Khalid Semmate

“I opened my pharmacy in this part of Paris, a central area that’s home to many emigrants, especially those newly arrived. This situation has shaped the way I work, pushing me to adapt and provide genuine support for these people. Being a pharmacist here is nothing like working in the tourist districts, where pharmacies often function as little more than cash machines.
Here, I have to be deeply sociable. I can’t turn away from people who are suffering—that’s simply not in my nature. This quality seems to draw people to me. I respect every person who steps through my door and do my utmost to help those in need. It’s this approach, I think, that keeps bringing more and more people to my pharmacy.”

“How do you assess a charge for them and for their need for medicines?“
“I don’t charge them directly. The government provides compensation for the cost of the medicines through prescriptions, but that doesn’t cover the time I spend with these poor people.”

“Does it mean that you are regarded as a doctor?“
“Well, yes—especially those who’ve walked all the way from Afghanistan. They don’t speak a word of French, and to them, anyone in the medical field is considered a doctor.”

“That seems difficult to me, in what language do you communicate?“
“I’ve picked up bits and pieces of their language—words and phrases I’ve learned from other emigrants over time. When needed, I use a translator. Plus, I speak Arabic and Farsi, which often helps bridge the gap.”

“Why is it so important to you to help these people?”
“I came to France as an emigrant myself. I was 18, a student—an ideal starting point, in theory. But even then, I struggled a lot with the French bureaucracy, especially when it came to documentation. Opening my pharmacy later on was no less daunting—it was as challenging as any nightmare you could imagine.”

“Did you choose this area on purpose, or was it just a coincidence?”
“Yes, I chose it deliberately, though I had no idea it would be so different from other parts of Paris.”

“How do people from Afghanistan, for example, find their way to this area?”
“Well, part of it is cultural—their food and community are here. But more importantly, we’re close to Gare du Nord, which is a major transit hub. It’s incredibly convenient, connecting multiple metro lines, trains, and even international routes. Many of them originally intended to go to England, not France, as their final destination. Gare du Nord is the gateway to London, so they arrive here with that hope but end up staying, since France is still relatively welcoming to refugees.
That said, most of the people you see on the street can’t afford to live here. They’re actually homeless. They gather in this area, spending time with others in similar situations, and try to earn money by selling goods. What’s ridiculous, especially for the Afghans, is that their refugee status doesn’t allow them to work legally. They receive 400–500 euros a month from the government, which isn’t nearly enough to pay rent in Paris or even cover basic necessities. This forces them into illegal work, like selling cigarettes.
And, of course, everyone knows this is happening—the authorities, the government—but they choose to look the other way instead of addressing the root of the problem.”

“Why do you think the state doesn’t want to address this problem?”
“They don’t want to allocate more money to refugees than they do to unemployed French citizens. It’s a delicate balance—they’re trying to avoid sparking conflict with far-right politicians and their supporters.”

“Now that you have a French passport, do you see yourself as French?”
“I see myself as French, but also as Moroccan, African, and, above all, human. I don’t belong to a single identity—I carry many within me.”

“What does it mean to be human?”
“First, to exist. Second, to see others as your equals. Every refugee who comes to me—no matter their condition—is a person deserving of respect. Even if the man standing before me is in terrible shape—sick, coughing, his skin covered in sores, dressed in rags, and carrying the stench of hardship—he is still my brother. It’s my duty to help him and treat him with dignity.
I never judge. Instead, I try to put myself in their shoes. If I were in Afghanistan, I’d likely do the same—I’d flee from the Taliban.”

“Are you ever afraid of catching a deadly disease?”
“It’s a risk I have to take. When you’re helping people as a medic, you can’t let fear stop you—if you don’t take that risk, they might die.”

“Why do you want to treat people, considering that modern medicine contributes to human overpopulation? Overpopulation leads to resource shortages, famine, and even wars, ultimately resulting in poverty and a population overshoot.”
“Should I just leave people to die on the street?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I believe the key lies in education. Well-educated people tend to have fewer children and are more likely to adopt. They’re also generally more eco-conscious. Education addresses the root of these issues without sacrificing compassion for those in need.”

“What do you consider your greatest achievement?”
“I remember one day a man came to me with a piece of paper taped to his chest. When I removed it, I found a large, infected wound—a gaping hole. He was on the brink of death from septicemia.
I treated him as best as I could. If he had gone to a hospital, they would have demanded documentation, which he didn’t have. He had walked here alone, exhausted and terrified, clearly too afraid to seek help elsewhere.
A few days later, he returned to see me. He said, ‘I feel better. You’ve saved my life.’ That moment—that gratitude—felt like the greatest achievement of my life.”

“What is the most important lesson life has taught you?”
“That I should never judge anyone by their appearance or first words. The way people look or speak often doesn’t reflect what they carry inside. There’s always more to a person than what meets the eye.”

“How can you know what someone carries inside?”
“You just have to give them the opportunity to talk—and then truly listen. For example, I once met a man who seemed shy and kind, almost unassuming. Over time, I learned he was from Chechnya and had been a leader in the rebellion movement against Kadyrov.
I translated his documents from Russian, and he was supposed to be dead. If I hadn’t taken the time to speak with him, I would never have known he was a true fighter against the regime.”

