Anyone who wants to marry their foreign sweetheart must see the IND (Immigration and Naturalisation Service) to arrange the proper papers. The IND decides whether the residency permit is issued and in practice, they’re never generous or warm and welcoming. Now, as it turns out, some departments have employed the peculiar practice of demanding a proof of love in these cases. ????? Yes. A proof of love.What do you send the official in this case? The roses have long since wilted, the intimate conversations on the telephone never recorded, but maybe you’ve managed to keep a few text messages. And what will the official accept as proof? He might just find that the lovely photograph you took of your love as the exact OPPOSITE to proof of love. The proof of love has no other function: it can’t be used a as proof of lack of love. Still, the IND demands it.
The Dutch news once broadcast images of a man who had crashed through his ex-lovers window into her living room. “I love her!” he declared to the whole of Holland. And she’d left him. And he had loved her.
A similar train of thought arises in the documentary La 10ième Chambre (2004) by Raymond Depardon. Karim Toulbia is called to court after his ex-wife presses charges against him. After seven years of abuse, she finally succeeds in escaping him and building her own life. But the man refuses to accept this, he threatens her, even threatening the boss she works for. It’s a terrible but familiar story. And so the lawyer begins his plea: “These private cases, they’re always tough! (…)(…)(…) Karim took a great step today. This is something WE’RE never proud of. (We, men, is what the lawyer means!) I, too, have handled myself poorly at times (POORLY handled?) You see, men are a bit dumber in this sense than women.”
The lawyer then proceeds to explain the only mitigating circumstance he can come up with. My client is a man. And sure enough, his argument later goes to say: “What once was love transforms into something as hideous as hate. If only hate and love were not so very intertwined,” he sighs. A chasm between lovers. His argument revives the idea of the age old crime passionel. It might be murder, but it’s out of love.
How in god’s name do you convince your lover of your love? It’s simple at the start with flowers, letters, text messages. It happens all on its own, the current carries itself. But it’s at that inevitable moment where the fluttering of butterflies begins to wane. It’s the moment where the state of love is suddenly read backwards, like the denting of a lid, like mirror writing. You can lie desperately on the street in front of her house, shave your head, or write her fifty text messages: it will only work against you. Every piece of evidence you produce will only irritate rather than convince. You’re powerless in trying to summon the love-struck gaze of the other, no, there’s no point. It might sometimes resurface, other times it disappears again. It’s never completely easy. So, shall we send the IND that photo of us where we’re both laughing somewhat sourly, but where at least we’re together?