Six years, Maik.
Itís quite something. Letís hope for the best. You didnít want to cry. I know. itís the last
time, I promise. January 2021. Maik Messing
has come to the city of Karlsruhe, in western Germany, because
the Federal Court of Justice is going to
announce its decision. Will his daughter remain in
custody, or will she be released? A few hours later, our
wait comes to an end. The woman in the black
coat is Leonora Messing. At 21, sheís stands accused of
being a member of the Islamic State. Her Father, Maik, has been fighting
for the last 6 years for his ìLeoî. Now, sheís free, at least until her
upcoming trial. Leonora Messing has no words. Hello Mrs Messing.
Sheís in the car. Hello. Iím coming home. This is the story of a
father and his daughter. A story that Iíve
accompanied for seven years one that would take me to Syria,
a country torn apart by civil war. Your own child would rather go
join terrorists than stay with you AND even think it's cool. To one of the most brutal
terrorist groups of our time. Islam was ëiní. A fight between life and death. You have to leave,
as fast as you can! Papa, where are they? I'm
waiting. Please, Papa, please! In a Syrian prison camp. I was very afraid. They put a
bounty on my head, 70,000 dollars. And back to a village
in eastern Germany. Iím here. We could overcome the
most terrible things together. We fought 6 years to get her
back and we couldnít handle six weeks of living
under one roof together. Itís a story about guilt. And second chances. This is where it all began Breitenbach, in
Saxony-Anhalt, Germany. In 2015, Leonora and her
father Maik Messing were living a seemingly happy life. At 15, Leonora was
a typical teenager. Her parents had separated
some years earlier. Her father, Maik, who ran a
bakery, had recently re-married. Leonora seemed on the
outside like a happy girl interested in boys
and cosmetics. She even ran a YouTube
channel with makeup tips. Hello friends and
welcome to my latest video. Today Iíve got my March favourites
tips in the beauty department. This is number 0-7 from
Essence, which looks like this. Unbeknownst to her family,
Leonora had converted to Islam and become
radicalized a year earlier. Then one day, she
just disappeared. Leonora had left for
Syria, a different world. A war-torn country, under
control of the Islamic State. For an agonizing 12 days,
Maik heard nothing from Leonora. Then, finally, in March
2015, a voice message. Maik couldnít know then, that his
cell phone would soon become the only, tenuous link to his daughter. Hi Papa, I'm trying to
send you a voice message. Hope it reaches you quickly. I'm doing really well. We have
a really big apartment here. I decorated everything
in purple, of course. We don't have couches here
but these pillows you sit on. Iím also sending you photos of
the present he gave me. Gold! Leonora told of her wedding. At just 15, she had married
an Islamic State fighter. Here - the official
wedding photo. Leonora one of his three new brides. We were married by the I-S. They had us go into the room
briefly and give them a thumbprint. A just like that,
we were married. Oh, and the bridal gift they asked us what
we wanted as our gift. In my case it was a gold
necklace and bracelet. Then they said,
congratulations, youíre married. Sure, it was unpleasant. We didnít even know each other. Yeah, weíd written
each other a few times, on WhatsApp
and things like that. But you canít really get
to know someone like that. Her husband, Nihad, also
came from eastern Germany. His real name is Martin Lemke. Heíd left for Syria about
6 months before Leonora, and had become an intelligence
officer for the Islamic State. Soon after his daughter vanished,
Maik contacted a journalist. Thatís where I come in Volkmar Kabisch. Iíd been reporting
on terrorism for years, and spent time
in Syria and Iraq. We hit it off right away. We didnít know it at the time, but
there would be many more meetings and conversations like this one in 2015. Mostly revolving
around one question why. She shut us out completely,
kept us out of that part of her life. A young girl,
voluntarily goes to Syria. Here, she wouldnít even go
into the barn, because of the mice. But then she heads off to a civil
war, where all hell had broken loose, where people arenít
messing around. In Raqqa, the capital
of the Islamic State, Leonora encountered the
true face of the terrorist militia. She often texted her father
about what sheíd seen. This happened right in
front of Leonoraís doorstep. And with these atrocities, the I-S
was making propaganda on the Internet recruiting new followers
and scaring opponents. Now, in January 2021, Leonora
has left the terror state behind. Sheís been released
from detention in Germany, awaiting trial, and is headed
back to her small village. In the 6 years since she left, sheís been through
war, terror, imprisonment and the long fight
to get back home. I havenít really grasped it all
yet. Sitting in a cell like that, you donít see much of the outside
world, or that youíre back in Germany. Youíre in jail. Leonora still has a long and
difficult road ahead of her. Sheís being
investigated for membership in a
terrorist organization. Soon after arriving in Syria
