In the last episode Ghassan shared with us part of his experience in detention. It stopped at the point when ‘fabricated’ confessions of the medical staff were filmed to be televised on Bahrain TV. What was the price they had been promised? A Royal Pardon, after which they would be released. However, there was no pardon, nor was there a release.

Until that day, Zahraa, who was also in detention, had no news of her husband. Neither of them had any means of contacting the other. However, after the confessions were filmed, Jalila Al-A’ali, Nada Dhaif and Rula Al-Saffar went back to Zahraa with some news. 

“That was the first time I heard anything about Ghassan,” Zahraa says. “They [her cell companions] knew how anxious I was about him and how much I was worried about his safety. They told me, ‘Reassure yourself, we heard Ghassan’s voice and he seemed very strong and in good health.’ Then they said to me teasingly, ‘He had

memorised them [i.e. his confessions] well.’ We all laughed and I said, ‘They must have promised to release him’.”

Jalila Al-A’ali was the last to be filmed reading her confessions. Because she was the last in turn, and because she was so tired, she asked them to remove her blindfold. They told her, ‘It’s better to keep your blindfold; you may not like what you will see.’ But she insisted, ‘I’m too tired. Please remove it.’ When they did, she was shocked to see the medics sitting in one hall, handcuffed and blindfolded, their heads shaved off, and had lost so much weight. They were in a deplorable state. She couldn’t believe her eyes. They had changed so much that she couldn’t recognise some of them. She truly wished she hadn’t seen that sight. Zahraa continues the story, “When Jalila came back she told us what she had seen. She was so moved and very upset. However, at that moment, the most important thing for me was to know that Ghassan was still alive and that he was in good health.”

Ghassan continues the story of his imprisonment. “After that role-play of confessions, we were given the clothes our families had brought us over one month ago. It was only one change of clothes. Also we were allowed to take a bath once a week. Every Friday, they gave each one of us a few drops of Shampoo, for washing our hair and body and everything else. We had to put on the same dirty clothes again.”

“We also had our heads shaved off once every ten days. We were given a complete shave: hair, beard and moustache, all in one go and one after the other. They used the same shaving machine for all, no pause for cleaning or change of blades. We felt immense humiliation, a feeling which would haunt us for the rest of our lives.”

“We remained in the Dry Dock Prison until May 31st,” Ghassan continues. “We learnt from the new detainees joining us in our cell that the period of National Security was reduced. There was a news leak with clear hints of upcoming release for detainees; that we, the medics in particular, would be the first batch to be set free in response to international pressure on the government. Even the police kept telling us that we were going to be the first batch to get out of prison. We waited for that day with high hopes and optimism.”

“However, on May 31st, we were transferred to a new warehouse. One of the officers came after lunch and said, ‘Hurry up everyone. Get up and take your things with you.’ Each one of us got up carrying with him his cup, mattress, sheet, and pillow.

We hurried out of the warehouse to have, for the first time, a clear sight of the prison we had been living in. Usually we were blindfolded before we moved from one place to the other. Now we could see sun for the first time after so long. We ran carrying our scarce belongings to find ourselves in a new, warehouse. The new place was dark and forlorn; its closed, impenetrable cells had no openings for sunlight. The only merit we saw was that each cell had its own washroom and toilet. And, because the cells were smaller, the number of inhabitants was reduced from 14 to 10 detainees per cell. Our move to a new warehouse was

depressingly tragic. It implied that they had no intention to release us.”

“We remained in the new warehouse until June 5th,” Ghassan continues his story. “In the evening a policeman came in and told us to get ourselves ready after Dawn Prayer the next morning. ‘Where to?’ we asked. ‘That’s not your business,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is to shower and get ready in clean outfits.’ At that time, each one of us had another change of clothes.”

The medics thought it was only a matter of hours before they embraced freedom. Their hearts almost burst with happiness. They rejoiced with each other at the idea of seeing sunlight again. Ghassan says, “Sadiq Ja’far and I had agreed with ourselves to spend the whole night before our release in prayer and worship. And so we did that night.It was the month of Rajab, and I was fasting, as I usually did every year. Dr. Nader Diwani was also fasting.”

