A Memoir-Novel of Tadmur Military Prison, reviewed by S. Taleghani

القوقعةBook Review: A Memoir-Novel of Tadmur Military Prison
Mustafa Khalifa. Al-Qawqa’a [The Shell]. Beirut: Dar al-Adab (http://adabmag.com/books) , 2008. [This review is based on the Arabic original]

The book is also available in French: Moustafa Khalifé. La Coquille: Prisonnier politique en Syrie. Traduction Stéphanie Dujols. Arles: Actes Sud, 2007.

By Shareah Taleghani in Syrian Studies Association Newsletter 14.2 (2009) Spring Issue , edited by Steven Tamari

In 2001, following the release of several hundred political prisoners, the Syrian government ordered the closure of its most notorious detention center—Tadmur Military Prison. Located in the desert near the ancient site of Palmyra and originally built by the French Mandate authorities, Tadmur has been described as a “kingdom of death and madness” by Syrian poet Faraj Bayraqdar and the “absolute prison” by dissident Yassin al-Haj Salih. The abject conditions of torture, daily degradation, and arbitrary execution which prisoners experienced there were the subject of intense scrutiny by both international and local human rights organizations throughout the 1980s and up until its doors were finally closed almost eight years ago. The site of a massacre of suspected members of the Muslim Brotherhood in 1980, Tadmur, according to a 2001 report by Amnesty International, was and is “synonymous with suffering”.

In the recent proliferation of contemporary Syrian prison literature, most narrative accounts of prisoners’ experiences of surviving the conditions of Tadmur have been circulated in the form of testimonials and memoirs. Aside from a website dedicated to testimonies of former Tadmur prisoners, Muhammad Salim Hammad’s prison memoir Tadmur: Shahid wa-Mashhud [Witness and Witnessed] recounts in linear and chronological fashion his experience of detention and torture at the prison as a suspected member of the Muslim Brotherhood. Faraj Bayraqdar’s own poetic prison memoir Khiyanat al-Lugha wa al-Samt [The Betrayals of Language and Silence] (2005) dedicates an entire chapter to what he calls “Tadmuriat”—brief, disjointed fragments of descriptions of terrifying events and moments he witnessed while detained at the infamous prison—moments that appear to escape the possibility of representation because they are “beyond surrealism”.

Ali Farzat

Ali Farzat

Mustafa Khalifa’s recently published work al-Qawqa’a [The Shell] (2008) is one of the first novels dedicated to the story of a detainee’s imprisonment in Tadmur. Detained himself from 1982 to 1994, the author presents the story of a seemingly apolitical protagonist who returns to his homeland after studying film in Paris and is arbitrarily detained. Musa is arrested upon arriving at the airport, brutally tortured at an interrogation center of the military security service, mistakenly placed with detainees who are members of or suspected members of the Muslim Brotherhood, and then sent to the “desert prison”. He will not learn what precise crime he had been accused of until close to the time of his release.

Like many prisoners, Musa discovers and masters the skill of oral composition and memorization. He has no paper and no pen. But throughout his detention, in his mind, he composes his diaries, memorizes them word by word and sentence by sentence, and retains each entry in his memory until he is eventually able to record them on paper after his release. Except for the very beginning, the novel is composed of these dated entries—some just a day or two apart and some separated by several months. Each entry contains parenthetical observations—editorial comments or additions that the narrator makes to his own memorized composition, seemingly at a later point in time.

Musa is never sentenced by a court, and he is never placed on trial, but he will spend twelve years in the desert prison. He is however, sentenced to silence by his fellow detainees, when he is overheard telling his torturers that first, he is a Christian and then declaring himself an atheist and therefore in no way affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood. Ostracized completely by the rest of the inmates in his mahja’ (dormitory or communal cell), he describes himself as withdrawing into his shell. The subtitle of the novel is “diary of a secret observer” (yawmiat mutalassis). Musa is constantly “peering” or “creeping out of” his shell; he listens attentively, meticulously observes, and diligently records all of the horrors he witnesses in the prison.

From the beginning of his enforced sojourn in detention, his life is threatened not only by the brutality of daily forms of torture and degradation, but by the Islamist extremists in his cell who believe that he should be executed as an unbeliever. Rescued and then protected by the moderate pacifist Shaykh Darwish and a physician who treated the wounds afflicted by his torture, Dr. Zahi, he nonetheless remains isolated for ten years. No one will speak to him because he is impure—this silencing imposed not just by his jailors but by his fellow inmates mimics the muting of thousands of political prisoners who passed through Tadmur and other sites in Syria’s infamous carceral archipelago who have never been able to tell their stories.

