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The FC Lampedusa St. Pauli and the 2017 G20 summit in Hamburg

The FC St. Pauli fan magazine ‘Der Uebersteiger’ inquired whether we could contribute a few written words regarding the G20. Settling for a few words on this topic is a hard act in itself, so as it turns out there are quite a few words more in reaction to the G20, this unspeakable, inhumane summit of those 20 supposedly ‘most important’ industrial nations and threshold countries.

G20 – This naturally being anything but a large gathering of random human beings representing those nations which may speak about problems, neglects and missed opportunities, injustices, proportions and forms of oppression, about war and exploitation, mass pollution and looting – but a meeting of heads of government, inflated delegations of state as well as trade and industrial associations accompanied by their own lobbyists. Topping off this sheer foolishness, it takes place in Hamburg, in our city, which fortunately can call its own large, diverse and grown scenes and cultures of multicoloured activity and creativity, partially radical alternative, leftist resistance.

The entire despotic insanity then was housed in the convention center bordering on the neighbourhood Karoviertel and sitting right in between those of Schanze and Gaengeviertel, on the corner of our and the FC St. Pauli’s Millerntorstadium. What an outrageous demonstration of power on part of the SPD, the governing party of Hamburg and the “northern edition of the CSU”, as well as their toady coalition partner, this being the Green party.
Was this the subsequent revenge of King Olaf in reaction to Hamburg’s failed Olympia 2024 bid which all of us had voted down? If so, he hopefully did enjoy this revenge to the fullest as the G20 was simply horrible!

Weeks ahead of time already, citizens’ rights (Well, let’s call them human rights…) had been violated, exemplified by flicks of the wrist such as closings of football fields and the cancellation of trainings as in the case of the SC Sternschanze.

Aboard our own FC St. Pauli, nevertheless, there were quite far-sighted football amateurs who already in early March had organized a registered tournament taking place at the field arena, this including concerts, food and drinks, and which – you guessed it- was slotted for the G20 weekend from July 7 -9, 2017. Good work, people!

Those of us belonging to FC Lampedusa St. Pauli, from coaching crew to players, had started talking about the summit months before. What are we going to do?
Are we going to start the search for a football tournament far away ad will we leave our city behind, united?
What should we recommend to players age 15 to 25 who surely and in large part already had experienced violence – experiences which us ‘Non-Refugees’ could and would not want to imagine?
What effect would the daily and nightly, the constant drone of helicopters have on them?
What would the constant presence of armed and running uniformed trigger in our players, and what about getting controlled, searched and bullied?
What would this trigger in tens and twens who have survived war, destruction, persecution, flight, forced migration, violence, abuse, internment, death and fear of death?
Did we not have to expect a re-traumatization when witnessing police looking like soldiers who chase people, chase them with water cannoned, armoured vehicles, beat up on them, shoot gas grenades at them, throw people to the ground, manhandle, abuse and remove them?
What will happen if and when players happen upon demonstrations and blockades, when and if they decide to partake in a protest?
Which consequences are there for unaccomponied minors, underaged refugees, human beings being processed as they seek asylum, young, migrated people who merely have a stay or suspension of deportation – or have even less, perhaps?

House arrest because of Trump?
Curfew because o Putin?
NoGo areas because of Erdogan?
Interned in a camp for asylum seekers because the self-declared ‘World’s Elite’ chose our city as the site to chow down on lobster and the ‘Elphi’ as the venue to best enjoy Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’?

Not a single citizen of any country the players belonging to FC Lampedusa St. Pauli originate from was invited to this G20 chitchat! But hey, they are not ‘important’. They are just … ‘broken’.

Yet – as we say around here, around the FC Lampedusa St. Pauli, ‘About 10% of our project is football. 90% are about politics’. And so we stay! Kindly!
We shall not be chased off by warmongers and moneybags, are we!? And : “Puke bag Olaf” as well as ‘Prohibition Grote’ won’t scare us off.
As many of you are aware the FC Lampedusa St. Pauli female coaching crew is quite active politically besides the football project, and so the four coaches had plans in place for the week surrounding the G20. Our training had been cancelled anyways, schools and kindergartens closed, commuting to work had made impossible for thousands.

Reduced as we are as privileged German citizens who are endowed with the commonly accepted registered address of residence, we shall not be denied exercising our supposed, ‘granted’ right to free opinion, assembly and demonstration.
Until Thursday evening – ‘Welcome to Hell’!

