. THREAD!
Here's the story. A friend – I will call her Caroline – got in touch after a silence of several years. We used to work together back in the day, and had become sort-of-friends. We had stayed in touch through a common friend, who, like me, lives in Brussels. Caroline herself, who lived in the US when we worked together, was now back to France.
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So, Caroline had another former colleague, a man I will call Malik. Malik is Palestinian, and lives in Gaza with his wife and two children, 4 and 3 years old. You can see where this is going. His house was bombed, twice. His immediate family was unharmed, though some of his nephews, that used to play with his children, are gone.
Malik managed to get his family into Egypt via Rafah. Thanks to Caroline's invitation, he obtained a tourist visa for the family to go to the USA.
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Caroline then supported him as he tried to obtain political asylum in the USA and Canada. But nothing worked. At the end of the customary three months, the visa was about to expire. So, Caroline's message told us "I told Malik to apply for asylum-seeking status in Belgium. Can you help?"
It turned out we could, a little bit. Mostly with information, and by giving him someone that he could call, a friendly voice in the New Place.
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So in they flew, Malik and his wife and their two children, with a stopover in Brussels and a connecting flight to Cairo. They knew what to do: miss the flight, then report to the airport authorities and ask for asylum.
It turns out that Belgium has an "airport track" for asylum seekers, and that it becomes very fast when minor children are involved. Malik and his family were first made to wait, and yes, after a long flight from the US and with two small children that's not a joke.
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But at the end of that wait, the system kicked into gear. The family was put into a car and driven to a building in the airport's region. They were given the keys to an apartment, some money to buy food and information on where to buy it, and told to get some rest.
That weekend, my girlfriend, who had taken point on the whole Malik initiative, went to meet the family and take Malik and the children to Antwerp (one of the adults is supposed to be in the provided apartments at all time).
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The trip was, she reports, very touching. They had a story to tell, and they wanted to tell it. They had photos on their phones: a house shot to pieces. Toys retrieved from the rubble. The missing cousins of the children, who they will never see again (though they have not been told that yet).
But check this out: they had an appointment with the Federal asylum for the intake interview service *on the next Monday*.
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The interview went like this: the whole family had their photos and biometrics taken and was issued ID cards. After which, the official in charge basically told them: look, the situation is clear. You are from Gaza and cannot go back. Your status as refugee is straightforward and we might not even bother with a second interview. Welcome to Belgium, see you in five years when you apply for citizenship.
The language was no doubt more formal (I was not there), but that was the gist of it.
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