Friday, February 23, 2018

Ch (8) Complicity in Context taken out

I'm one..
One who was Taken..
One of The dissapeared....
A minor oblitteration..

From the day they took me until today, after nearly ten years of silence and hope and loss and torment, I still offer my full cooperation in every way that could possibly bolster my credibility.

I listened today on the BBC radio, to the voice of an Egyptian mother.. Zubeida.. who's daughter had been snatched from the world by the same clandestine and untouchable political  forces that took me that day with their infinite and unchallenged authority.

Doors closed in her face as she searched over the whole country for her 23yr old daughter... They turned her away as she searched from prison to prison .. Desperate..
Its now ten years and she searches each day..and is met with the apathy of helpless impotent timid beurocrats.

Daily she searches, enduring the agony of knowing her daughter is being tortured and raped and silenced and hidden.. Taken

At least in my case, I am still grateful that I have been able to communicate some of the details that we were aware of..
I have been to court and have been tried in front of clueless or complicit judges.?
We may well guess, but will never know.?
My lawyer certainly didn't either.

But I have always hoped that the rest of my evidences would miraculously materialize or be revealed by my consistent cooperation, honesty and testimony of those that knew me..
Those who had worked with me, and possibly someone who might have been witness to the intricate plan to implicate me, in the ways that I could never disprove.

Evidences that were never revealed. .. They remain buried and silent, and the passing years give them joy.

Embassy watched in horror and shame as my stuttering and incoherent denials buried any vestiges of my credibility, and my vain hopes of exoneration.

So many of my family and disillusioned friends have stood up in shock and disbelief at these allegations, as I myself quietly accepted the blame in the hope it would pacify my captors.

It didn't..
It emboldened them...
My appeal case appearance took a mere seven minutes , with no witnesses called.... or testimony from me.
Life in prison.. No quarter...

Embassy watched aloof and remained courteous and diplomatically intact as they processed the list of errant convictions that had been filed against me.
I wonder who they believed more? 
It didn't matter... Ten years have gone.

From the first day of my irregular abduction, I was adamant that the minor misdemeanors that I may have committed, must be confessed and disclosed fully, in order for me to retain any semblance of credibility.
I did that....

I told them everything I knew and hoped they would respond to my truthful submissions by equal acceptance of my most sincere denials.
But they did not...

Like Zubeida... My family and many friends have begged the world and the powerful embassy diplomats to intervene on my behalf.. But my family were met only with stony silences ten years too late.

Taken... Abducted...
For ten years, where no one can lift a finger without fear of further antagonizing the captors.
Here we are Blackmailed into silence or could it be ...
Complicity?

My petition for clemency signed by thousands who know I speak the truth and who have seen the errant indiscretions of the Arab spring and its cohorts..... hangs open ended and exhausted, flapping like muddy rags on rusty wire..
Seen but ignored.
Derilect...

As the years go by, the impact of my abduction becomes diluted and our muted impotent appeals for clemency are ignored.

My dear mother Susie hoped and prayed so many years in complete futility, and died without my hand and support.
She died in such sadness as she missed my hand on hers.

My young son, the bravest of men at ten years old, endured the shame and derision by all our friends..his best classmates and their parents... as his once great father, sat imprisoned...made a vile criminal...
His teachers and the onlookers who had no idea of the facts as did we.
We knew so little then..

He persevered, and with his devastated dear mother behind him, he achieved wonders at school in sport... Music.. Academia.. And character. 

He suffered far more than anything I have endured here so cruelly condemned, in a foreign jail so far away and so spurned.
His silent agony and loss was seen by  many as they cringed helplessly not knowing what to say.
I never heard a word from him in so many years.. or even received a photograph or a letter or a card.
He was cloistered.. I was banished..

He beat all the odds.. Where there was very little money or emotional support.
He worked hard even as he heard the whispers and caught the sidelong glances that followed him everywhere.
Then at university he continued stoically and with aplomb.
He did all that...

Ive blamed myself all these years for the blatant travesty of his torment and deprivation by my captors.
It's them that have done this.
With me here in this prison, there are many fathers like me with sons much like him. 

But with every day that goes by now,
I am awakening to the extent of the crime that is being perpetrated by my captors, regardless of my innocence and non complicity in the alledged convictions layed on my head.

