Ch (12) September Breeze

Hello my friends im back again
with an old missive along the way
I am the same today, only
with a little bit more to say.
I am neither sad nor complaining,
but I have to keep on trying.
To face the days.

No more thought of whining
or tedious dismay..
My many friends now firm behind me every step of the way.

I would love to share the story of many here far worse off than me.
And to let you all know right now
just how much you have helped
me to see.
And how to better face the days

So many here have fallen foul of a world where wars and greed hold sway.Where millions of impoverished children and migrants, raped and tortured as the silent world looks on in impotent dismay.

Much I've learnt  and written down is saved for all to see.
My life, my efforts, my many sins declared, aknowledged
My battered heart now mercifully freed.

The years have taken their toll of health, family and fun and extracted all their needs.
After Ive seen the bent of truths
and laws and justice.
Banks and global ethics.. hippocrisy...national debt and bribery..
No more trust

Shattered efforts at Human rights.. political correctness..
Democracy and its sickness and corruption...
all said and done.
Nobody is perfect, and blaming others is easier and sadly seems more fun.

Read through these records please...
as critically as you choose..
and see that there are many like me, who have tripped over some tiny ruse.

I'm one of many thousands of voiceless prisoners so abused
and a lot far worse off than me, so cruelly roughshod accused.

Today I write this for all for them, 
and for whom there will be no reprieve.
I myself am tired now and will be  taking a bit of leave.
Perhaps September though?
soon to feel the breeze..?

My illegal fone is dying and I've said all I really need.
I'd guess you've heard this all before,
but it's my constant hope that many will take heed.

I've been so drained and weakened by this long and sad adventure through thick and thin,
but I have gained much relief by sharing in this fight..
Cascades of care and support and loving encouragement my heart is now bright.
I am so grateful as my clarinet sings, but never to forget those trapped indefinitely in these dark wings.

But now my efforts are for those with me .. who will never say a thing...
The great ogre of global justice has his way unhearing..

I am compelled to persevere with  exposing their silent plight,
For them their torment has no hope of reprieve,
or imminent end in sight...

So we see how busy the world is,
with its own injustices and delinquent human rights. .
The mechanisms are all so complex like good sense lost in a thick fog at night. 
A blend of greed and politics that obscures what should be right.

I am not running away ..

No more futile flight.

Now to face the day

September breeze
We will see

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..

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..? 

Dinah analysis

> Gone Fishing<

A euphemism for

Gone awol who the fuck knows where

---------------------

I understand completely mention of

Debilitating
Time warp
Regret
Loss
Anger
Apathy
Churning

And the tic toc of it and the grind

It's mentally and emotionally paralyzingly. 

It's PTSD
And so much more than that
It's a raging monster
And a small grieving child

It's a time warp of sensory deprivation while the world hurtles forward in a kaleidoscope of colors bleeding together

Feelings of vengeance are a fascinating bed fellow that both feeds our impotence and our will to survive, it

Whatever IT is.

When the theft has included that priceless commodity TIME
The knowledge of the profundity of the loss, irretrievable, induces a grief and rage that is its own crippling companion.

It takes enormous fortitude to stand steady and stay the course.

It takes a personal strength not often acknowledged, to not buckle at the knee and give in to giving up.

Mostly on oneself

It takes rage.

And anger too

Channeled in the same way a demolition is controlled

Unlike the  building which when brought down is permanently down,

We as humans must rise up the next day
Again, to repeat and rinse and rinse and rinse

That is the blessing, and curse of our human condition, hope

And the resolve to stay the course, dining at the banquet of anger, grief, fear, apathy and channeling it in such a way that it raises us up day after day despite or in spite of our moments of questioning the sense of it all. 

I believe the sense of it is internal far more than anything external. In so much as our control is conditional and limited in large measure by our ability or inability to see and feel colors and give wings to the paintbrush of our inner canvas. 

Ps: I fucking hate fishing !

