14 - 20 February 2002
Issue No.573
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Al-Ahram Weekly Online 14 - 20 February 2002 Issue No.573 |
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A slow walk to freedom
A free man once again,Saadeddin Ibrahim speaks to Jailan Halawi about his memories of nine-months of incarceration
Sitting relaxed at his office at the American University in Cairo (AUC) on Monday, sociology professor and human rights activist Saadeddin Ibrahim appeared as affable and cheerful as ever. It was only when he stood up and walked towards me to greet me did his stiff walk reveal that everything was not quite back to normal yet.
How did the renowned scholar endure nine months in prison? What were his plans for the future and how did he spend his first days out of prison?
"For the first 24 hours following my release, I felt very serene; dazed, as if in a twilight zone. It was so funny. After nine months confined to a two-metre-square cell, where everything was at arm's length, I felt so disoriented in my home. Everything looked so huge. Moving from my bedroom to the bathroom or my study seemed like an endless walk," Ibrahim said with a smile. "Even now, I still feel a bit disoriented. But day after day, things are getting back to normal."
Ibrahim was arrested in June 2000 with 27 associates of the Ibn Khaldoun Centre for Developmental Studies, which he headed. Ibrahim and his aides were imprisoned for 45 days for interrogation and were later released on bail pending a trial.
Last May, a state security court sentenced him to seven years in prison for charges that included tarnishing Egypt's image, embezzlement and accepting foreign money without government consent. His 27 associates were sentenced to terms ranging between one and seven years. On 6 February, after two hearing cancellations, the Court of Cassation finally announced that Ibrahim would be granted a re-trial. Ibrahim and his associates were released on 7 February from Mazra'at Tora Prison.
"I visited prison as a researcher in 1977, but never imagined that, 24 years later, I would be an inmate," Ibrahim said.
Ibrahim recounts having been assured by his lawyers of his acquittal before the 21 May hearing. When the judges took three hours to deliberate after the hearing, however, he started worrying. The announced ruling confirmed his doubts.
File photos of Ibrahim lecturing, in the dock during his trial and last week bidding prison guards farewell and, free at last, warmly hugged by his grand-daughter (photos: Amr Gamal & Magdi Abdel-Said)
"The initial shock took less than 10 minutes," Ibrahim said, adding that seeing his wife and daughter "very composed" gave him a lot of strength. Determined to continue the struggle in support of her husband, it was then that Barbara Ibrahm said her famous words in the courtroom: "This is not the end of the road."
Reminiscing on the bleak day, Ibrahim said that he immediately accepted his fate, recalling that he comforted other defendants sentenced in the same case as they rode the prison van that transported them to Tora Prison.
He said he had read the memoirs of numerous Egyptian and foreign public figures on their prison experiences, which made him "intellectually prepared" and familiarised with the "prison literature."
Yet, as he recollected, the worst part of the nine-month experience in jail were the first two nights. "My cell mate was a poor Egyptian peasant and a police informer, who was in a state of total breakdown," he said. Ibrahim said the man, accused of bribery and fraud, had a large family to support and was taken directly from court to prison, without his family being present. The man's family, Ibrahim said, found out about his five-year term through the press.
"I spent the first two nights comforting him. He cried constantly until I assured him that my family will look after his and provide them with anything they needed," Ibrahim said.
Unlike his associates, Ibrahim and his cell mate were confined in a semi-isolated ward. "I must have been considered either too important or too dangerous. Other prisoners were not allowed to talk to me," he said. Prison officials later told him they were concerned about his safety.
Nevertheless, Ibrahim said that, within permissible limits, he was granted rights. "I had access to television, radio and newspapers, as well as visits," he assured.
A special guard was appointed to make sure Ibrahim would not be mingling or conversing with other inmates. Reda El-Sherrir, or Reda the Villain, as Ibrahim refers to him, was a short, well-built policeman from the special police forces. The "villain" would hover around Ibrahim during the day to make sure the rules were strictly followed.
Still, like any prisoner, Ibrahim was allowed four hours a day for walks outside his cell. It was during this time that he managed to talk to inmates briefly -- some of them would even use sign language in a show of solidarity.
Prison even had its good moments for Ibrahim. To inmates whose education was limited, Ibrahim was their "ray of hope." Ironically, some inmates thought that Ibrahim's release would lead to theirs. "Each time a foreign dignitary visited me, inmates would assume the entire prison would be freed on my account," Ibrahim said with a chuckle. "Minds doing this much wishful thinking are desperate."
Ibrahim learned to be fatalistic in prison. "Life had to go on. Since I was not in control of when and how I would be released, I spent my time reading, praying and writing," he said.
Ibrahim said the time he spent in prison was quite productive, as he started writing two books, as well as his memoirs. One of his books tackles the concept of "the culture of denial," while the second is on democracy.
On 6 February at around 2pm, Ibrahim suddenly heard the prisoners cheering loudly. "At first I thought the cheering was for a soccer match. But a minute later, Reda the Villain approached me with a big smile on his face, announcing that I was granted a re-trial and, hence, a release," he said.
At night there was a zaffa -- a festive procession carried out by prisoners when any inmate is released -- in celebration of Ibrahim's discharge. "I don't know whether it is empathy, sympathy, joy, or just a sign of hope that, sooner or later, they too will be released," he said.
The next afternoon, Ibrahim, his wife, daughter and grand-daughter "frisked" away to his daughter's mother-in-law's house where the family gathered in jubilation. On 8 February, the happy family travelled to their villa in the desert near Wadi Al-Natroun, north-west of Egypt, in search of peace and relaxation. "We walked and talked and sat on the balcony, not believing it was really over," he whispered with a sigh of relief.
On Monday, Ibrahim was back at his office on the ground floor of the Social Science department at AUC, where he was warmly welcomed by his colleagues and students. With his typically serene smile, he said, "I am the eternal optimist. If you are not one, then you have no place in public life."
AUC, where Ibrahim has taught since 1975, issued a statement after his release saying he would resume teaching next semester.
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