No Friend but the Mountains: Writing from Manus Prison

by Behrouz Boochani

Written in Farsi by a young Kurdish poet, Behrouz Boochani, in situations of prolonged duress, torment, and suffering, the very existence of this book is a miracle of courage and creative tenacity. It was written not on paper or a computer, but thumbed on a phone and smuggled out of Manus Island in the form of thousands of text messages.

the one thing that his jailers could not destroy in Behrouz Boochani was his belief in words: their beauty, their necessity, their possibility, their liberating power.

section 42 of the Australian Border Force Act, which allowed for the jailing for two years of any doctors or social workers who bore public witness to children beaten or sexually abused, to acts of rape or cruelty.

What has become of us when it is we who now commit such crimes?

She speaks condescendingly to him, in a way that indicates she thinks her husband arranged this whole thing, and is utterly to blame for bringing them aboard this boat, on this sea odyssey. However, her tyrannical stare reflects something else too. It’s obvious that she is behind every decision these two make. With her bullying manner, it’s hard to imagine this poor cowering man having any kind of say on the issue.

To this very day I don’t know if I have a peace-loving spirit or if I was just frightened. I still don’t know if I was afraid of fighting in the mountains, if I was afraid of taking up the gun, or if I truly believed that the liberation of Kurdistan couldn’t be achieved through the barrel of a gun. This plagued me: maybe I was a coward; maybe my cowardice redirected my thoughts towards a preference for peace, redirected my thoughts to privileging the power of the pen, compelled me to pursue cultural expression as resistance.

This I know: courage has an even more profound connection with hopelessness / The more hopeless a human being, the more zealous the human is to pursue increasingly dangerous exploits.

No matter how the refugees tried to resist, they couldn’t alter the political machinations of a government, a government that had just recently taken power, that had gone mad with the mere whiff of power.

Journalists inquire into everything. They are always seeking out horrific events. They acquire fodder for their work from wars, from bad occurrences, from the misery of people. I remember when I used to work for a newspaper I would become agitated from listening to all the news about, for instance, a coup d’état, a revolution, or a terrorist attack. I would begin work with great fervour and scramble for that kind of research like a vulture; in turn, I fed the appetite of the people.

One of the blonde girls takes some steps away and kneels down, taking a few artistic photographs of my ridiculous face. No doubt, she will create an excellent masterpiece which she can take back and show her editor-in-chief, and then receive encouragement for showing initiative. That thin body underneath those baggy, sloppy clothes — all from the point of view of someone positioned below the waist. And it really will be a brilliant piece of art.

Clearly, they are taking us hostage. We are hostages — we are being made examples to strike fear into others, to scare people so they won’t come to Australia.

Fear is an extraordinary force for motivating people; it pushes people to hurry up and determines their direction. Fear: a mountain of ice that has almost completely disappeared under water — the mother of all tortures.

There is no refuge, no sanctuary available except faith in Maysam The Whore and his ludicrous mockery. This is possibly the simplest method for confronting the humiliation.

The soul of the prison won’t entertain ethical norms that pertain to a society beyond the prison; norms are shoved aside, and it is Maysam The Whore who pillages them.

But the greatest difficulty is that no-one can be held accountable, no-one can be forced up against the wall and questioned, no-one can be interrogated by asking them, ‘You bastard, what is the philosophy behind these rules and regulations? Why, according to what logic, did you create these rules and regulations? Who are you?’

All they can say is, ‘I’m sorry, I’m just following orders’.

If one investigated this chain it would possibly lead to thousands of other bosses. All of them repeating the one thing: ‘The Boss has given orders.’