Most tedious monotonous over rated exercise in the human lexicon although I will admit that wading in a foaming fast moving stream with a woven basket net to catch a dinner cooked over an open flame under a blanket of stars before crawling into a sleeping bag wedged into a bed of moss and pine needles, watching ribbons of mist curling beyond the dying fire was a heady experience complete with smelly fishy hands that no amount of river washing with gravel could quite eliminate. 

Later I remembered that ash from the fire would have killed the fish smell.  Too late ! 

.  . 

❤️

Letter from axel 18nov 2017

Dear Gareth
In the course of two and a half years l have got to know you well enough to understand what your life is all about. Your story and its ramifications, trials, terrors, tribulations, temptations, truths and untruths told so searingly honest has been a veritable education to me, who thought l had one.
It is a tale of profit and loss, courage and endurance such as l have not encountered in  all literature.
Having covered  most of the journals there still many questions l want to ask, but you must be so tired of them by now that l must ask them after my work is almost done.
It is a modern story of gathering and scattering according to seasons the is recorded in Ecclesiastes.
Most impressive is the underlying faith you have despite the hostile environment regarding that.

I hope l live long enough to complete this so that justice to your cause can be done.The journals map the route you have taken  through family, friendships, education, army, profession, business, life experience, need, compensation, fortunes gained and lost, freedom won and lost, and existential angst, trauma and pain in the very core of your being. At this point you are surrounded by positive people all working in your cause.
These appear as bright stars in a darkening universe, with Gavin, Carlos, Nick, Kim and Yianni, Kim S and Shireen prominent among them.

The trouble in Kim S's life caused by her son's erratic educational progress and flirtation with harmful substances has occasioned intense night prayers in sleep and out of sleep from me.

They see a psycholgist today.
Then Shireen's trauma that night has similarly brought about night prayers through broken sleep and quiet awakenings. My own mother, an imperious lady with whom l had a strained and difficult relationship, would say l can't live people's lives for them. True, but one of my characteristics is empathy. I suppose it is this feature l could  use to train emotional casualties and social misfits at school through drama the rapy.
But now all that is gone, and here l am still doing what l did all those years ago. Healing through story telling. Some folk, like the two ladies recently introduced, are  capable of great and vivid articulation. This is what becomes so clear to me - all possess a strong presencd, an incisive style of relationship and recording of their stories so vividly that l am in awe of such reality and what l must learn still. There can be no substitute for real life when it comes to writing. You have it, l have it, they have it. All as individual as a fingerprint and as universal as a galaxy of stars.You will know then there us not a page in your collected writings that does not affect a visceral response in the reader. Because your experience is so real it must reach a wider readership. I am only a courier. TS Eliot, one of my favourite poets, says in Little Gidding something to the effect that after all we have experienced we arrive at the place  where we began and know it for the first time.This is indeed what has happened to me. I just hope  l don't  run around in circles like a marble in a revolving cup.

Yours, as always,  in the cause of free spirits

AXEL B

Here’s wishing you a safe countdown to your release and  your freedom.

 

I know the challenges are going to be great, but at least you will have a chance to recover from the trauma and the endless waiting, not to mention the dislocation of your life. You have indeed been blessed by your friends and your family during this period.

 

The most important thing that I have gathered from this saga is that you will have left behind you a number of sincere friendships and a fine example of selflessness. Your transition from bewildered and frantic prisoner to a balanced and well-controlled inmate may have left a lasting impression of both those with whom you were incarcerated and those who incarcerated you. That I believe is the central tone of the writing. There is still much to write yet and edit. So again patience becomes essential.

 
10th aug 2018 book progress

Some of the work I have done has required research as you know, and this was not easy, nor was it pleasant. Circumstances may have changed, but human nature stays essentially the same. There have been times when I have shared your trauma in the second and the third degree to the extent of needing anti-depressants myself. Compassion is an essential sentiment, but can be costly.
If anything, I have learned never to take anything for granted, especially the goodwill of others and the freedom surrounding one alone and in company. I shall continue working in your interests (i.e. writing) as long as it may take.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: "Axel and Ruby" <axelruby@gmail.com>
Date: Feb 28, 2018 7:49 AM
Subject: Upping the stakes
To: "Gareth Rutherford" <rutherfordgareth@gmail.com>
Cc:

Dear Gareth

It comes as no surprise that your stance on your innocence in the course of the last ten years has not changed. The persons responsible  for your present circumstances have benefitted largely by your sentence and incarceration, and most of them are  unchallenged.

