I’d like to take you on a journey through the intimidating, frustrating, and sometimes downright horrifying world of Czech bureaucracy. Even Czech citizens must deal with the government and public offices from time to time, and it’s not fun for anyone. But for a foreigner without EU citizenship, it can be an absolute nightmare.
Imagine for a moment that you are an American citizen trying to live long-term in the Czech Republic. You’re highly qualified in your field, which is in high demand in this country, and your job cannot effectively be done by Czech citizens. In short, this country has a real use for you, and it is in the best interests of the government to make it possible, even reasonably easy, for you to get legal permission to live and work here.
In a long and difficult journey which is too long to be fully described here, you managed to obtain your long-term work visa from the Czech government at a cost of many thousands of crowns, countless hours of running between various offices, even more hours of standing in line, and dozens of thank-you beers and seriously-worded I.O.U.s for your Czech friends who helped you with translation. They stuck that glorious green stamp in your passport which declares you LEGAL in the Czech Republic to live and to work using your Živnostenký List (business license). Now you have a work contract with a reputable school in Prague, you’ve been paying your social security each month, and you even have your name on the lease of a nice apartment in Kladno (a small city about 30 minutes outside Prague by bus). You’re even learning Czech and can hold a conversation with the natives as long as they speak slowly. Life is going well.
Of course, this visa only good for six months – just twice the length a tourist is allowed to stay with no visa at all. And it took you nearly six months to get it, including the preparation and the waiting time while they processed your papers. It was worth it, but that was about four months ago. There’s two months left now. That’s about sixty days. Should be plenty of time to gather the documents you need and submit your application for a two-year long-stay residence permit before the visa expires. And this time you don’t even have to leave the country – you can apply straight from your local foreigner police headquarters.
But you still need to gather the paperwork, and in order to do that, you need to first find out which paperwork you need. Time to do some research.
There’s no easy place to look for your answers. You might have a look at the web site for the MVCR – the ministry of the interior. Unlike most places in this country, they even have an English version of their web site and a listing of what you need to submit your application. Essentially, in addition to your passport and photos, you need three things:
1. Proof of accommodation
2. Proof of reason to stay
3. Proof of finance
Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? But a quick check with others who have completed this process reveals that it is anything but simple. First of all, there are a wide range of documents which may or may not be accepted by the MVCR for each of these items. Second, there is a great deal of variance from person to person when it comes to which documents are accepted and which are not. It seems to depend on the mood of the person who happens to receive your application, and since Czechs are so keen to believe in fortune tellers, perhaps the position of the stars is also important.
A notarized lease ought to suffice for the first item, and your business license is your reason to stay, but proof of finance seems to be tricky. They won’t accept a bank statement, says one person. They need to see proof of regular income (so they know they’re guaranteed good tax income from you, and you don’t try to collect any of that social security you’ve been paying) so proof that you have plenty of money to fall back on won’t help. A credit card won’t do either. You can try to show them your work contract, but they tend not even to accept that. People make mention of government documents and tax records. Sounds complicated.
It looks like you’ll need more information. You’ve spent over a week just getting this far – sending out messages asking for help and waiting for the responses. The clock is ticking, and it’s time for more direct action. You call on a Czech speaker – your boss, in whose interest it is to get this residence permit approved – and have her directly call the foreigner police office in Rakovnik (the location you’ll need to deal with as a resident of Kladno) and ask them for a clear list of items you need to bring.
The man on the phone is neither friendly nor informative. He’s unsure about many of the answers you need to put on your application form, and he gives rather vague answers about the documents to bring. The words “probably” and “I guess” are used far too often for comfort. He does say that you need the notarized lease – but the notarization cannot be older than 180 days, so you’ll need to re-sign it. He says if you have a business license already, that will suffice. As for finance, they will need a Bezdlužnost (that’s a document certifying you don’t owe any money) from both the social (OSSZ) and finance offices, and also your Czech tax records from the previous year. You point out that you didn’t work here or pay taxes the previous year, and he says well, maybe you won’t need it then, try submitting the application without it. (Maybe? Try?) A second phone call a few days later provides a small addition to this – if you don’t have tax records, write an affidavit (in Czech of course) declaring that you didn’t work in Europe in the past and therefore no tax records exist, and sign it. That should be sufficient. (Should?) Also, you must submit your application with no less than 15 days remaining on your visa – that’s half a month less time than you expected you would have.