This being the demonstration’s motto, it was translated quite literally by ‘The State’s Monopoly of Force’, and for days ahead of the actual summit. All those holed up on the city’s outskirts were forced to look on as people were chased, beat up, pushed down high walls and injured, gassed and shot by rubber bullets and water cannons. We saw choppers land on the Heiligengeistfeld, spewing out special forces equipped with helmet lights and armed with weaponry, taking over and occupying the site. We were in fear and there was little sleep, this also due to the constant drone of the helicopters hovering, sitting and idling above our heads, for days,nearly weeks, making us feel within a war instead of an economic summit.

The FCLSP’s players kept to their quarters and didn’t pose many questions upon resuming training – until they realized the fact that youth, kids their age, most of whom were from far away, nearly all ‘foreigners’, had been taken into juvenile prison custody right here pending trial. In jail all alone, far away from home, the local language unknown to them. What a nightmare!

On the next home game day, on 22 of july at our info and merchandise stand fronting the FC St. Pauli Fanladen they shared with us their experiences of internment camps, told us about jails in Libya. “It was so bad you don’t wanna know’, they told us. No, we’d rather not imagine. They told of internment camps, border patrol and detention in garages and storage facilities, all packed to the hilt with people because all other structures were maxed out. Of detention centers, police stations where entire families had to strip down including a baby whose diapers were ripped off in the search for money hidden by it’s parents. They told of cops and border patrolmen chasing them, beating up on them. Told of police brutality in Hungary and elsewhere. of deportation prisons and beeing locked in where ever. Yes, all FC Lampedusa St. Pauli players all of them know things like this.

So we have decided togehter to support those young No G20 activists by sending them postcards and team photos, by paying some money into their jail account so they at least can call home, write letters and buy toothpaste and whatever else it is they can purchase withi

That is how we go about it right now. We collect donations from our own info/merch stand which is situated by the Fanladen on the ‘Gegengerade’ during home games and pass it onto them… and we demand their immediate release!
To quote Deniz Naki a bit freely, ‘Kids need to go to fooball instead of going to jail!’

Please join in and support the young G20 inmates at the juvenile prison JVA Hahnöfersand.

Two of them have birthdays coming up in September, by the way. Maybe we can send parcels, as we already inquired at the jail.

Yours, FC Lampedusa St. Pauli



One of the young birthday mates been sentenced in the meanwhilwile, the sentence is suspended for pre-probation, so he is out of prison now and in 6 month the court will decide about it finally.

We was allowed to send a bithday parcel to the other youngster, 2,5Kg vegan sweets, not easy, but nearly everything else is forbidden to put in. No cookies, no dry frueits, no whole nuts. Its a strange, slattering, different world in itself!





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Of buses that collect children at night and disinfected teddy bears

An FC Lampedusa St. Pauli trilogy, pt. III

On Friday, 2 December 2016, at 07h00, on a home match day of the FC St. Pauli, another FC Lampedusa St. Pauli player was deported after three days of detention in the so called “deportation detention facility“, of the Hamburg Foreigners‘ Registration Office located near Hamburg airport. He was only the fifth detainee inside in Hamburg’s history and had to sit there all alone until his deportation at dawn.

Monday, 5 December 2016. We –  two of the FCLSP coaching staff – go to the first reception centre for refugees located in Niendorf, one of the northern districts of the city. For this we even hired a car so that we could take the belongings our deported player with us.

We called them in the morning: “Hello, we are friends of R., who was, as you know, deported last Friday. The deportation detention facility sent his keys back on Wednesday, I was told on my visit there on Thursday. I have been authorised by R. to collect his belongings. Can we come around at 14h00?… Hello? Are you still on the line? … Hello?“

The woman on the other end of the line – let’s call her Petra – answers in audible shock: “What did you say? No, I have no idea about it whatsoever. That’s terrible! Deported? Last Friday? What? Deportation detention? Since Tuesday morning? No, we weren‘t informed about this, I have no idea, how terrible. What was the name again? You want to come around, you have an authorisation… deported… how terrible. Okay, come around at 14h00.”

Our hired car is equipped with a navigation device so we know that our route takes us roughly in the direction of the FCSP training facility and then through a sort of “wilderness” to our destination: the first reception centre. On the left and right side of the street, we see taken down hoardings and on the righthand side a row of single floor containers with small alleyways and colourful clothes waving in the cold wind – typical “Hamburg weather”.