in 2015, Leonoraís dreams gave way to a grim reality. She found her husband ìrepulsiveî,
the Islamic State too brutal, and life as one of three
wives, fraught with conflict. Heíd never scold me or
beat me the way he hit her. Theyíd even
compare the beatings. Theyíd say ëmine
werenít as bad as hersí. We had the impression that
her husband was in over his head. Some people might
think, three wives, great. But of course theyíre all people
with needs, desires, wishes. I never heard that from
Martin, that it was stressful. Quite the opposite: He said
heíd like three more wives. After two months, from what
we gathered, she realized that her situation there
wasnít what sheíd expected. She even said it, said: Iíd like to go home and it would
be nice if you could do something. And then, itís helpful to know
someone who knows someone. What Maik is referring to are my journalistic contacts traffickers and they had
contact with terrorists. But should I, a journalist,
act as a go-between? After many discussions,
we decided yes on the condition that Maik make
any and all decisions on his own. We met in Turkey. Smuggling someone
out of I-S controlled territory can be
extremely dangerous particularly for a
woman traveling alone. At a hotel in the south of
Turkey, Maik met the smugglers. I took a back seat. He handled the negotiations. My meeting with Abu. He
was clean-cut, well-groomed. He said he had ties
to the Nusra front. So Al-Qaeda, more or less. So Maik from Breitenbach,
a town of 200, is sitting in a hotel with two
guys from Al-Qaeda, drinking tea. And smoking a
hundred cigarettes. Theyíre definitely terrorists, real
thugs. But I want my daughter back. Then it begins. Somewhere in Syria, some men
are making their way to Raqqa. Theyíd managed
to smuggle people out of the I-S
capital in the past. An extremely
dangerous undertaking. In 2015 Raqqa was the
heart of the Islamic State fully in the grip of the
terror groupís security forces who were constantly on patrol. Leonora sent Maik her location
and photos of the surrounding area knowing she could be put
to death if she were caught. I was just staring at the clock. 10 minutes go by, no word,
20 minutes, still nothing. The plans kept falling through, each
time, putting Leonora at greater risk. Papa, where are they? I
keep waiting but no one comes. No oneís there. Papa, please! The smugglers made more
than ten attempts to reach her. There was an hour, an
hour and a half every day, that just took everything I had. The worry, asking and answering
questions correctly, the fear. Itís hard to describe
that kind of tension. But they didnít give up, setting up a
meeting at an internet cafÈ in Raqqa. The smugglers then did
something they hadnít done before, by going into the internet cafÈ. We were waiting here,
it was 6:01 pm, then 6:02, 6:05 Leo didnít come online. All sorts of thoughts were going
through my head and it was unbearable. Come on, Leonora, we canít
make it any easier for you than this! At 6:40 she finally came online. And that was the last
we heard from her. The last time she wrote. Days went by,
with no word from Leonora. Then Khadija, her husbandís
second wife, sent a message. It was the news they
had been dreading. Maik and the
rest of the family had no choice but to
believe Leonora was dead killed in a war,
not hers to fight. Three weeks later,
I paid Maik a visit this time bringing
my camera along. He told me that he tried to
get through the days, somehow, but he hadnít made it through
a night without weeping. Your child is dead. And you failed. You failed to get her out of there. Weíre going to plant this tree. Not to bury our child, we canít
do that, but to say goodbye. Weíll have a place
we can go, which is, symbolically,
where sheíll be. Back then, and in
the years that followed, no one would have
imagined that Leonora would ever be on
her way home again with her family eagerly waiting. The day Leonora left home,
almost exactly six years earlier, was also a cold, snowy day. Itís hard to believe Iím on
this road again, after six years. I can still remember
that back then, I thought it might be the last
time Iíd ever be on this road. Well, no one better ever say
we canít get anything done here. So, Breitenbach. Thereís the church where
I always played Mary. Exactly! I wonít survive this. After six years now
Iíll have a heart attack! We were already at McDonalds. I heard! I can manage. After six years in Syria,
Leonora is finally home again. Is Mama here? Yes, Iím here. But Leonoraís
return to normal life wouldnít be as easy
as they had expected. They were all waiting, is she going
to have some sparkling wine or not? Will Grandma think
bad of me if I donít? Will she think
Iím still a radical? It really makes
you think, oh man... So OK, I took a sip. It tasted
terrible. I hated it. Never again. In 2015, Maik had believed
his daughter was dead. But the message
from Syria was a lie probably to punish Maik
for the escape attempt. Several weeks would pass
before this message arrived: Leonora was alive. But still living under a terrorist
regime, îDawla Islamiyyaî Arabic for îIslamic Stateî. In Germany, the
familyís ordeal continued. Day after day, month after month, Maik