With every day that passes from the first day I was taken.. and made a great criminal.. I have realised, to my horror, that submission and cooperation might have benefitted my immediate welfare, but it has only destroyed my integrity and resolve.
It covered me in a patina of dust..
Subdued finally?

I've become as timid as a mouse and beg daily for crumbs of their mercy, as if it was me that had been guilty of all they chose to lay over my head.
My fragmented dignity daily laid waste by the derision in the eyes of the free men much better than me, working as cleaners or refuse collectors in the prison.

I started to delinquently believe that what my captors insisted was true, was what happened..?

And yesterday.. 22nd Feb 2018...
a kind and thoughtful prison doctor asked me whether I was guilty or whether I would after all these years, confess to all my convictions? .

And I said to him, that" today.... and every day forward from here, I will deny any complicity in these crimes and that it would remain so forever.". Or until there can be one credible witness to show that I have ever told one single untruth".
Further, I said to him that" everything I did on the day I was abducted by my captors, I would do exactly the same again, with one exception"...
"That I would be more careful not to run errands for unknown contractors and businessmen in foreign countries"

And I said this to him with the utmost confidence knowing this was my most sincere and final confession.
My  cleansing..
I did that..

Sunday, February 4, 2018

Ch (10) Thinking priorities

Here again..
Its me alone in my tiny barred cell..
And I think.. 

Through the narrow high masked window seeps a hint of the fresh open air outside, and I can hear the chatter of the tiny brown birds nearby.
The trickle of air and muted sunrise dawn light joins their music to signal a new day..
As it all creeps in past the heavy bars and punched steel plating.. ..

to me. 

But..
The world is so busy..
The birds say the same...
And I am here marking time..
So many of us here have waited so long in anticipation for some chance of reprieve and sadly..
Too many with me have not lasted. They get weaker and lose hope and just die. 

Far away from here...
My closest family, each so patient and long-suffering are being snatched away one by one as I watch so helplessly.

I know they've forgiven me for the choices I've made and we've exchanged a steady flow of love and care...
But it was never nearly enough...
Even though..
That by my very absence..
It was more. 

There is so much to be done and I'm not doing enough of it.. 
My nagging conscience drives me to maintain contact with as many folk that have found me here and seen much of this travesty. 
Folks that have shown so much compassion and care.. and many among them who need me too.

Everyone is so busy I see..
Progressing and dealing with their lives as they must..
So I try to be more like those birds outside..
And not to fret too much.
No more than only for now and today.. Knowing that tomorrow will be it's own matter. 

Priorities in this busy overstressed world are so critical to our progress and very survival but they can be re arranged. 
This tiny prison cell and all these tormenting years have done this for me.
Given me a chance to step back and take stock.

 My most passionate allegiances and obligations are naturally to my closest loved ones... closely followed by many caring friends who have shown me what a great privelage it is to love and care for someone other than oneself.

. And as things go..
Also for those that I am still getting to know..
Those with whom I will be able to share the accumulations of my soul with.. for ever. 

Thats much of what this is about...

I think..? 

Ch (13) Counting for Love

My head down..
Self consciously scuttling..
My clothes ill fitting and threadbare.. My eyes averting from others and my thoughts diverted..
Like lots of small odd sized window panes in the window frame. 
Counting the bars on my door and the light bulbs outside on the walls and the spaces in between. 
The length and breadth and the number of bricks in every row.. I catch myself counting everywhere.
And have to  consciously stop myself from doing it. 
The tiles in the bathroom or the slats over the windows..
Counting and pacing up and down and avoiding the real concerns..
The real issues that need to resolved or faced. Seconds in the minutes.. Minutes in the hours and hours in the days.. In the weeks.. In the months and years.. Years lost.. Years counting and waiting in this jail.

I count the bricks for every minute and the tiles for every month and the windows for every year. I have to stop myself from the counting obsession which siezes my frantic mind when it really doesn't know what else to do
 Perhaps like a the taming of a wild horse..
Bucking and rearing and on down to a quietness onto which there can be some reprieve and onto which new ideas can be formed. 
That constant mindless counting and futile measuring now bridled and focused into the real..
And the next stage

 I'm learning to love better I think..?