We have to turn left. On a hoarding, covered with green plastic foil that prevents you from seeing through, there is a sign “ASB Flüchtlingshilfe” (Refugees’ Help). We are a bit confused. “Refugees’ Help”?

We pass a massive – open – roller door to the container that hosts the security. Two men in security officers’ uniforms stand on the left and right side. Speaking through the window, into the inner side, we try to explain who we are and what we want. “We have an appointment with Petra” we say. Unfortunately, we’d written her surname down wrongly. To find out, we wonder, ask, make suggestions and phone calls. Then there’s the answer through the “doorman lounge” that someone would come and pick us up and that we should register our names on the visitors list. There we stand jittering in the cold and wet December weather, watching a boy playing football with a broken ball. Playing alone is boring somehow, he seems to think and starts to kick the deflated thing to and from one of the security guards, who has his hands in his pockets and earplugs. Before long, the ball wobbles in our direction and so we three begin to pass it around. A situation that seems bizarre – maybe it’s not.

Before long, another small boy joins in. The two of them play together, but soon some argy-bargy starts and they begin to fight a little. The security guard takes his hand off his pockets, grabs the crying, slashing five-year-old, holds his arm firmly and tries to soothe him. The other boy – of a similar age – tries to explain to us that – of course – the other boy started it. A confusing situation – watching the uniformed mediator at work – there appears a degree of irony to the sign on the hoarding that states: “Refugees’ Help”.

Finally, Petra arrives, totally distraught and very apologetic at having forgotten to call us: “Right now, it would be impossible to collect our player’s belongings” she says. His roommate was out.

I beg your pardon? Again, we insist. We took a day off to come around; hired a car; drove up here… but – as this compound is not a prison– it is possible that people can move and leave freely. Because of this, it would be useless to assume that the guy would wait in his room for some people collecting belongings of some other guy who hasn’t been seen for days. Well, but there’s the right to privacy… no, really. Petra, for instance, has never entered a room when its occupants are out. And this, she really cannot do.

We look at each other first and then around. Here we are now: a huge container camp erected on a former BMW dealer’s parking lot: bare ground scattered with huge, deep puddles. Two storeys high each, the containers stand narrowly side-by-side with some narrow alleyways in between. “On both sides of the street live 850 people altogether,” Petra says.

Whoever wants to go through the rolling door must produce his/her ID at the security and enter his/her name, the time of the visit etc. on a list. No matter if they want to get in or out.

We’re still outside, standing in the drizzle. Our feet and hands are cold and dusk is about to set.

But, at the end of the day, we don’t intend to leave without our player’s belongings. Full stop. Punkt. Basta.

Well, in this case, we’d have to ask her superior. So, we’re off to the office container together where a sign reads “Flüchtlingshilfe-Büro” (Refugees’s Help Office), waiting in the cold while a man is being called to see us. Well, the thing is that no one working in this facility was informed about the deportation, no one knows about it and, above all, they’d never be informed about such actions in general. If he could have the authorisation of our FCLSP player, he asks. Also, he assumed that we’d be in possession of his keys and, even more importantly, the key to his locker.

He himself wouldn’t know about anything and asks for our friend’s name…

Well. Again. From. The. Start. Slowly.

On Tuesday, 29 November, in the early morning, our player was apprehended inside the Foreigners’ Registration Office, taken to the so called “deportation custody facility”, held there for three days and, on Friday, 2 December, at 7h00 DEPORTED!”
On Thursday, 1 December, one of us visited him in prison, where:

  • an authorisation was written on behalf of our player which permits us to collect his belongings,
  • it was claimed by the prison management in a direct talk (i.e. vis-á-vis) that the keys of the first reception centre were already returned to the accommodation since “the guys” would otherwise always take them with them and,
  • it was promised to call and send a fax the facility where he lived resp. to inform this facility and to make it known that friends of the deportee would come around on Monday to collect the detainee’s and than deportee’s belongings.

Of course, none of that happened!

Erm, well, if this is the case, he told us, he would call the deportation prison and inquire, since he wouldn’t know either what to do in such a case exactly. After a while, he returns from his office, returns the original authorisation and tells Petra and us that the deportation custody facility has confirmed the deportation and that the key should’ve been returned. So, he would now call the facility manager with the general keys. Meanwhile, we could go ahead and wait inside the container. After all, it was quite cold and wet. Good idea!

