Georges Salines, father of Lola, killed inside the club on the evening of November 13, 2015.
Lola was 28 years old, with a beautiful job, a love, a beautiful family and many friends. On the evening of November 13, 2015, he was among the dozens of young people who died at the hands of Islamic fundamentalist terrorism in the Bataclan. An absurd and unacceptable death for any parent. A reason to harbor anger and resentment for a lifetime. But that’s not what his family did. He decided not to hate and did much more: his father George, a doctor who has traveled the world and defines himself as an “atheist with Christian roots”, agreed to meet Azdyne Amimour whose son Samy was part of the assassin commando and died shot down by the police.
«I had received the email from the association 13Onze15 – Fraternité et Véritéwhich I chaired at the time, a request for a meeting from Azdyne Amimou, father of Samy, one of the terrorists in the attack. He wanted to talk about that “tragic event” because he too felt like a victim, as the father of his son. That response left me deeply conflicted. A few months earlier I had met some mothers in Paris whose children had left to join ISIS: women destroyed by pain and guilt, but also committed to reacting and protecting their remaining children, coming together in associations. I had learned that, although guilty, jihadists could also be victims of manipulation. That’s why I could understand Azdyne’s pain. I was rather struck by the cold and detached way in which he presented himself as a victim, almost hiding the horror behind words like “tragic event”. In my eyes, he was still the father of one of the killers. However, I agreed to speak to him and I met him for the first time on 27 February 2017 at the Café Français, in place de la Bastille, together with a friend, a Bataclan survivor and member of the association’s board of directors.”
How was the meeting?
«I wasn’t sure what to expect and I was a bit nervous. I found myself in front of a man ten years older than me, marked by pain for what had happened, but who showed a certain strength of spirit. A man who wanted to explain himself, tell his story and that of his family, and ask for forgiveness on behalf of his son. He was a nice, cultured person – self-taught, with little formal education but capable of quoting Victor Hugo naturally -, tolerant and peaceful, the polar opposite of radical Islamism. A man who had shown courage, perhaps even recklessness, when in June 2014 he went to the heart of the Islamic State to try to rescue his son from that fate. We talked for a long time that day, and continued to do so in the following months.”
Is it a coincidence that you are both fathers? What does Lola’s mother think of this path?
«In various international meetings and conferences, such as the FATE summit (Families Against Terrorism and Extremism) in 2016, I had only met mothers of jihadists. The fathers were absent. Even in the group Retissons du lienactive in Brussels, I met mostly women — Azdyne was one of the few exceptions. At the trial for the attacks he was the only father to testify in the courtroom. My wife has always been aware of everything and has always supported me. However, she refused to meet him for a long time: she didn’t feel ready, emotionally.”
The book you wrote together is the result of a courageous and difficult choice: that of dialogue. What did you expect from this journey?
«I agreed to meet Azdyne and then to write with him in the broader context of the fight against radicalization because I believe it is essential not to fall into the trap of terrorism, which aims to confuse Muslims, fundamentalists and terrorists into a single block. I have never said that jihadist terrorism has nothing to do with Islam — jihadists refer to Islam, even if their reading of the Koran is aberrant. But there is no inevitable fate that leads a Muslim to radicalization. Nor a fundamentalist to become a terrorist.
Azdyne is neither a terrorist nor a fundamentalist. He was a non-practicing Muslim, who returned to the faith only after the “conversion” of his son, but in a peaceful way. She experienced her son’s radicalization, his departure to Syria, his refusal to return, and finally his horrible crime, as a series of personal dramas. He was the one looking for me. I accepted his outstretched hand. Because if we refuse dialogue with people like him, we condemn them to isolation, leaving the field open to fundamentalists.
With the book We are left with the words (Giunti) I was hoping to show that it is possible to talk to each othereven with those who don’t share our ideas. It had great resonance, it was translated into four languages, adapted for the theater, and it also allowed us to intervene in prisons.”
