AFTER BEING RELEASED from prison in Cologne, I returned to Paris on April 22. It is difficult to describe how it feels to be reunited with your family after escaping from danger. Proportionally, there was less space for each of us in our little apartment than I’d had in the cell at Klingelpütz, but I was so happy! As always after my escapades, there was a pile of housework waiting for me, but I attacked it with gusto and a smile on my face.
On April 25, I was invited to attend the LICA congress, led by the energetic Jean Pierre-Bloch, who had brought together a group of young people with character. I liked them immediately. They were unpretentious, brave, and determined to act, not just talk. They even paid their own expenses, with the wealthiest ones helping the others.
On May 11, 1971, six LICA militants—Pierre-Bloch among them—went to the Bundestag in Bonn, where they interrupted the political debates by shouting, “Punish the Nazi criminals!” and handing out pamphlets written in German and French, calling on the German parliament to ratify the February 2 legal agreement that would allow Nazi war criminals convicted in absentia in France to go on trial in West Germany.
This spectacular protest made a huge impact in the Federal Republic. It was the first time French Jews had ever made their voices heard in Germany.
Six weeks later, another group of LICA activists traveled to Germany. This time, I went with them. Our objective was to occupy Achenbach’s office in Essen. I had gone to scout the premises a few days beforehand. I told the press what was going to happen. The aim was to show that Achenbach—Hagen’s lawyer and the spokesman for war criminals in the Bundestag—would not file charges against those who accused his client of involvement in the deportation of French Jews. Most of the seven French people with whom I traveled were under twenty, and this was their first time in Germany: they were nervous, so I looked after them.
To my relief, there were journalists and cameramen waiting outside Achenbach’s office when we got there. That guaranteed us coverage in the newspapers and on television. Within minutes, two large Nazi flags were hanging from the first-floor windows, and a sign written in German was stuck to one of the panes: OCCUPATION BY FRENCH PEOPLE OF THE NAZI-FDP ACHENBACH’S OFFICE.
After guiding my comrades to Achenbach’s office, I slipped away before the police could turn up. It was crucial that I wasn’t arrested this time, because I was out on bail. If the police had gotten hold of me, I would have had to go back to prison.
A wanted notice was put out for me, but I managed to catch the first train to Belgium, changing at Aix-la-Chapelle and crossing the border with my French passport.
Now I had to help my friends get out of prison. After occupying the building for half an hour, the seven protesters had been taken to the central police station in Essen. They were held for twenty-four hours; then the four minors were expelled from Germany, while the three adults were thrown in prison until their trial began, six days later.
The day after the occupation, all the newspapers ran with the story of young French protesters in Achenbach’s office. Why didn’t all those journalists criticize this “illegal act”? Because the moral legitimacy of the act was immediately made clear by Achenbach’s reaction. An innocent man would have demanded that the dossier on his activities be made public; he would have filed charges not for breaking and entering but for defamation; he would also have filed charges for forgery of those documents on the Jewish question where his name was mentioned. Achenbach did none of these things, and everyone in Germany—particularly those in power—took note of the fact. The protest in Essen enabled us to take another step toward the ratification of the convention on Nazi criminals.