We cross the way to one of the other containers and wait for the facility manager. A young man arrives, carrying a large crowbar. Oh, there’s no general key? “This one is for the locker” we are told. Erm, wait, the room is on the upper floor. We go out again, up the iron stairs, through the door and into a narrow hall, with the large crowbar. The present “occupants” get scared of us, staring at us almost in panic. A man wants to go back into his room but doesn’t dare to pass us. We notice it and step aside to let him through. Two unknown women, one employee and one man carrying a large crowbar.

Now, we’re having the worst scenario: refugees who are scared of us. Pure nightmare!

“Really, no,” Petra says. She’d never been in a room in the absence of the occupants; it is something she cannot do. We soothe her by saying that all his belongings would be in the left locker, that we wouldn’t touch anything and would know precisely what’s inside that “piece of furniture”. Alright. The facility manager opens the door to the room and we point at the left locker. The room is tiny, just providing space for two beds, a table, a chair and two lockers. But if you look outside the window you could watch the FC St. Pauli  players at training. Poor young FCLSP player so close and now so far. That one, exactly. Inside is an ugly Germany U21 fleece jacket, a gift from Christopher Avevor, a (now ex-) player of FC St. Pauli.

We look at each other, then at the facility manager and then at Petra – these lockers actually cannot be locked. They just have knobs. So much for that.

We ask the facility manager to turn the knob. He complies with our wish and pulls the Germany jacket out the locker. Yes, these are the clothes of our FCLSP player and these we will now take with us. It’s not much. Quickly, we pack the few sporting clothes from Christopher Avevor’s clothing donations, some washroom items and some papers into a bag and leave the container, including a heavily unnecessary crowbar, so that the people are no longer scared of us!

Outside again, Petra tells us that this refugees facility accommodates 850 people altogether and that she finds it so sad that some of them are suddenly gone, without notice. Then she points at the one-storey container camp on the other side of the street and says: “And at night, buses come to collect the families with their kids!”


It’s true, she says, they’d never be informed about it at all. And at night, the buses would come and collect the children. The morning after, only the teddy bears are left. These, they would disinfect thereafter, so that they can be passed on.


It’s true, and then these teddy bears are given to the next children – until they are collected at night, too, and only the teddy bears are left, and are disinfected, again. What could she and her colleagues do? They do not know about it, as they are never informed by anyone.

We are shocked. You certainly can imagine the associations swirling in our heads hearing this. “This is unbelievable, you cannot really work here”, we say to her. Saying this, she is close to tears.

This is the family area, most of them from the Balkans, she says quietly. And then the buses come at night. Thereafter, the families are gone and only the teddy bears are left behind. Petra looks at us with sad, desperate looking eyes.

No Petra, you cannot work here. It’s impossible!

You cannot be a part of this!

You cannot work in a refugees’ facility where children are being collected by buses at night.

Where only the left teddy bears remain – which then disinfected. NO WAY!

Distraught, we walk through the dusk carrying the bag full of aftershave, soap, sweatpants and THAT Germany fleece jacket to the gate, de-register ourselves from the list, uttering a brief “Bye” towards the uniformed group, we are back on the small street.

Again, we look to the other side of the street, over the covered hoardings, to the rows with containers with the wet clothes on the lines.

The home of the disinfected teddy bears.

How many children must they have tried to comfort – until the buses come – soaked with disinfection agents – the sad teddy bears – if only they could speak!

Before we get into the car, we take a look back.

“Refugees’ Help”, the sign still reads!

Breaking News: A few weeks ago one of the coaches of the FC St. Pauli Youth Department was coming to our training by exident and she told us, that because of the reception center is straight behind the trainings ground of the FCSP they started to give training to the kids of that facility in the morning.

In the morning? Don’t they have to go to school?

She told us that they not go to school outside the camp, there is some kind of school coming to them inside. So the children have no contact to other children from outside- but as long as they have to stay there they have football training at the FC St. Pauli, and thats fantastic!

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A visit to FC Lampedusa St. Pauli’s central midfielder in deportation detention

FC Lampedusa St. Pauli trilogy, part 2

“I know who YOU are, I know who HE is and I know that HE plays football for your team – which I find such a great project”

(Officer in charge at the “Departure Custody Facility” at Hamburg Airport)


A visit to FC Lampedusa St. Pauli’s central midfielder in deportation detention.