wondered how his daughter was doing, and if heíd ever
see her alive again. As 2015 gave way to 2016, in
Syria, people were dying every day on all sides. Our first Christmas in
16 years without Leo. Itís a peculiar feeling. We donít have to say it, we just
look at each other and we know. Then you find yourself
with tears in your eyes. Maik and his new
wife came to a decision to go on with life,
one way or another. A new baby was coming, a girl. Two years later, in 2017,
Raqqa was under attack. Leonora left the war-torn city. Soon, the Islamic State
lost control over Raqqa. And by then,
Leonora was pregnant. It would be another
three years before Maik would be reunited
with his daughter and meet his granddaughter. 2021, back in Breitenbach. Leonoraís first weeks at home
didnít go as smoothly as theyíd hoped. She often felt overwhelmed, and
needed help to manage a daily routine. And she was still under
criminal investigation. Eventually, she would face
terrorism-related charges. She returned but there
was a lot of work to be done. She arrived with a huge backpack
of experiences and problems. And then she arrived in Germany, and
well, she was handed another backpack, with another set of problems. Birth certificates for the children,
health insurance, finding daycare. In four months in Germany,
I filled out more paperwork than I had in six
years in Syria. I arrived here and had
to start again from zero. I had to register, deal
with so many issues. Sometimes everything would
depend on a single piece of paperwork. Maik had been waiting years
to have his daughter back. The family helped Leonora
with her appointments with the authorities
and the paperwork. But it soon became clear that
exchanging voice messages was easier than living
under the same roof. After six years, they couldnít
just pick up where they had left off. The last six years
boiled down to this all those terrible
things, we were able to deal with them,
experience them, survive them, together virtually. I could fly to
Turkey, no problem. Sit at a table with
Al-Qaeda, no problem. We fought for six years for
her return and couldnít manage to spend six weeks under
the same roof together. There were frequent arguments
and misunderstandings. Leonora was preoccupied,
even self-absorbed she was under criminal
investigation, had survived trauma, and struggled to meet
Maikís expectations. After just a few weeks,
the situation had escalated. The two had
completely different ideas of how life together
should work. Maik wanted Leonora to take
part in family and village life, while Leonora preferred spending
hours alone in her bedroom. Their lives just
werenít compatible. Papa kept saying, come out of
your bedroom with the children. Come out to the horses. I just wasnít interested. I didnít want to sit around the
campfire with people from the village. I couldnít do it. Something had to change. Eventually I contacted the
youth welfare office and said things arenít working out. And the welfare
officer said to me weíve been expecting
your call for weeks now. Only a very few can
make it work without help. But we wanted you to come
to that realization yourself. Well, thanks! Leonora and her
daughter moved out, to a group home for
mothers and their children. Leonora took part in court-ordered
de-radicalization classes. Three times a week, she
had to report to the local police. Iíll be right back. Iím
just going to the police. Three years earlier, Leonora
had very different problems. In the fall of 2018, she and
her husband Nihad, Martin, were on the run, surrounded
by bombings and air raids. The Islamic State was
crumbling, and militarily, the regime was on its last legs. Hello Papa, itís me, Leo. Weíre here in the last village. Theyíve surrounded us. Weíre all on one street, the Islamic
State only controls a single street. Thatís all. Weíre all crowded in here,
thereís no room, weíre hungry. The children are freezing. We have to leave, thereís
no future for us here. We donít even have a
single dollar to our name. We have nothing, nothing to
eat, so weíve decided to surrender. My phone went beep, beep, beep and I knew it meant that
"Radio Syria" was back on the air, with some sort of
interesting news. After four years, you develop a bit
of a hard shell, to protect yourself. It was a voice message
from Martin Lemke. And he didn't sound too happy. Suddenly the person whoís
been trying to ruin your life for four years contacts
you whining for help. First youíre taken aback. What is this? And then it clicks and you
realise heís really in trouble now. And you think to
yourself: hmm hmm hmm. In early 2019, more than 40,000
people from the last remaining I-S territory surrendered. Leonora Messing was one of them. Nearly four years
after leaving Germany, she found herself
in the Syrian desert. The images from a news
agency went around the world. Because I want my old
life back, long time ago. Now I know it was a big
mistake, a big, big mistake. For her father at home in
Breitenbach, it was the news he had been
waiting years to hear. I basically slept through it. Iíd been hoping
for this for years. To go to bed, get up, and find the problem
had disappeared. On the way to work,
it suddenly sunk in. I got out of
the car and thought, yes.