Nonetheless, Musa speaks through his diary, and in doing so, he introduces his reader to a gruesome lexicon of torture and detention. He tells of the “reception” the prisoners receive upon their arrival t o the prison: each is forced to drink the putrid filthy water from a sewage drain. Those who resist are beaten to death. Those who drink are treated to more torture or “hospitality” as the guards call it. Day after day, the torture continues. Daily activities can bring arbitrary death. He describes the “breather” or break where prisoners are routinely whipped, lashed, and beaten. He recounts how prisoners were not allowed to raise their eyes towards their jailors. He recollects the warden coming into the cell and randomly executing fourteen of his cellmates because of a threat he received in the outside world. He witnesses the weekly execution and trials of inmates in the courtyard through a tiny hole he discovers in the wall of his communal cell.

He also methodically describes daily aspects of prison life—surviving the baths, illicit prayers, the confining, airless dimensions of the mahja’, the brutal shaving of prisoners heads and faces, the secret forms of communication between prison cells, the innovative modes prisoners use to treat the sick and wounded when deprived of medical care, and the myriad forms of resistance that detainees develop despite the ever looming threat of death. Musa will remain in complete isolation from his cellmates for ten years.

After nearly a decade, he is once again confronted by an extremist calling for Musa’s trial, judgment, and execution by the other prisoners; finally, he breaks his silence and vocally confronts his would-be executioner. From that moment, he becomes intimate friends with Nasim—an inmate who was detained as a hostage due to his brother’s affiliation with the Muslim Brotherhood. Like others, Nasim will eventually suffer a breakdown; his dissent into madness occurs when three brothers are executed after their father was promised that the youngest would be spared.

Abruptly, in twelfth year of detention, Musa is transferred from the prison back to the military interrogation center. He learns that his influential uncle has been attempting to obtain his release. But before he is actually freed, he will be interrogated in three different branches of the security services because he refuses to confess to belonging to any political organization, to write a thank you letter to the Syrian president for his release, or to renounce involvement in politics. After his release, Musa returns to his family home that he inherited from his father and lives with his niece and her family. Despite family pressure to marry and to work, he does neither. He isolates himself from the world around him. Eventually, he learns that Nasim as well as others he was imprisoned with have been released. Nasim, however, has never recovered from his breakdown, and takes his own life in front of Musa after a brief reunion of former cellmates.

At the end of the novel, there is no sense of celebratory liberation for Musa. Instead, noting that he has never truly been released from prison, he describes himself as having lost the ability to communicate, as perceiving an insurmountable abyss between himself and all others, and as carrying a grave within himself. Rather than creep out of his “shell” to watch and record what is happening around him, he remarks: “I do not want to look outside. I close its holes in order to turn my gaze entirely to the inside, to me, to my self”.

Narrated in stark, simple language, the basic plot of The Shell, along with the framing device of a prison journal, will be familiar to readers of prison literature. Khalifa’s direct, documentary style lacks elements of formal experimentation seen in other recent works of Syrian prison literature such as the fragmented, stream of consciousness narration in Hasiba ‘Abdalrahman’s prison novel Al-Sharnaqa [The Cocoon] (1999) or Malik Daghastani’s Duwar al-Hurriya [The Vertigo of Freedom] (2002). However, the absence of experiment with form in the text does not detract from impact of the narrative on the reader. The history of Tadmur Military Prison, the stories of the human lives detained and lost inside its walls, are still in the process of being written, and Mustafa Khalifa’s The Shell marks a significant contribution to the beginning of that process.

*Shareah Taleghani is a PhD candidate in modern Arabic literature in the Dept. of Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies at New York University. She is completing her dissertation on the relationships between contemporary Syrian and Arabic prison literature, human rights discourse, and literary experimentalism.

Syrian Studies Association Newsletter 14.2 (2009) Spring Issue .

Comments (5)


 

trustquest said:

Arabic version of this very important historical novel can be found at the Damascus Center for the Theoretical and Civil Rights Studies site:
http://www.dctcrs.org/

And can be read under this link
http://www.dctcrs.org/s6724.htm

The novel is testimony of the hegemony of the regime in the absence of public eyes while the political party has been completely neutralized and muted. It comes as a surprise for anyone who lived that era and shed different lights of the life under dictator Assad’s the father.