“However, the morning of 6th June came with the first of its many surprises. They made us stand facing the wall; handcuffed and blindfolded us, then took us out of the warehouse to a mini-bus. On the way to the bus, we were outrageously and severely beaten, slapped and kicked; with thick batons, hands and boots; on all parts of the body. Dr. Abdulla Al-durazi got his nose broken and started to bleed.”

“Adding insult to injury, the mini-bus had a capacity of 7 passengers only while we were 15 men in handcuffs. They shoved us into the mini-bus in a very degrading manner. The handcuffs were cutting into our wrists. With every hump or pit on the road, the car jolted and the handcuffs cut even deeper into our flesh. Dr. Saeed Al-Samaheeji was screaming with pain.”

Ghassan continues. “We had no clue what was going on, or what was going to happen next. Why did they beat us so hard? Why the insults and degradation if we were going to be released? Was it possible that they were dropping us at one of the Police Stations for our families to come and pick us up? That was what we heard in the case of those who had been released before us; that families picked up the released prisoners from Police Stations.”

Until that moment, the medics did not want to believe what was happening to them. They did not want to believe

 anything other than that they were on their way to meet with precious FREEDOM. What was there in store for them? Ghassan tells us more.

“When we got to our destination, we got down from the mini-bus and, in the process, they gave us another beating. Later we came to know that there were other buses with more detainees joining us there. We were a batch of 40 people, all of whom were medics or medical staff. We didn’t know where we were, nor did we have any clue of what was going on.”

“They began calling out our names, and this was how we knew who else was with us. They left us standing outside in the sun for two hours. We had longed for the sun, but our blindfolds prevented us from seeing it. Instead, its immense heat burned us. It was a very hot summer day.”

Until before that moment, the medical staff did not know they were being brought to stand before a court-martial. They were divided into two groups of 20 each. The first group began with the name of Dr. Ali Al-Ekri and ended with Dr. Saeed Al-Samaheeji. The second group began with the name of Dr. Sadiq Ja’far and included Drs. Sadiq Abdulla, Aref Rajab, Shahid Fadhel and the paramedics. 

Ghassan says, “We asked, ‘Why are you dividing us into two groups?’ They didn’t answer. When they removed our blindfolds we knew we were in court. They called upon the names in the first group. We went in. That was the first time I saw my wife. She was with a group of our female colleagues standing in the line in front of me. I knew that Zahraa had been released, and later I discovered that she was being trialled with me for the same criminal charge. It was a great shock for me. I couldn’t stop my self from crying. The judge was calling my name but my tears prevented me from responding with ‘Yes’. I was just standing there, looking at my family and crying. I saw my father and my sisters. I never expected to see myself standing in court, behind bars, let alone in that degrading state. That was so unbearable.”

Zahraa was set free on May 4th. Along with Nada Dhaif, Jalila Al-A’ali, Fatima Haji and others. They thought that, with their release, things were now over. However, that wasn’t the case. Zahraa continues to tell us how. “On Friday, June 3rd, we got a call from the Criminal Investigation Department telling us that we were required to stand before the court-martial on Sunday. That was a disturbing surprise. ‘Oh, God! Isn’t it over yet?’ I thought.” 

Zahraa goes on, “On Sunday, we went to court. They told us, ‘There’s no court today. Come tomorrow with the rest of the group.’ Nada Dhaif’s husband, who had accompanied us to the court, talked to the officer and looked at the list of names. Then he came back and told us that, according to the lists they showed him, the females in the medics were in the offences list, while the males were in the crimes list.”

“Soon after I got home, I received another phone call from the Criminal Investigation Department saying, ‘Tomorrow Ghassan will be standing before the court-martial. You can get him a lawyer if you want.’ ‘Where can I find a lawyer at this time?’ I asked. ‘You figure it out,’ they replied.

