Sixteen years ago, on Liberation Day, I packed all my belongings in an old BMW I’d bought off a friend for 300 Euro and drove to Ireland, into a new future. It was exciting, a little scary, but mostly exhilarating. Much more than moving out from my parents’ house, a few years earlier, this felt like a liberation. Like love, freedom comes in many shapes and forms. The freedom to go to sleep and wake up, or when to have dinner is one thing. Quite different is the freedom to travel across borders without needing a passport, to settle in another country and work there without having to file a complicated working visa application. That again is quite another thing than being able to say and write what you want without the fear of an oppressive regime.
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