“….È lì che sai che alcune vite non sono così sacre. Non c’è nota positiva con cui chiudere oggi” È stato un risveglio particolarmente scioccante per me oggi, dopo aver ricevuto un’altra, pesantissima lettera. I dettagli l trovate di seguito.
What a world. What a country. What a life. No respect for the elders. No mercy for the young. No regard to human lives. On Tuesday 25th of December. The biggest protest in the history of the current government was held. It was a peaceful march towards the presidential palace. To simply hand a note to the President and his government to tell them about our frustrations and our anger towards their policies and peacefully ask them to simply leave. We asked for less than what we deserve. We asked them to simply just give us a chance to try and save this country. We didn’t ask that they pay us back what they took from us through the past 30 years. We didn’t ask that they be tortured or beaten or killed like the millions they’ve killed in wars and the thousands they’ve killed in Ghost Houses and the hundreds who are being killed everyday during our peaceful protests. The reply: shooting live ammo at the protesters, snipers on every rooftop hunting us down like wild animals. Arresting hundreds to be taken to god knows where and what happens there is beyond words to describe. Who’s your idol? Who’s your role model? Mine is my father. He is the strongest man I’ve seen and though he’s not perfect, he is the best there is. On Tuesday 25th of December my dear father was arrested during the protests. And I’m going to take you through what happened to him as he described it to me.
A 70 years old nothing less than a gentleman, was literally dragged to the police truck. The lacerations on his legs and back are still bleeding. He was then thrown on his face onto the truck. His whole face is bruised and his eye is still swollen. In his own words they were taken into a house where they were beaten by batons then blind folded. He was then hit by a baton to the back of his head and he almost blacked out then but being the man he is he kept his head high and never showed a sign of weakness which meant he needed more beating to the soulless creatures that are the Government’s Ghouls.
Once well beaten he was driven to a place far away and where no one can hear him scream. He was sat in a room that smells like feces and he was beaten there again. He was then laid down on his stomach with a police officer’s foot on his head pushing his face against the floor, while yelling “ You dare protest against us you cockroaches?” at the greatest man alive. He was then taken into an interrogation room where he was asked a million questions and he was asked wether he was just a protestor or an organizer among a million other questions. Bravely he answered all of the answers with every answer met by a boot to the back of his head throwing him off his chair. A 70 years old man! A 70 years old man! The heartless soulless nature of our government never fails to surprise me. He was then taken again to that room that smells like feces and again he was beaten without mercy and was again stepped on by a worthless scum who kept yelling the same thing over and over again “ that’s where you belong you cockroaches, beneath our feet”.
After hours of beating and interrogation he was on his way to passing out, he was almost unconscious, at which stage he was splashed by freezing cold water then immediately hit on the head by a baton then smacked over his ears which ruptured his left eardrum causing him to bleed out of his left ear. He was then forced to sign a piece of paper which he didn’t know what was written on it because the scum who throw him on the truck broke his glasses once he threw him in.
You’d think that’s all. He was then beaten until he was unconscious and driven away. He was thrown in a remote place over a pile of sand where he gained his consciousness just to realize that he has no money no ID no shoes and only pieces of blood colored clothes left on him because the rest was torn apart by the batons and lashes he had to endure. He managed to contact us and he managed to get to Khartoum ie; the capital where he protested. In other words he was thrown half way between the capital and the next state which is Algazeira.
Today I learnt that not all life is sacred. And that not all life is worth the air they breathe. When you see your idol beaten down. When you see the strongest man alive being treated like a piece of crap by a worthless waste of a man, that’s when you know that some lives aren’t that sacred after all.
The world isn’t a better place with all of us in it, the world is a lot better with some of us gone. Living isn’t enough to live. Sometimes death can be a mercy. But is it? Is it truly? I might not know because I’m still breathing, but I swear on everything that’s holy in this world I wish to have been dead to seeing my father treated that way. I wish to die now and not see him go through this life like this.
There’s no positive note to end on today. Only sadness and hopes that this might actually make a difference. I heard somewhere that a pen is a stronger weapon than a gun or a sword. Until now, that hasn’t been the case.
From the broken heart of Sudan.
Here I am 