As per instructions, Zahraa went again to the court at 7 a.m. on Monday, June 6th. “They took us to a small room, where we sat waiting; not knowing what was going on out there. We remained there until it was 10 a.m. During that time, some policemen kept coming into our room. I requested them to let me see my husband, even if it was for five minutes only. They said, ‘God willing. We’ll try, we’ll try.’ I had heard that, if requested, relatives were given permission to meet with prisoners while in court. I knew that they gave such permission to some of those who were trialled before us. I kept insisting and they said they would let me meet with him if the judge allowed it”.

“Later, one of them came in with a list of names and called upon some of us. They called my name, as well as the names of Nada, Rula, Najah Khalil, Dhiya’, and Fatima Haji. We entered the court room and they told us to stand on one side close to the front. Then the male medics came in and were told to stand behind us. We couldn’t turn our heads round to look at them. The judge read out the names first and then the charges. That was the first time we heard what our charges were. At that moment, I realised that my name was among those with criminal charges. Oh God, not only a trial, but also a criminal charge? Ghassan and I, both had a criminal charge? If we both went to prison who would look after our children? My heart sank, and I nearly fainted.”

“That was a short and quick session. The judge read the charges, and asked the defendants if they had appointed lawyers. More than half of the defendants didn’t appoint lawyers because they didn’t know about the trial in the first place. The trial was adjourned. The moment we were taken back to the room with the female medics, I broke down into tears.” Zahraa says. “All my colleagues attended to me, trying to comfort me, while I kept saying, ‘At least one of us should remain around the children. But when both of us face a criminal charge, that is a catastrophe.”

After the court session, defendants were allowed to meet with their relatives. The court room was vacated, and only families were ushered in and seated. Then the medics were brought in to meet with their families. Ghassan’s father, Basma and Reem, his sisters, and Maha, Bassem’s wife had already accompanied me to court. Ghassan came in and the moment he saw me he took me into his arms. We were both in a terrible state, but his was a worse condition than mine. His most concern was to know what had happened to me in detention. He kept asking, ‘What did they do to you? Did they torture you?’ I tried to calm him down and told him that nothing had happened to me, and that I was fine.”

The most moving scene was Ghassan’s encounter with his father. He fell down to the floor, taking his father’s feet into his hands kissing them while still weeping like a yearning child. His father raised him up saying to him comfortingly, “My son, I’m so proud of you both. Your magnificent deeds made me and everyone else in the country full of pride.’ Those words didn’t stop Ghassan pouring his heart out before his father. ‘I saw my brother tortured before my own eyes. He was screaming in front of me. They beat him in front of me, and I wasn’t able to do anything for him.’ He cried bitterly as if he had just found the loving heart before which he could pour out his immense feelings of pain and humiliation. The family kept assuring Ghassan that they were only grateful to Allah for his safety and for the safety of his brother; that they are thankful to Him for seeing them both well and in good health.”

After two days of the trial, Ghassan and Bassem contacted their families to tell them about the possibility of a family visit within a few days. Zahraa continues, “Indeed, we received a call from the Criminal Investigation Department setting the date for the visit. We were told only three visitors would be allowed in. I told them Ghassan had his three children, his two parents and me, his wife. We all wanted to see him. They insisted that only three visitors would be allowed in.”

“We decided to go, all of us, and try. We might succeed. The number of visitors was limited. No one over the set number was allowed to go in. I was in despair, but I kept standing by the door pleading a slight waive to the rule. I said to them, ‘Please, these children haven’t seen their father for months.’ After so much pleading and negotiation, they allowed only me to go in with the three children. They filmed all those who went in to prove to the public that they allowed prisoners to meet with their families”.