“What does kindness mean to you?”
“Kindness is treating everyone with the same respect and care, no matter who they are.”

‘“What is your greatest fear?”
“That far-right politicians might come to power in France. If that happens, I’ll leave the country.”

“Is it because you can’t align with their views?”
“It’s more than that. I’m very passionate about history, so I understand the implications. If extremists like the Nazis were to take power, I’d likely be one of the first targeted. It’s better to leave the country as quickly as possible in such a scenario.
Interestingly, when Hitler rose to power in Germany, the largest group of people who fled were Germans themselves. They could read the warning signs in their own language and knew exactly what was happening. In contrast, the people who suffered the most under Nazi exterminations were often from Eastern Europe. Many of them believed it couldn’t happen and stayed, unable to foresee the horrors that awaited.”

“Do you have any idea where we should go if things take a turn for the worse?”
“Yes, and it might surprise you—it would be Germany. It’s strange, I know, but countries that have already experienced extreme right-wing governance have taken significant steps to organize their systems and prevent it from happening again.
France, on the other hand, hasn’t fully learned that lesson. There’s still a tendency here to believe that their army single-handedly liberated the country from Nazi Germany. That’s not entirely true, as they received substantial support from other nations.”

“Is there something that keeps you awake at night?”
“Yes, lately I’ve been losing sleep over Israel and Palestine. I grew up in Morocco, where Jews, Catholics, and Muslims lived together. What’s happening in the Middle East now feels like a tragedy. I’m deeply convinced that peace isn’t just morally right—it can also bring economic advantages.”

“How do you imagine peace between Israel and Palestine?”
“Peace would have been possible if the two-state solution hadn’t been undermined by the leaders of both nations. Sinwar and Netanyahu have both violated the Oslo Accords, making peace much harder to achieve.”

“Why does this conflict trouble you so much that it keeps you awake?”
“Because it’s deeply sad to see the most educated people in the Arab world fighting each other. Not long ago, it seemed possible for them to avoid this path.”

“I want to quote the Israeli philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz, who passed away in 1994. Over 30 years ago, he argued that the continued military occupation of Palestinian territories would lead to the moral degradation of the Israeli Defense Forces, with individuals committing atrocities in the name of state security. End of quote. I believe that degradation is exactly what we’re witnessing today. Just recently, Israel’s Defense Minister, Yoav Gallant, said, ‘We are putting a complete siege on Gaza… No electricity, no food, no water, no gas… We are fighting human animals, and we are acting accordingly.’”
“Yeah, the issue is that there are no pro-peace voices in the government.” 

“But you said it was possible to avoid this not long ago.”
“Yes, but not with Netanyahu in power. He’s an enemy of peace, just like Putin or Hamas. I once heard he said he wanted to turn Gaza into a parking lot—implying its destruction and the deaths of two million people, just like that…” His voice faltered, trembling as if he were on the verge of tears. “You know, I’m against the death penalty, even for the most terrible people. I’m deeply convinced that even the worst person has something good to offer the world.”

“Would you kill someone if you knew it would save thousands, or even millions of people?”
“No, I’m against killing under any circumstances. I’m fortunate to have grown up in Marrakech, where there hasn’t been a war since 1912. There have been no weapons there since then, except for hunting animals. I believe that heavily armed countries inevitably use their weapons, and that always leads to disaster.”

“And France is one of them.”
“Yes, and one of the biggest arms dealers.”
“Isn’t that also a matter of national security?”
He made a face. “It’s more about business than security.”
“Okay, let’s imagine France disbanded its army. I don’t think that would stop another country from launching a military attack.”
“France was occupied during World War II even though it had one of the best armies in the world. Meanwhile, Switzerland, which has no standing army, wasn’t occupied.”
“But isn’t it unethical to remain neutral in the face of evil? Shouldn’t we take a stand to fight against it?”
“I don’t think so. I believe in dialogue. We should talk to people who are wrong, help them see there’s a better solution than killing.”
“Wasn’t it hypocritical for Switzerland to bank for the Germans?”
“Yes, but at the same time, they were banking for people like Schindler, who saved 1,200 Jewish lives. The Swiss banking system was in business for everyone around them.”

“What do you think about the comparison between Israel and Nazi Germany?”
“That’s absurd.”
“But it’s a topic that’s been in the air for a long time.”
“Sure, but only for people who’ve never been to Israel. In Israel, you can be an Arab or a Muslim and still have the right to vote, own a business, and even become a member of parliament. Compared to neighboring countries, Israel is indeed a democracy.
The problem, however, is that Israelis are becoming increasingly religious, with some pushing to form a purely Jewish state. Defining a country along religious lines signals the end of democracy.”

“Are you religious?”
“Yes, I believe in God. I’m Muslim, but I practice alone—I don’t like making a show of it.”
“What is it that you practice?”
“I observe Ramadan, and I pray.”
“What do you pray for?”
“I don’t ask for anything specific. I read the Quran, page by page.”

“How do you define God?”
“God is love, protection, and hope for a better life.”
“And what does love mean to you?”
“Love is when my heart beats faster for someone else.”

“If you were face to face with God, what would you ask Him?”
“I’d ask Him to eliminate all the weapons in the world.”

“How would you like to be remembered?”
“As someone who helped others.”