To Gulshan in Prison: YOU ARE NOT ALONE

Gulshan, Habibati…

     I never thought of writing about friends, it is too much. I hear about them and swallow my tears. Every now and then I hear about some one who is killed, disappeared, arrested or left Iraq. When I heard about Atwar Bahjat when they killed her, I closed my ears, went to bed, closed my eyes and tried not to think. I tried my best not to watch the news for days. Some friends called me, I begged them not say any thing. I did not want to hear details about friends. No, not about Atwar.

    Today I could not. Gulshan is arrested again two weeks ago, the news said, she is being cruelly tortured and her family does not know her whereabouts. She is a relative of Atwar, it added. As if it is not enough an honor to be arrested by the butchers, they add this honor of being a relative of Atwar. The news said that they found a computer in her house. (So you learned how to use the computer, good for you) It is a crime for Iraqi journalists to have computers. What a shame. And what did they find on your computer: pictures and reports of their crimes…what? Why do not they arrest their own journalists? Some of them do expose these crimes…oh yes, but they are not Iraqis.

   No, I am not sad, I am just angry, as I imagine you would be. At certain moments of the day my mind asks how is she now, how do they torture her, do they call her bad names, is she hungry, or is she fasting,  tired, afraid, is she in pain…then when I catch my mind going this way, I stop immediately. I did not tell any one of my family or my friends, but they guessed. What? They asked… who it is this time…

   Gulshan, I know that I am going to hear this news one day, when I saw you last time, few months after the occupation. Holding your papers to your heart as you always do…"I have so many stories, you can not imagine what is going on there!!" You said breathlessly before even sitting down…"promise me you publish these stories" you were coming from Tikrit.

    I still remember vividly your childish tired face turning red when you talk, your blinking-eyes and your hesitant lips, as any Iraqi shy villager would be in the capital, years ago. But you are not any Iraqi villager. You are an example of a courageous young woman, who challenges all social traditions in a very conservative and restricted community. You wanted to be a journalist and a writer, and you did. I remember how you dug with your bare fingers in the rocks, against the family, the community and the bureaucracy, you the sensitive, dreaming creature, until you became the correspondent whose reports were never neglected. I still remember the day you won the first award in short story. You were not surprised, not shaken, just self confident as you always were.

Gulshan, Habibati…

       I do not want to cry…I am just sorry that Iraqi women like you are put in prison. Why? Women like you are honored in the rest of the world. I still remember when you came from Tikrit; to present your reportages and hurry back home after few minutes. When we tried to offer you a cup of tea or water, you were already leaving "may be next time" you smiled and disappeared, heading back to Tikrit the same day. We knew that you can not be later than 2 or 3 in the afternoon. "I do not want to give them the chance to prevent me of being a journalist"

       Do you remember, Gulshan, when we created that team of women journalists the last summer before the occupation? Atwar was with us too, and many other young women journalists. Remember when we had those meetings, full of excitement; we wanted to do some thing for the Iraqi women. Remember how much we laughed when Atwar put the traditional Iraq dress and went in the backward corners of fortune tellers and witchcraft? Remember that magnificent reportage she wrote exposing their lies and their dark rituals? Remember when one day we decided that the newspaper would be published by women only? And we did it. The newspaper appeared the next day, with all the pages written by women: All of them, political, cultural, news, articles, sports, varieties and even the design…Remember how many awards we got?
      
    I some times read your burning articles, angry, strong and courageous as always. Never afraid to call things by their real name. That is why I was not surprised when I heard the news. You are better than we are, Gulshan, you are the example. I wonder what the Iraqi Journalists Union, the Iraqi women and  the human rights organizations are going to do about it…Iraq is full of them now, is not it !!   

   No, I won't cry. I never cried when I heard about Atwar, and I won't now. I want to tell you that you are not alone. I am saving my tears for the liberation day. I promise you, Gulshan, I will do everything I can to help you out of prison. I know that this is not easy? What is anyway? So please, Gulshan do not lose hope…I wish I can meet you now, I wish I can talk to you now, I wish any of the guards read this letter and be human enough tell you about a friend of yours who is thinking of you, and trying to help you. Please guards do not hurt my friend, my daughter. She is just another brilliant, brave and beautiful Iraqi young woman, who can not accept injustice. Just respect her for that. She is a flower, as her name means in Turcoman. 

   I can not put my name to sign the letter. It does not matter any way. All your friends would do the same. Just remember that the Iraq you love deserves all our sacrifices. I lost many things, very important things, but I did not get the honor of being arrested by the enemy, like you do.

   I love you, Gulshan. Iraq loves you.