“They took us by bus to some cabins. We got down and went in one of them only to be stunned by what we saw there! There was a large glass partition separating us from Ghassan. In the glass partition there were small holes that only allowed the sound to travel between us. We felt like we were paying a visit to a criminal. It looked similar to those scenes depicted in movies of prisoners separated from their visitors by impenetrable barriers. That was the children’s first visit to their father after such a long time, and that situation appalled and shocked them. Their faces, which were initially glowing with happiness and anticipation, I saw them suddenly paling with disappointment. They were so excited about the visit, eager to touch their father and feel the warmth and affection of his embrace. Instead, the moments of that visit were filled with tears, sighs and suffering. Nothing can be more painful than being so close to your loved one, yet separated from him, unable to hold him or get closer to him. We could not stop crying throughout the whole visit. It made us feel even more shattered and broken than before.

The court-martial hearings continued. During the second hearing, the medical staff had agreed with their lawyers to mention before the judge that their confessions were made under torture. Zahraa says, “From the beginning the judge ordered us to plead with only one word: ‘Guilty’ or ‘Not guilty’. Ali Al-Ekri was the first to start. He pleaded ‘Not guilty’ and said that he was tortured to sign those confessions. The judge shouted at him saying, ‘I told you I do not want to hear anything except the words ‘Guilty’ or ‘Not guilty’. But the same thing happened again: some said they were tortured, and others got too scared off and didn’t say anything. It was Rula’s turn and she boldly ‘Not guilty’ and that she was tortured. The judge scolded her and threatened to take action against anyone who would not adhere to his orders. My turn came. I was No. 20 in the line. I pleaded ‘Not guilty’ and said that I singed confessions under torture. Immediately, the judge gave his orders to take me out of the court. The lawyers became worried that I might be put in detention for 24 hours. However, the judge didn’t. Acting US Ambassador was present during that court hearing.” 

In July, some of Ghassan’s cell comrades were released. Drs. Sadiq Ja’far, Sadiq Abdulla and Abdulla Al-Durazi. He rejoiced at their release, yet, he missed them a lot. In prison, cell mates can develop deep and intimate relationships and their need for such relationships becomes so strong. Ghassan wondered, why didn’t they release him with the group? He felt so lonely. And as the feeling of loneliness augmented, it became unbearable to the degree it caused him a nervous breakdown. He was taken to the prison clinic for treatment. “They put me on the IV drip and gave me medicine. I was in a deteriorating psychological state. One of those in charge came to me and asked, ‘How can we help you? What is it that you want?’ I told them the least they could do was to put me in the same cell with Bassem, my brother. He said, ‘That’s forbidden.’ However, after two days, they moved me with Bassem, and that slightly alleviated my condition.”

A few days later, 6 more detainees from the medical staff were released. The number of prisoners in the cell got reduced from 10 to only 4. There were only Bassem, Ghassan, Hassan Toublani, and Mahmood Asghar. “I got even more frustrated and depressed. A feeling of despair began taking control over me. I had no control over myself and my condition got worse every day. At that time I asked to be referred to a psychologist. At first they refused, but then they agreed when they saw my deteriorating condition. I started taking anti-depressants. I was so depressed that I was taking three different types of anti-depressants at the same time. 

Following the Bassiouni visit to prisons and his meetings with judges and detainees, things improved a great deal.

 Ghassan says, “After the visit, they allowed us to call our families every day. We had two minutes to call them and we were allowed more frequent visits, usually once or twice a week. During Ramadan, visits were scheduled in the evening and our families came with food and we broke our fast together.”

Zahraa adds, “We developed a relationship with the prison personnel. I usually called them asking to be allowed to take some food to Ghassan. One day I called to say, ‘Today’s Ghassan’s birthday, could you allow us a visit to celebrate with him?’ As they were already familiar with Ghassan’s condition, they cooperated with us. They were flexible about everything that had to do with him.”

The King’s address to the nation on the occasion of the last 10 days of Ramadan was preceded by rumours of a breakthrough and probably the release of the rest of the medical staff. The medics still in prison were waiting to hear about this in the King’s address. However, the address was disappointing and avoided reference to the reality of the political state in Bahrain. Engulfed in frustration, the remaining medical staff decided to go on hunger strike. They saw the move as the only choice they had left to end their long suffering, frustration and despair. The hunger strike began after the month of Ramadan.