Great. Itís over. Leonora was brought to the
al-Hol prison camp in northern Syria. Housing up to 90,000 people, the camp
was under the control of Syrian Kurds. A huge tented prison in
the middle of the desert. I thought to myself, how bad can
it be. There must be lots of women whoíve left I-S, already here. But when I arrived I saw everyone
dressed in black from head to toe. I called the camp I-S 2.0, and it was. There was constant
tension in the camp. Many wanted nothing
more than to go home. Others hoped the Islamic
State would rise again. In the middle
of it all: Leonora. For nearly two years, she and
her two children lived in a tent here. While still in the I-S, Leonora had
become a mother for a second time. The little oneís name was Maria. But Mariaís health was frail and
sheíd been hospitalized several times. There was nothing the
doctors there could do. Meanwhile, Germany was
debating whether to repatriate people whoíd joined the I-S. But were they still
dangerous? In March 2019 I
went to Syria, myself. In interviews, Leonora said
sheíd turned her back on the I-S. But did she really
understand what sheíd done to herself, her family,
and to the people of Syria? And what had drawn her to the
Islamic State in the first place? Islam was ëiní. In Germany you saw lots of
people converting to Islam. I was young I guess and wanted
to revolt. I was into extremes. She tells me she stopped
believing in the I-S a long time ago. But what does she think
about her own actions? What has she learned,
these past four years? All I really
wanted was to go home. And when that didnít work, things got worse. Because I realized I had to live
here, whether I wanted to or not. Back in Germany, early 2022. Leonora had begun to reflect
more deeply on what sheíd done. Sheíd begun
to process it all. And it wasnít
always easy. Do you feel guilty? Yes, definitely,
because I went there. And also, and I truly mean this because I didnít know about
a lot of things theyíd done. Even today Iím still
finding out things about them, about the organization. Or about him. Iím still finding
out things about my former husband from
complete strangers. Her ëformerí husband, Nihad Abu Yasir whoís actually Martin Lemke. I also met with him
in Syria, where he was in custody at
the time of filming. In Germany, thereís
a warrant for his arrest. He seems to be trying
to win my sympathy. Itís hard here, weíre under a
lot of psychological pressure. I sit in a cell alone, and
canít see or hear anyone. Martin Lemke is believed
to have been one of the highest-ranking
Germans in the I-S. Another returnee later said he didnít torture, but he
allowed others to torture. Whether thatís true is unclear. Unsurprisingly, Lemke denies it. In September 2019, I
went public for the first time, talking about Leonora and
her story in a documentary on a German news broadcaster. Good evening. She
was an ordinary girl in an ordinary village
in Saxony-Anhalt. 15-year-old Leonora
was well-liked. The documentary about
Leonora and her father Maik also found its way to
the into the camp in Syria. Camp inmates watched
it on their cell phones including Leonora. It was the first time she had seen
how her father had been coping. I watched it with
a small group of women who also were
opposed to the I-S, who were normal, you could say. We all sat there and were
really upset, we were crying. Iíd guess I was the most emotionally
affected, because it was my father. I was seeing the other side, and of
course how my father had suffered. That really did me in. I love my father, so very, very
much, everyone knows that. Iím a daddy's girl. And I couldnít bear
to see him suffer. It really hurt. Other women in the
camp also saw the film. Leonora became a
target for radical Islamists. The women really went nuts. They said things like,
when youíre asleep at night, weíll take your kids and
burn you alive, in your tent. I was very afraid. But Leonora didnít back down. She took off her headscarf. And switched sides, helping
the Kurdish guards who kept control of the
women in the camp. Leonoraís life, and the lives of
her children, were now at risk. For the I-S women in the
camp, Leonora was a traitor, an apostate who deserved death. And she wouldnít
have been the first In the last year alone, more
than 100 people had died in al-Hol. The Kurds got me
out of the camp after my photo started
circulating online. In all the I-S groups, Arabic
ones, German and English ones, the picture of me and
my child was online. They put a bounty on
my head, 70,000 dollars. 70,000 dollars for the person
who cut my head off or whatever. Maik refused to give up. Back in Germany, he
continued his fight in court Maik Messing vs the
Federal Republic of Germany. He was represented by Dirk
Schoenian, a lawyer from Hannover whoíd taken on many
such cases in 2020. The German government
always offered the same argument. The German government wanted
to bring the young children back, without their mothers,
without accompaniment. But that would have just led to