What is the difference between the pain of the victim’s family and that of the murderer?
«We talked about it for a long time. The first difference is that the rift between Samy Amimour and his family began long before his terrorist act. I had a peaceful and profound relationship with my daughter Lola until the end. Instead, Samy’s radicalization had already distanced him from the family: neither his father, nor his mother, nor his sisters shared his ideas. The love for him was still there, but accompanied by a growing distance, then by an unbearable horror. One of the sisters, in particular, discovered that she had been manipulated by him, ending up in trouble with the law. The memory of the child, for those who have a murderer son, is inevitably more painful than that of a victim. I only have happy memories of Lola. The families of terrorists also carry an additional burden: guilt. And the judgment of others, which can come from the institutions themselves, in the form of checks, complaints, interrogations.
Another difference concerns the possibility of speaking. In my family there has always been a lot of talk about Lola. In the Amimour family, Samy and attacks are a taboo. This silence is partly cultural, partly dictated by horror.”
How was your decision to meet and talk received, in particular by the families of the other victims?
«I had no difficulty on this point within the victims’ associations: my choice was widely understood. I was attacked on social media by some people, in particular by the father of a Bataclan victim, but it was an isolated reaction, coming from someone very involved in far-right circles, and therefore not very representative of families as a whole.”
Were there difficult moments during your dialogue?
«Our conversations always took place calmly, both before and during the writing of the book. After publication, we often participated together in conferences, interventions in the media, university meetings and even prevention activities in prisons. Obviously, our points of view diverged on many issues, but this did not create problems for me: Azdyne clearly recognized her son’s full responsibility for the acts committed, and the messages she conveyed to the public could be useful.”
Are you still in contact?
«Unfortunately, over time I have seen Azdyne change, and not for the better. More and more often he tended to consider his son only as a victim of manipulation and to insist on the political responsibilities of the West. I also noticed that Azdyne remained silent—if not even agreeing—during our meetings with detainees when faced with those who expressed homophobic, misogynistic, or conspiracy-mongering views. When you talk to them you need to help them take on their own guilt instead of encouraging them to feel like victims of the system. Despite this, I tried for a long time to maintain our collaboration, convinced that it was important to show that we can dialogue peacefully even from different positions. Then, however, during a meeting in prison, he said that his son had not been killed but “murdered”, telling a false version of events. I realized we couldn’t work together anymore. He remains a friend, even if we haven’t spoken since that episode. He’s a friend I can disagree with, but he’s no longer someone I can appear with in public.”
Ten years after the attack, how do you feel? What has changed in you, and in the world?
«I have forgotten nothing, especially my daughter, whose memory accompanies every day of my life. But I have a wife, children, a daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, friends, companions. They all help me live, and I have to live for them too. I am worried about the state of the world: about the fragility of our democracies, of international institutions, of human rights – all precious and difficult achievements, which today too many seem willing to abandon; for the destruction of the planet, the climate, the ecosystems, which too many leaders and citizens do not want to see; for the bloody conflicts, in Ukraine, in the Middle East, in Africa, massacres decided by cynical and irresponsible leaders.
But I still have a commitment that animates me: it is a commitment to reason, to justice, to brotherhood, to understanding between people and between peoples. It is a fight against hatred, stupidity, racism, intolerance, selfishness. There is a lot to do, nothing is taken for granted, but I remain optimistic and I am not giving up.”
The words remain, says the title of the book. Forgiveness, hope and future? Have any others emerged?
«Forgiveness is a complex notion: the evil that has been done cannot be erased. There are innocent people who must not be “forgiven”, but their innocence recognized – like the families of the guilty. However, one must know how to give up revenge, and if this means forgiving, then I can say that I have forgiven for a long time. Hope and the future, of course — and therefore hope for a better future. It is essential to never stop hoping, even when all seems lost. But we also need clarity, realism, patience at times, and always wisdom. Perhaps these are the new words that push me not to force things and not to want to go faster than is humanly possible.”