Since 2016, the Hamburg foreigners’ registration office has been operating its own detention facility.

In this compound, only clerks of Hamburg’s foreigners’ registration office and employees of a private security service work. These clerks detain people inside the registration office; have them committed to their self-operated jail by their own co-workers; and, then, guarded until the detainees are deported by plane – a process that is completed in just four days.

But what does it look like, and how does it feel to be inside the Detention Facility?

After our, FC Lampedusa St. Pauli’s, landing at Hamburg Airport from Barcelona on 30 November 2016 (see part 1 of our trilogy), we immediately called the Detention Facility asking if one of us could come to visit our detained Habibi right away, since we were calling from the Airport. The guy at the other end of the line informed us that the visiting hours ended at 18h00, so there’d be a chance if we make tracks. Who exactly would be visiting? he asked.

“A friend”, I replied. We’ve just landed ­– returning from Barcelona – and were appalled to learn that our bro had been detained. “Yes, I do have an ID with me and would leave the team at the airport, ask them to look after my luggage and take the next taxi” I added.

“But you know that it takes a while to get to the facility as it’s not at the directly accessible from the airport but on the far side of it”, the voice at the other end of the line informed me.
“I do know. Yes, I’ll surely make it before six, though”.

After five minutes driving in the taxi, I received a call back and am told by a male voice that it would be no longer possible to come. “Come again? I’m in the taxi already and on my way”, I replied. He was sorry, he said, but a visit would be – for organisational reasons he wasn’t authorised to explain – not going to happen today. I tried to persuade him to bring our midfielder to one of the gates or a fence – at least – so that I could see and talk to him from the other side. I even promised not to touch him. However, the guy just said that he wasn’t authorised to permit this and that I could come the next day at 10h00. Totally upset, I asked the driver to return to the airport, where I got out again. Alone, in the rain, I was back at the airport.

Thursday morning: I was off to Niendorf, a district in the north of the city, where the deportation facility is located. Through the rain, I passed detached houses and a fence, cross the ground of the local sports club and enter a wood. From this club’s parking lot, I called the number on the washed-out paper, which was covered in a transparent film and taped to the gate: “Deportation Detention Facility Hamburg. Visitors register here” (followed by phone numbers). The man on the line answered: “We’re coming”. Coming to where, I asked myself.

Through trees and underbrush, behind another fence wrapped in barbed wire you can see white-blue containers. Alright, this is what they mean with “where”: the massive iron-gate, through which you can only just guess the silhouettes of three or four people in the drizzle. Behind a fence “secured” with barbed wire.

“I have an appointment for 10 o’clock”, I explained clumsily. “Okay, come in. First go through the gate, then through the entrance door”. The gate opened, closed, the door opened, closed.

Holy shit, what a terrible place they have brought our FCLSP player to. All alone – on top of that!

On the one hand, it is actually a sort of relief to know that this place doesn’t have even more people forced to be waiting for their deportation. In the middle of a wood, behind barbed wire, in a jail made of stacked containers. But an entire jail for just one player of FC Lampedusa St. Pauli? Hard to take, all alone in the middle of nowhere.

He is only the fifth detainee in the “departure custody” that the Hamburg foreigners’ registration office erected near the airport only recently, after “two Azerbaijani, one Armenian and one Egyptian”, according to a local newspaper. For only four days, the registration office is permitted to detain refugees in their own jail.

Then I’m let in with my trolley bag which I – after the return from Barcelona – emptied quickly in order to repack it for our Habibi, so that he has at least his stuff. Into jail, for the plane, to deportation!

There’s not much that he can call his belongings: in about 2 years after having left his home country, looking for, as he said, “for a place where he can just be what he is and where he can live in peace.” Approximately two years of incomprehension, container camps, summons, harassment, rejection, escape, loneliness, speechlessness and the constant fear of getting detained and deported. Back, back to… back to where?

Back to where he, for good reasons, jumped at the first opportunity offered to get away from? Back to where there was and still awaits only incomprehension, harassment, rejection, loneliness and things being even worse? Back to a country and a society that has been broken, torn apart, destroyed, brutalised and traumatised by war and the legacy of it? Back to where there is misery, displacement, corruption, intolerance and hopelessness? Cooped-up and barred at a place where there’s nothing?