November 30th, 2009, 1:59 am

 

jad said:

Dear Trustquest,
I want to thank you for two things:
The first one is for destroying my day by making me read the whole memoir, which made me realize how many inhuman people we have between us and how low we are on that scale of becoming a state that respect it citizens.
I hate to admit that but I did cry reading this part:

“ما كنت أخشاه.. حاصل. آه يا أمي ويا أبي، هل قلتما أو قال أحدكما إنه يتمنى أن يراني قبل أن يموت؟ .. هل تسبب سجني وغيابي بتعجيل موتكما؟.. أدفع نصف حياتي مقابل أن أضع رأسي لمدة خمس دقائق على صدر أمي.

أنور زوج لينا يقف أمامي مرتبكاً، يراقبني، سألته إن كان يعرف مكان الدفن، أومأ برأسه أن نعم.

كتب ورقة وضعها على الطاولة. انطلقنا نحو المقبرة، وصلنا، اسم أبي وأمي واضحان على الحجر، رسم أنور إشارة الصليب على صدره…

وقفت قليلاً أتمعن الكتابة ولا أفهم شيئاً، احتضنت الحجارة الباردة وأرحت رأسي عليها، أغمضت عيني… شعرت براحة كبيرة… أوشكت أن أنام، تذكرت أنور فوقفت. في داخلي شعور بأن علي واجباً ما اتجاه الموت يجب القيام به، اتجهت نحو القبلة… القبر بيني وبين مكة، فتحت كفي باتجاه السماء وقرأت الفاتحة، ثم وبشكل آلي… صليت صلاة الجنازة!.”

The second is the reminder of our country’s reality, its ugly past and maybe its present, what is still hiding behind our prisons, those personnel who have nothing to fear from killing an innocent Syrian because he didn’t agree with them, and how much we the average Syrian are lost between the two evils; the radicals and the security body, although we have nothing to do with either of them.
I guess that part of Syria history will always haunt us and we wont be able to go over it. It was and still too evil.

November 30th, 2009, 3:38 am

 

trustquest said:

If you remember Jad, I mentioned this story way back on this blog and I asked you to read it to get a taste of the bitterness it leaves in any Syrian especially the emigrated ones. I believe on the level of literature, this novel will have recognition as the best written piece on a whole era and will be recognized nationally and internationally. The strange thing is that when the younger generation read the story, he thinks it is a virtual story composed in the mind of the author and they treated it this way, but only us who lived that era know the reality and its ugly face.

All what was left in my memory from the 80s before reading the memoir was the begging of more than one family I knew to one of the local Sunni kahuna in the government to do or talk to the big guys or the big kahuna regarding their sons who they were sure did not do any crime and even they did not belong to the MB. That authority could not say a word, he and others and the whole population were lost their manhood and turned into eunuchs. But when I read the story after 30 years from that instance, I felt that I was just a stupid person thought that he knows. A Christian film maker spent 12 years in prison and almost lost his life because he mouthed the president while he was in a party in Paris, so now and for ever, is anyone safe if he mouths the dictator’s son or grandsons or wife like the recent imprisonment of the one who did not stop others from mouthing the president wife on Aljazeera TV. The act of the Alawite doctor in the prison will hunt me to the rest of my life. The savage revenge of the sect from wide segment of population for the act of group of criminals resulted in silencing and slaving the whole population for good 30 years till now, which is in my view the longest continuous crime. I wonder at the same time what punishment the history is holding in its coming pages, when and how.

November 30th, 2009, 2:35 pm

 

jad said:

Dear Trustquest,
I think I missed when you referred me to this beautiful piece of literature, my mistake.
I also agree with you that when we both read the book we both had the same understanding of that era, we both knew that all what is written there did happened and it wasn’t a fiction, not only us, I think all Syrians knew bits and pieces of what happened behind the high walls of those horrific political prisons and the security centres and still happening I guess, but we all tried to ignored that, we all rejected our human values because we trusted that everybody who got there deserve what he gets for the terror they spread between us, however, we didn’t know that the tragedy was beyond couple hundreds of evil radicals, the government went further than that and no logic or system was put to deal with the situation at hands, it was more of a revenge from everybody to prove how brutal and inhumane our people in charge can become.
I think we treated the whole situation similar to our way as human of treating people who beg in the street, we all know notice their presence, we all know that they are poor, we all know how miserable their lives are, how many times they’ve been assaulted and stepped over, how much they suffered in silence yet, we all ignore them, convince our selves that they are liars and thieves and some of them own apartment buildings and make their begging a private business, so for couple of liars and thugs we turn the whole community down and we refuse even to listen to their stories.
As I wrote earlier, the healing process will take a very long time for everybody until we come clean to ourselves and acknowledge the tragedy we all went through, every side of this tragedy must come clean not for their own sake but for us, those average Syrians who are in the middle and get lost between the two evils not knowing what to do.

November 30th, 2009, 6:12 pm