It is my  belief that the work l have been doing over the last year has not been in vain. It slows down then it picks  up pace as l research the background of each section.

The negatives have been the climax of the setuo, arrest, trial and incarceration. The positives  have been your assimilation  into a new and potentially hostile environment which may have (and may yet) altered your thinking and attitude. You have made circumstantial friendships and strong interpersonal connections. You have adapted yourself to the milieus of society and faith within the context  you find yourself. You have earned the respect of your jailers. People  far and wide have supported your cause. All of us outside know, love  and care for  you,  but have been overwhelmed by the fact that despite your innocence, you have been kept inside relentless of the injustice of your sentence. Finally, the damage done  to your family is unconscionable. That alone deserves the utmost compassion and the condemnation  if those who pinned this charge in you. I know about taquiya, and jihad methods, and know it is embedded in the regional  faith. I have no issues to discuss in that regard since  it is a regional belief, and particular to its people.  It does become very frightening when such principles  are deployed to entrap and destroy the worthy and the innocent to negative advantage in the extention of an imperial and supremacist dream.

Small man you may be in the eyes of the general public who  know little about  about you. But to us you  stand tall as a giant in spirit and principle.

I continue  to write and hope l shall complete my work to facilitate your freedom. 

Yours 

APB. 

Just thought you might be interested to see this letter by my ghostwriter.. Axel in simonstown

Book progress from axel Nov 2017

Dear Gareth
In the course of two and a half years l have got to know you well enough to understand what your life is all about. Your story and its ramifications, trials, terrors, tribulations, temptations, truths and untruths told so searingly honestly, has been a veritable education to me, who thought l had one.
It is a tale of profit and loss, courage and endurance such as l have not encountered in  all literature.
Having covered  most of the journals there are still many questions l want to ask, but you must be so tired of them by now that l must ask them after my work is almost done.

It is a modern story of gathering and scattering according to the seasons as  recorded in Ecclesiastes.
Most impressive is the underlying faith you have, despite the hostile environment regarding that.
I hope l live long enough to complete this so that justice to your cause can be done.
The journals map the route you have taken  through family, friendships, education, army, profession, business, life experience, need, compensation, fortunes gained and lost, freedom won and lost, and existential angst, trauma and pain in the very core of your being. At this point you are surrounded by positive people all working in your cause. These appear as bright stars in a darkening universe, with Gavin, Carlos, Nick, Kim and Yianni, Kim S and Shireen prominent among them.

The brief trouble in Kim S's life caused by her son's erratic educational progress and flirtation with harmful substances occasioned intense night prayers in sleep and out of sleep from me. They saw a psycholgist today.
Then Shireen's trauma that night has similarly brought about night prayers through broken sleep and quiet awakenings.

My own mother, an imperious lady with whom l had a strained and difficult relationship, would say l can't live people's lives for them.
True, but one of my characteristics is empathy.
I suppose it is this feature l could  use to train emotional casualties and social misfits at school through drama the rapy. But now all that is gone, and here l am still doing what l did all those years ago. Healing through story telling.

Some folk, like the two ladies recently introduced, are  capable of great and vivid articulation. This is what becomes so clear to me - all possess a strong presence, and an incisive style of relationship and recording of their stories so vividly that l am in awe of such reality, and what l must learn still. There can be no substitute for real life when it comes to writing.
You have it, l have it, they have it.
All as individual as a fingerprint and as universal as a galaxy of stars.
You will know then, there is not a page in your collected writings that does not affect a visceral response in the reader. Because your experience is so real it must reach a wider readership. I am only a courier. 

TS Eliot, one of my favourite poets, says in Little Giddings, something to the effect that, after all we have experienced we arrive at the place  where we began, and know it for the first time.
This is indeed what has happened to me. I just hope  l don't  run around in circles like a marble in a revolving cup.

Yours, as always,  in the cause of free spirits
AXEL B