Ghassan says, “We relied on juices and buttermilk to compensate for loss of mineral salts. I had fainting spells every day, and then they would take me to the clinic, and put me on the IV drip to supply my body with nutrients. We had a visit from a member of the Bassiouni Commission. He was sympathetic and said, ‘We have already spoken with the government and told them that the medics are not criminals. We told them that you are medics and should not be taken to court in the first place. Until now, no one seems to listen.’”

The hunger strike lasted for 12 days, until the date of the next court hearing: the hearing of defence witnesses. “That was the first time I felt optimistic,” Zahraa says. “That time, Ghassan also had a strong feeling that he would be released and, unlike previous times, his face was lit up with a smile throughout the whole court session. The hearing continued until the evening and the judge took several resting breaks during the day.” 

“Then the session was adjourned for deliberation. It was already 6 p.m., and the ruling was still in deliberation. We waited, but nothing happened. The lawyers lost any hope for release. They said, ‘It seems there’s no intent of release today.’ They left the court, but the relatives were allowed to stay with the detainees. It took a long time before the Secretary came into the court room and announced: RELEASE for all defendants!”

The first few seconds, no one paid attention to the announcement. Everybody was busy chattering. Suddenly, every one stopped talking. 

They all became so quiet as if they wanted to recapture what they had just heard. Faces reflected expressions of tremendous surprise. The expressions suddenly turned into whoops, then into wide smiles and loud cheers, sending Blessings to Mohammad, the Holy Prophet. There was a chaotic surge of emotions flooding the place. “We prostrated in thankfulness and gratitude to Allah, tears mixed with laughter and cheering. We were hysterically joyful. I didn’t know it before I found myself lifted up by Ghassan in a reaction of disbelief. That was a moment no one could ever forget,” Zahraa reminisced with a tearful smile.

Ghassan continues the story. “Later, they took us back by bus to the Dry Dock Prison. Throughout the journey, we rejoiced, singing with ecstasy. Sayed Marhoon began chanting and we joined his chant, clapping to the rhythm:  

It’s release tonight, Release!

We’ll get into a bus, Release!

We will have coffee, Release!

We asked the policeman accompanying us, ‘When are we going to be set free?’ ‘Now, now,’ he said, ‘After only half an hour.’”

“At the Dry Dock Prison, Brigadier General Bu Allay waited for us at the gate. He ordered us joyfully, ‘Come on, hurry up! All of you go to the clinic for a check-up and then take your things with you and leave.’ We rushed to the prison clinic like children racing each other to get first in the line. They performed a speedy check-up, and BG Bu Allay gave us his phone and said, ‘Here, call whoever you want and tell them the news.’ By then, everyone had already received the good news.”

Outside the Dry Dock Prison, throngs of people gathered waiting. Zahraa, her children, and all the families of the medical staff had already come to pick up their loved ones. Many of their cell mates, friends and supporters, flocked to their welcome. The gate opened and everyone was allowed into the courtyard. It was not too long before the freed medical staff began their exit one after the other. They were immediately taken into the arms of families, friends and the loving crowds. Finally, they embraced their freedom. 

That was the reception the medics had at the Dry Dock Prison. However, another, very special procession awaited Ghassan and Bassem at home. Ghassan describes those moments, “The moment our car reached Isa Town Centre, which is over one kilometre away from my house, I was surprised at the large crowds that flooded the roads waiting for us. Just after half that distance, someone opened the car door and carried me out. Immediately, Bassem and I found ourselves raised high up on people’s shoulders. As an expression of joy, we were repeatedly flung high up in the air and then caught before reaching the ground. I was submerged in the strong waves of people’s happiness.

 I couldn’t take in the events going around me. My laughter intermingled with my tears while people were shouting out slogans of happiness and victory, and poetry of pride and dignity. They cheered hailing my name and Bassem’s name. That was an unforgettable moment. That was an indescribable scene; one can only

understand it by living it and experiencing it.