even more trauma for the children of course. Those children, some of them had
been born there, gone through war, hunger, bombing raids. That had left its mark on them,
and many were seriously traumatized. Then to add to that
trauma by separating them. From their
remaining parent. For me that was
unacceptable. The court agreed ruling the children had to be
repatriated with their mothers. But still, nothing happened. My biggest wish is
that we leave together. But if thatís impossible then
at least the children should go. Maik had hoped that
he no longer had to worry about Leonora and
his grandchildren. But month after month passed,
until finally a German delegation went to Syria. Though the two countries had no
diplomatic relations, the visit helped. Very early, I donít
know exactly what time, two Kurdish women
came into my tent, saying, Letís go, yallah, yallah. Letís
go. You have ten minutes. Leonora, two other German women,
and a total of twelve German children were flown out of Syria. But the flight didnít
go according to plan. Maria got very quiet,
and hardly moved. Then she started
twitching with her head and could
only look off to one side. That was alarming and the
pediatricians from Germany who were on the flight came
over, gave her an injection, oxygen. They did everything they could. When it happened again, we
made an emergency landing. They landed in Vienna. Suddenly my baby was gone and
we continued on, we had no choice. I had no idea what
would happen in Vienna. Would she die, without me by
her side? How could this happen, things canít end like this. I was really afraid sheíd die and
Iíd never get to see the three of us together here, safely,
living a normal life. But we made it. Just imagine, in Syria
she was half-starved. I had something for her,
Papa sent me money, which I used to
buy milk in Rojava. But she refused it,
and kept vomiting. Iíd managed to
keep her alive, on my own. Even though everyone in
the camp was against me. Together with the Kurds I
managed to keep Maria going. Then weíre finally on
our way, almost home, and you see the doctors start to
talk amongst themselves quietly, so that I couldnít hear it. Itís getting worse, her life is
in danger, we have to land. And all you can think is, oh no. Maik went to
Vienna to get Maria. Leonoraís decision to join the I-S
would follow the family for years. Based on what we know now,
it was almost a spontaneous, momentary
decision to join the I-S. What followed
was seven years. A quick decision, but then
it just dragged on and on. It didnít get much easier
till she finally returned. A year has passed since
Leonoraís return to Germany. She and her father are
now back on a solid footing. They were able to become closer by living apart. Itís been good for both of them. Leonoraís trial on terrorism-related
charges is due to start in a week. Sheís hoping for a light
sentence, without prison time. Going back into custody would undo
everything sheís accomplished so far her education, driving lessons,
her daily routine with her daughter. Itís going well. Thereís no hostility from anyone, no one saying,
what youíre daughter is in my daughterís
daycare? No way. We had our first parentsí evening,
where we talked about everything. And I just decided
to mention it. I didnít plan it, it
was spontaneous. I said, in late January youíll
probably see me on the news again, because my trial
will get underway. I started crying and the other
mothers also got tears in their eyes. They gave me a lot of support. They said that I shouldnít
worry about them, they never had any
bad thoughts about me. Theyíve all been very welcoming
and added me to their WhatsApp group. Little things like that
make me really happy. I donít want people to say,
oh, I feel so sorry for you. I definitely donít want that. I
just want them to let me be. That they accept you as you are. Leonora says she regrets what
she did. But will that be enough? In late January
2022, her trial began behind closed doors, since
she was being tried as a minor. Leonora testified, at length. Almost four months
later, the verdict was issued, though it was not yet final. Immediately afterwards,
she called her father. Iím out, on probation. Can you hear me? I got probation. I
donít have to go to jail. Oh Leo, thatís wonderful. Itís finally over. We can finally put this
behind us, papa. All right Papa. I'll let you get some sleep. Now I can sleep. I havenít even
shaved. This is all going on TV. I look like a bum. I love you, Papa, so much. I hope that in a few years, I'l have both of my children
and maybe a partner, with a good job, that weíll have
a house, and live an ordinary life, just like a totally
normal person. Do you think you deserve that? Good question. I would say yes. Yes, to be honest. It might sound a bit well,
thatís what she thinks but I understand
what I did was wrong. Itís not like Iím saying, poor
me, making excuses for myself. I know what I did was wrong and Iím
learning from it. Iím still learning.
