It is difficult to find words to describe what happened on that day on the 7th of January. For many of us who come from countries in the so-called Third World, it is clear that the death of Oury Jalloh could have been the death of any one of us. With so much racist police controls, abuse and even violence, it may have even been a matter of being the wrong person at the wrong time at the wrong place.

For us and for all of you there are still many unanswered questions surrounding the death of Oury Jalloh. There are too many contradictions, too many inconsistencies and even too many attempts to cover up the truth that even the German Association of Criminal Police said about the investigations of the case: “an image has been given of unconcerned and incapable police.” If this is what their own say, what are we to think?

So now Oury, a refugee in this country, is dead. Born a refugee and died a refugee. A refugee his whole life. He has taken with him to his grave the status given to him in this country for someone seeking protection from persecution: Duldung.

But Oury was not alone. He was one of the many refugees who have died because they were forced to flee in search of a better life. Of something to eat and maybe even—Oury Jalloh was only 21 years-old—the possibility to study. For some reason we fail to understand, this is considered by many European governments and their citizens to be a crime. And thus, refugees seeking protection are treated as mere criminals, and like people criminalized by society, their rights and dignity are taken away from them. Refugees are people for whom opportunity and respect remain foreign words lacking any kind of real meaning in their lives. Especially here. Especially in Germany, where we are isolated and excluded from society.

And now spring has returned to Europe. The winds begin to change, the weather warms up, and the waters of the Mediterranean Ocean begin to calm. Much more than new possibilities for the European tourist, this means that more and more bodies will wash upon the shores of Fortress Europe, symbols of a dream that died in journey. There are ten of thousands of them, some dead and some who manage to live another day. They risk their lives to come here—and for what?

What is the price that must be paid to reach the shores of Fortress Europe? What price did Oury Jalloh pay to come here, surviving the journey only to be burned alive in “paradise?” And his family? What kind of images ran through their minds? That there son finally made it to Europe? That Oury, their son, would finally have an opportunity to be something more than a refugee in his life? That he would receive education and employment? That he finally had reached the place of civilization, progress and opportunity?

Do you think Oury told his family about the conditions he was forced to live in as a refugee? Did he tell them about Duldung and Heims, Residenzpflicht and Abschiebung?
Did he tell them that he was often times controlled and abused by the police because he was a black man? That he was denied the possibility to work or study, to move freely or even learn the German language? Did he tell them that the only official opportunity left open to him was to sit in his Heim—eat and sleep, eat and sleep—until his deportation notification came and his “Duldung” ended? Did he tell them that it was deportation or to—once again!—flee in
search of survival?

But now it is too late. Oury Jalloh did not survive. He died in a jail cell in a town called Dessau. Oury died—burned alive—his hands and feet tied to his jail bed. And we are here to remember him. We are here to pay him and other like him the honor and respect they deserve but were eternally denied: respect and dignity. We are here to share our sorrow and pain with those who have died on the shores and within the walls of the European Fortress.

We have also come today with a word for all of you present here today. We have come to tell you that this situation cannot continue and that we will no longer remain silent in the face of such systematic and widespread inhumanity. And so we make a call to the German society and to the German government: Stop this violence! The exclusion, criminalization and racist controls must stop! Stop treating people like criminals because the color of their skin or the color of their passports! Stop this injustice!

To our fellow refugees and migrants we say to you today that the only way to truly honor Oury Jalloh is to make sure that we do everything in our power to see that something like this never happen again. We must support one another to overcome our fear and to break our isolation. In order to truly pay our respects to Oury Jalloh we must see to it that his unjust death be turned into something positive: our coming together to say ENOUGH! ENOUGH VIOLENCE! ENOUGH INJUSTICE!

A final word. In his poem “How long?” Palestinian poet Muhammad Aziz al-Hababi wrote, “When will we enjoy the seeds of our land and the sweetness of our sky? When will the sun find a place in our hearts? Will a day finally come? The day. Just like for everyone else? Everyone seeks peace. We prefer to be in struggle against the death that blinds us [...]
Everyday. Relentlessly. We too believe that this is a fight against the culture and logic of death, of war, of historic injustice. If we have it in our hearts, this is something we can share together.

Platform of refugees and migrants, Berlin