Well, it sounds a bit shaky, but at least you’ve got your information, and all of this is very doable. In fact, it sounds like you can do it all in one day, even taking into account the fact that these offices are only open a couple of days per week for a few hours each day (and you’ll have to miss an entire day of work each time you go visit them). Anyway, you have nearly three weeks remaining before the deadline.
It takes a week or so before you’re able to get the time off work on a Thursday and make your trip from Prague (where you work and spend most of your time) to Kladno (where you legally reside and where you must visit the social and finance offices). None of your friends are available to come translate, but you’re confident in your basic Czech and even prepare a small phrasebook containing various things you might need to say. Should there be an emergency, several friends have offered to translate by phone.
The first stop is the social office. You timidly approach the information desk and very politely explain what you need. A bezdlužnost, for the foreigner police. You also excuse your bad Czech. It seems that this is your lucky day, because the ladies working the desk here are very friendly and helpful. They don’t speak English, of course, but they speak slowly and use a bit of mime to indicate what you need to write on the form they give you. And it doesn’t even cost anything! While you’re writing, they make a photocopy of your passport. Finally, you sign the form, and they give your passport back and happily inform you that that’s it.
Wait, that’s it? What about the form? They ask you when you need it. You answer, as soon as possible – you were hoping you could get it today. After all, what could possibly be involved in looking up your records to make sure you don’t owe any money, then printing your debt-free status on a piece of paper with a stamp and signature?
No such luck. Like everything in the Czech Republic, this is going to take “about a week.” They’ll call you, they say, when it’s ready. And no, there’s nothing you can do to make this process go any faster.
Well, that’s a problem. You were hoping to go to the offices, get the papers, then go straight to the foreigner police and submit your application straight away. But what can you do? You thank them for their help and move along to the finance office.
Your luck seems to be dwindling now. You didn’t expect the woman at the counter to speak English, but she needn’t be so nasty about you not speaking perfect Czech. You explain what you need in the same words you used at the social office, but the gnarled old woman simply scowls at you and asks why you didn’t bring a translator if you can’t speak proper Czech. (Sadly, this is the rule rather than the exception. The ladies at the social office were truly extraordinary.) Finally you manage to get the form to apply for your bezdlužnost and do your best to fill it out. She grumbles that you filled in an area you didn’t need to, demands 100 crowns as a processing fee, and walks away without another word.
You’re already a few steps outside when you remember that you need to ask about the tax documents. You take a deep breath and timidly step back into the building. The angry woman who "helped" you before is gone, thank goodness, and a younger woman is now sitting at the window. You apologize for your bad Czech, read a prepared sentence from your notebook explaining your concern about tax records, and look at her hopefully. She stares back as though you had just tried to order a large pizza with extra spiders, and shrugs her shoulders. The tax people are here on Monday and Wednesday, she says. Come back next week.
Deep breath. You can do this.
Time to get out your phone. Nevermind that it costs you 7 crowns a minute to call someone, you need to get this sorted out. You get ahold of one of your friends, explain the situation, and hand the phone to the young woman, whose confusion seems only to be growing (for a few seconds, she looks at the phone as though you had asked her to swallow it). You listen attentively to her half of the conversation, but the only part you understand is “really I have no idea what on earth she needs.” Finally she smiles, understanding seeming to dawn, hangs up the phone, and hands it back. She writes three digits on a piece of paper and hands it to you. Go to that phone over there, she says, and call this number. No other explanation, but what else can you do?
You pick up the phone and dial the number. It rings eleven times before you give up and set down the receiver. You tell the woman that no one answered, and again, she shrugs her shoulders and says come back on Monday.
Well, it’s not possible to come back on Monday. You have work, and you’ll already have to take Wednesday off to come back and pick up these forms, and finally submit your application to the foreigner police. You’ll just have to hope that the affidavit will suffice.
Time to go back to Prague and regroup.
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