"Current status is not far from that of a tramp." Former political prisoner Ihar Karnei spoke about legalization problems

Finally, the last piece of paper that gave me any legitimacy in this world has expired. I'm talking about the national Lithuanian visa, which I received shortly after the June 2025 expulsion — the first of the more or less mass deals in trading political prisoners.

More precisely, first there was a short two-week one, issued right at the Medininkai border crossing — my eyes hadn't even adjusted to the light after the KGB sacks. And then, based on the petition of human rights activists and former employers, last year on July 10, it was upgraded to an annual visa — and its term has now come to an end.

I dedicated the end of that pivotal summer to meetings with friends and relatives in Lithuania and Poland, and with the beginning of autumn, I reunited with [my wife] Ina and younger Eva in the Azores, where they had already obtained residence permits in the previous two years.

It took more than another six months of bureaucratic labyrinths to finally find myself at the doors of the Agency for Integration, Migration and Asylum (AIMA) at the end of March. Local expats toss the acronym AIMA (Agência para a Integração, Migrações e Asilo) off their tongues in any state, because everyone who intends to legalize their stay has dealings with the clerks of this office.

The initial attempt to automatically join the family as the third number was unsuccessful; the local clerks are obsessed with a certificate of no criminal record. And everywhere — from the aforementioned office to commercial banks. They even threatened deportation to the country of first entry if I didn't obtain one by the appointed date. It's a good thing the Portuguese control system is so lazy that all threats are actually just hot air.

In any case, I literally had to rewrite the documents on the fly for international protection. After a series of pompous preliminary interview procedures, fingerprinting (on the second attempt), and a remote interrogation by a migration officer, I was issued a "protection charter" — a plain sheet with my name and photo as proof that my case has been accepted for consideration by the competent authorities on the mainland. I was sincerely warned that if nothing moved within two months (as if anyone expected otherwise), I should immediately knock on the door of the AIMA guardians — they would print a fresh paper for a similar term.

My extension was supposed to be in the last decade of May, but who would doubt that nothing useful would come of those promises.

Firstly, calendar summer is an accessory to personal vacation for the locals. And they start preparing for it long in advance; at least in May, only unphased idiots from the big land hope for anything.

Secondly, those flimsy papers are not required anywhere — you can go years without encountering a law enforcement officer, even just to marvel at him. Therefore, no official bothers to adhere to timeframes.

Thirdly, the country's entire service responsible for controlling the migration balance unexpectedly got caught in rampant corruption — they were widely trading so-called golden passports, meaning they were selling Portuguese citizenship under the investment attraction program. The offenders were eventually dispersed, and untainted ones are being recruited. And when they will reach industrial capacity is a company secret.

In short, in my case, the problem became a thick, multi-layered sandwich. The temporary paper has been invalid for two months, with no clear resolution regarding prospects. At the entrance to the AIMA office, a security guard greets visitors with a polished English phrase for newcomers — write letters (emails). Despite the fact that the local portal doesn't even have such a function, and higher-ranking Lisbon doesn't engage in correspondence. One can only be happy for colleagues from later batches in Lithuania and Poland, who resolved their issues incomparably faster).

Often, unfortunates like me find help, at least consultative, at the organization CRESAÇOR (Cooperativa Regional de Economia Social e Solidária dos Açores). But so far, they have only managed to try to call the AIMA management. And they didn't answer the phone. How naive they are; I could have predicted such an outcome myself.

And the final blow — from the "crystal vessel" already. It's hard to say when it happened, but I found out as the first signals came from expelled colleagues: the bloody regime, as a bonus format of petty mischief, annulled my passport, despite its validity being stated until 2030. The only joy is that in other latitudes, everyone couldn't care less about such amateurish actions, and even more so the Portuguese. That's why I signed an employment contract, opened a bank account, and even registered as a taxpayer with the supposedly invalid document.

On the whole, all that's left is to relax and go with the flow. What's upsetting, perhaps, is the indefinite attachment to the place of settlement. Because if the Lithuanian visa saved me until now, my current status is not far from that of a tramp.

• 0
• 0
• 2
• 1
• 1
• 12
• 2
• 1