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PAKISTAN

‘Risk-taking hostages should pay for rescue’

Several Swiss politicians have called for certain freed hostages to contribute financially to the costs of their rescue.

The two Bernese police officers who escaped from their Pakistani Taliban captors almost two months ago may have to share in the costs incurred by the state during their rescue, newspaper Tages Anzeiger reported.

“The issue of sharing costs is decided from case to case,” a foreign ministry spokesperson told the newspaper.

Taliban soldiers captured Daniela Widmer and David Och after they had ventured into Pakistan on their way home from India. The couple said that they had not realized the full extent of the danger they were placing themselves in by crossing the border, because the foreign ministry had not described Pakistan to be as dangerous as Mali or Afghanistan.

Criticism is being levelled at the couple from various corners for having taken an unnecessarily high risk in trying to cross through Pakistan.

“Just because a country is not the most dangerous of all countries, this does not mean that a trip is without risk,” National Councillor Kathy Riklin for the Christian Democratic Party told the newspaper.

In fact, “any tourist and non-urgent travel” through Pakistan is discouraged by the foreign ministry.

Andreas Aebi for the Swiss People’s Party is one of several politicians who think that certain hostages should be accountable to the state for the costs incurred during a rescue operation.

“Anyone who takes such a risk should bear the cost of the consequences,” he told Tages Anzeiger.

The costs can reach extraordinary heights, particularly where ransom has to be paid. Ransom is typically between one and four million US dollars.

In 2009, the government spent five and a half million francs ($5,956,485.73) to rescue two Swiss hostages who had been captured in Mali.

The costs for the latest case have yet to be made public. Switzerland has denied paying a ransom.

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EUROPE

‘I’m a proud European’: Pakistani-born German on identity as Brexit looms

At a crossroads due to Brexit, Pakistani-born German national Anam Hussain who lives in the UK discusses identity in uncertain times.

'I'm a proud European': Pakistani-born German on identity as Brexit looms
Anam Hussain displaying her passport, and dual identities. Photo courtesy of Anam Hussain.

As the Brexit fog thickens, it reduces the visibility of my sense of identity. I have become a disconnected decoration floating upon a mist.

SEE ALSO: 'We must learn from this': The German view on 'Brexit chaos'

Carrying with me nothing, but a folder containing three documents – a creased Pakistani Birth Certificate, a German passport with a faded cover, and an unsettled UK Permanent Residence card. I am a drop in a cascade of thousands of European citizens, all rushing towards the EU settlement scheme.

Despite having lived in the United Kingdom for 20 years, having obtained all my qualifications, employment, and holding a UK driving licence, I must now follow the same procedure as all the European newbies.

Why?

Just to digitally clarify my position in these uncertain times? To provide evidence of me being me? Now, an Android technology app will be used to verify whether I'm human? I find it ever so insulting. There's the feeling that you belong to a certain group in a country where your status should already be guaranteed.  I have lived enough years, my residence status should be well understood by all the authorities.

But, I am told that to continue living in the UK, I have two options. I must either apply for the EU Settlement Scheme or for citizenship. That phrase, 'to continue living in the UK,' or otherwise…? Is a phrase so elitist and discriminatory that it begs the question of personal identity. It applies to my survival in the future as well as my existence in the past. What am I? When did I begin?

Childhood memories of Dessau

Born in 1991, in the vibrant city of Lahore, Pakistan, I was just a few months old when my family moved to Dessau in Saxony-Anhalt. The childhood memories of my Germany are so incredibly powerful that I still hold the citizenship dear to my heart. That magical atmosphere of Weihnachten (Christmas), Spielzeug (toy train) shopping at Karstadt, delicious Döner Kebabs and those colourful cartoon pocketbooks.

SEE ALSO: On Brexit and belonging: Reflections of a Scot in Germany

I still remember my first day of school, holding a traditional Schultüte cone filled with candy and gifts. I wore a bright red dress and carried a green, square-framed Donald Duck Schulranzen backpack, which was as big as myself. It was a day full of celebrations.

Yet, looking back, I was the only brown face in the crowd. I remember this girl giving me a hard time; she would steal my lunch and poke me in the eye with a pencil. The photographs of this first day are still neatly positioned in a Spice Girls photo album – the British girl bands was the all time favourite of a 90's childhood when I moved to Birmingham as a seven-year-old.

Anam on her first day of school in Dessau. Photo courtesy of Anam Hussain.

As I continued with my educational journey, the differences in borders had gradually faded; I wasn't an alien. By the time I went to university, I was neither German nor British, I regarded myself as a proud citizen of Europe. And then there are the stories my father tells me of his time as a German businessman, the etiquette, structured and ordered, have only further inspired me to strongly hold my citizenship until this day.

The passport had become more than just a few pieces of paper bound together next to my photograph; rather it represented a map of diversity, languages and cultures. The freedom of movement, to live anywhere, without any conditions, forms a central part of my identity. It makes me who I am. The EU Settlement Scheme appears to snatch this identity from me, leaving me deeply unsettled.

The most painful truth is that I wasn't able to vote on my future in the referendum. Instead, those who are probably not even affected directly decided my future which swings between three countries and the word 'exist.' Have I just had a shelf life all that time?

A view of Dessau in Saxony-Anhalt. Photo: DPA

I'm a European

Birmingham, you are now, a stranger to me.

As I tip-toe around the city centre streets, I wonder what a no-deal Brexit future could possibly mean to me. The blurred vision seems to be never-ending, I shall take the last walk through the Bullring and past the Chamberlain Square, and as I glide along the Brindleyplace, the Town Hall, half hidden in mist, it will probably be my last glimpse of Birmingham.

Now, more than ever, as a European national, I am making future plans, because it is the only thing I can do with certainty. But, dear Germany, do you still have a place for me, or will I be claiming: Ich bin eine Ausländer? (I am a foreigner.)

SEE ALSO: Brits anxiety, residence permits and 'Freundship': Brexit experts talk to The Local

In between being European and British, I've also lived in Pakistan. But there too, I'm often described as the 'Bahirwalay' (outsiders). I'm I left with only one option that guarantees me a discrimination free-future – to take the UK citizenship? I'd be forced to spend an insane amount of money, only to prove my life in the UK and take an English language test? Even after educating in Britain? But Germany only allows dual nationality with other EU states and since the UK is leaving, am I also leaving?

The only ray of light powerful enough to pierce through this thick fog comes from within, as I write and photograph the confusing whirlwind.

I will always be a Pakistani, a German, a British, a Brummy. And, a European.

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