The place where he was actually born but doesn’t have to live his whole life. What sort of person is entitled to decide upon where other people may live and where they may not? And who are the people assuming they have the power to decide upon it?

In the office, I’m greeted by two female and three male officers from the foreigners’ registration office. At the door, through which I entered, stands a female employee from the security company, with her male colleague at the other. One of the female registrations office clerks introduces her to me and requests my ID. A phone call is made asking if I’m permitted to enter at all.

“Negative!” – “I’m sorry? Oh, stop it, you sent me away yesterday already. I’m bringing his belongings.” – “But, be happy, ‘negative’ at us means ‘positive’!”

It is, for sure, another world.

She assigns me a shelf in a locker where I have to put everything I’m not permitted to take in with me: my jacket, bag, money etc. Then, all men left the office and a second female security person entered, taking position at the other door. Now, exactly four women are in the room with me. First, I have to remove my shoes, pull down my knee socks, take off my jumper, open my trousers, then I have to stand against the wall. There is a particular piece of carpet you have to stand on. Spread eagled and facing the wall I am roughly frisked at first, like at any FCSP home game, before things turn into a real body search: putting hands down and lifting t-shirt and tank top, showing bare back, turn around, showing bare breast, turn around, hands back against the wall. “It is for his own safety”, the lady did claim.

Without words! In the end, I’m allowed to put my hands down, turn my face away from the wall and to put my clothes back on. But I’m not permitted to sit on her chair again while putting my shoes back on.

Then, the men come back in. They search the trolley case.

All pieces of clothing are unfold one by one, touched and searched and the empty case is checked thoroughly. When I said that it was checked only the day before at Barcelona Airport, someone snapped at me that, “This is Schengen area. Nothing is checked in this.” Well, I do hope it’s not right!

Half an hour later, the (mostly sports) clothing is unpacked, searched and at least somewhat acceptably repacked. Meanwhile, the “suitcase search officer” tried to start a chatting about football – FC St. Pauli, Altona 93 and FC Barcelona. He’d be a football fan himself, he said, and would be familiar with it. “How was Barcelona?” he asked. “You’ve certainly been in Camp Nou, right?” When he told me that I could not take the freshly searched Barça gift bag into the jail, we – after all, we’re “football fans” – agreed on that I could take the Barcelona gifts in their original package into the jail, showing him them, bringing them back outside where he could check them once again and then put them into the suitcase.

So things go – apparently – among “football fans” only!

Then I’m finally allowed in. However, I don’t know where to go as I’m, fortunately, not familiar with this place. Then, they bring me to our Habibi who waited for me inside an unbelievably ugly, uncomfortable, bare and cold visitors’ room. He looked pale, skinny and overtired. No surprise, given this terrible and lonely place. But still he was being brave. We hug and talk about the situation “in there”. He asked about our time in Barcelona and that he didn’t want to spoil our great trip. Which is also why he insisted to us not to tell anyone about his terrible situation. He’d been so sorry, he said.

And how we were sorry. After all, it’s not us being put into jail without warning and facing deportation the next morning. A situation terrible to imagine. However, impossible to be stopped, despite all endeavours of his barrister. What a shame!

And, in midst of all horrors, we also did have an occasional laugh.

Brave young FC Lampedusa St. Pauli player!

But now we really would have to come to an end, as it was past 12 o’clock already, the security person in the corner watching the visit, informed us. I went back to the office, returning the Barcelona gifts and then, to the foreigners’ registration office clerk, who’s authority operates a jail where they detain people for the only purpose of deporting them. Unexpectedly, the clerk tells me that he knows who I am, that he – pointing to the hall, where our dear brother and FCLSP player is standing and looking at me for the last time through the open door, knows who HE is, that he knows what WE do and that HE plays for our team. He’s interested in football as well and finds FCLSP such a great project.

If this is the case, then he should release our central midfielder right now, I say.

“Well”, THIS he, of course, couldn’t do – but why can’t he?

The next morning, on Friday, 2 December 2016 at 7 pm the FC Lampedusa St. Pauli player, our Habibi, our bro and friend, was deported by plane from Hamburg Airport.

On a home game day of FC St. Pauli!

(Original version(s) available on; English version: Thomas, Nick)

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