In the dark times, will there also be singing?
Yes, there will be singing.
About the dark times. – Bertolt Brecht
In an address to the first conference convened by the International Writers Center, held in St Louis in 1996, American poet Carolyn Forché described the ordeal of Hungarian poet Miklós Radnóti, who was forced into slave labour during World War II.
Radnoti managed to secure a small notebook in which he recorded his experiences in 10 poems written before he was executed.
A coroner’s report written when his body was exhumed after the war recorded:
“A visiting card with the name Dr. Miklós Radnóti printed on it. An ID card stating the mother’s name as Ilona Grosz. Father’s name illegible. Born in Budapest, May 5, 1909. Cause of death: shot in the nape. In the back pocket of the trousers a small notebook was found soaked in the fluids of the body and blackened by wet earth. This was cleaned and dried in the sun.”
Forché noted that the story of Radnoti did not end in a mass grave. Rather, his work, like that of others survived as “evidence of the dark times in which they lived”. This is what Forché calls “the poetry of witness”, work forged in instances and circumstances when the “personal” and “political” cannot be kept separate.
I was reminded of Forché and her concept of witness when I read the reactions to the court decision that would finally allow pianist James Rhodes to publish his memoir, Instrumental.
Rhodes’s candid book detailed his sexual abuse at the hands of a teacher. He had been raped, leaving him with spinal damage. An extract from the book published on the Guardian website describes the horror and the aftermath:
“I went, literally overnight, from a dancing, spinning, gigglingly alive kid who was enjoying the safety and adventure of a new school, to a walled-off, cement-shoed, lights-out automaton. It was immediate and shocking, like happily walking down a sunny path and suddenly having a trapdoor open and dump you into a freezing cold lake.
“You want to know how to rip the child out of a child? Fuck him. Fuck him repeatedly. Hit him. Hold him down and shove things inside him. Tell him things about himself that can only be true in the youngest of minds before logic and reason are fully formed and they will take hold of him and become an integral, unquestioned part of his being.”
The book fell victim to an injunction preventing publication after Rhodes’s ex-wife insisted that the account of his father’s abuse would be emotionally damaging to their son.
In overturning the injunction, presiding judge Lord Toulson noted: “There is every justification for the publication. A person who has suffered in the way the appellant has suffered, and has struggled to cope with the consequences of his suffering in the way that he has struggled, has the right to tell the world about it. And there is the corresponding public interest in others being able to listen to his life story in all its searing detail.”
The reaction to the news was overwhelmingly one of relief: both for the author but seemingly others too. Stephen Fry tweeted that he was “stupidly teary” about the judgment, which he saw as a vindication for Rhodes.
Vindication seems an odd concept to summon, as no-one seemed to be questioning the veracity of Rhodes’s story. But I think I understand what Fry means.
Rhodes’s case goes beyond the usual reasons we give for reporting child abuse: that it may help others to come forward, or that it may help snare past and future perpretators. While these are valid reasons, they are not the thing in itself. As the judge pointed out, Rhodes has a right to tell his own story and the denial of that right is a further abuse of a man who has already suffered. To deny the story is to inflict further harm.
In the Ten Stages of Genocide, developed by Gregrory Stanton of Genocide Watch (and explored in a new play, No Feedback, opening this week in London), denial is listed not as the aftermath of genocide, but as an intrinsic part of it.
“Denial is the final stage that lasts throughout and always follows a genocide. It is among the surest indicators of further genocidal massacres. The perpetrators of genocide dig up the mass graves, burn the bodies, try to cover up the evidence and intimidate the witnesses. They deny that they committed any crimes, and often blame what happened on the victims. They block investigations of the crimes…”
Thus insult goes hand in hand with injury. This is far beyond the idea of free speech, of the ability to bear witness, as a utilitarian idea: the right to speak is essential, like the right to eat. Denied communication of our experience, we, creatures who rely on social interaction, are starved (Forché describes “the social”, the place where one bears witness, as “a place of resistance and struggle, where books are published, poems read, and protest disseminated. It is the sphere in which claims against the political order are made in the name of justice.”)
The effect of denial imposed on individuals and societies can be seen everywhere from Rhodes continued anguish to Armenia’s entry in this year’s Eurovision Song Contest, it’s title Don’t Deny a pointed reminder on the centenary of that nation’s still-disputed trauma.
Sometimes, in free expression arguments, people will argue not that there is a right to speak, but no right to be listened to: this may be true, but there is a visceral need to be heard, to have our stories acknowledged. For it is our stories that make us. In that sense, the publication of James Rhodes’s memoir, after the attempts to deny him his chance to tell his tale, marks his vindication not as a pianist or a writer, but as a human being.
These are people who have dedicated their time and energy to serve on the frontline of the fight for human rights. Leyla Yunus helps those who have been forcibly evicted from their home and works with activists in the South Caucasus region, including Armenia, the country with which Azerbaijan is locked in a frozen conflict. Rasul Jafarov was behind Sing For Democracy, a campaign to highlight rights abuses as Baku hosted the Eurovision Song Contest in 2012. Intigam Aliyev has represented victims before the European Court of Human Rights. Seymur Hezi provided critical coverage both as a reporter for Index award winning newspaper Azadliq, and in the online show Azerbaijan Hour. Khadija Ismayilova has on multiple occasions uncovered corruption connected to the ruling Aliyev clan.
Today, they are all languishing behind bars, on trumped up charges ranging from treason to tax evasion. The whole sorry affair is perhaps most aptly summed up by the dark irony of Leyla Yunus and Jafarov being in the process of compiling a list of political prisoners, when they themselves were added to it.
It is estimated that some 100 people are currently jailed in Azerbaijan over their political beliefs. Because it is worth remembering that while the past months’ crackdown has seemed especially ruthless, comprehensive and unapologetic in its bid to silence critical voices, these tactics are not new. For years, those daring to speak out against the ruling elite have been threatened, harassed, arrested and even killed.
Index board member and director of Sage Publications David McCune presented the special award at the ceremony in London (Photo: Alex Brenner for Index on Censorship)
Journalist and activist Idrak Abbasov was brutally beaten by security forces and police in a 2012 attack. He accepted the special award from Oslo, where he now lives in exile, on behalf of his compatriots. “In Azerbaijan, not a single television or radio channel is free. In effect, all media are under government control with the exception of a few newspapers and the Internet. There is no freedom of expression or association,” Abbasov said in a pre-recorded speech. “There are no free elections. The country is ruled by a terrible regime. Freedom of speech has been completely stifled. Our colleagues have been murdered. Elmar Huseynov was killed in 2005. Novruzali Mamedov was murdered in prison in 2009. Rafiq Tagi was killed in 2014. No one has been called to account. Many journalists have been brutally and repeatedly beaten, and no one has been punished. This is Azerbaijan. This is the horrific way the country is being ruled.”
The eyes of the world will soon again be fixed on Azerbaijan. The inaugural European Games – organised by Europe’s Olympic Committees – are coming to Baku this summer, not long after the capital last hosted an international mega-event, the 2012 Eurovision final. The line pushed by the regime, and parroted by their supporters at home and abroad, is that this is young and developing democracy on the right path. But three years on, the situation has not improved; on the contrary. This award is for Azerbaijanis continuing their struggle for freedom, rights and dignity – in the hopes that it will soon be won.
Idrak Abbasov summarised his hopes for the future in his closing remarks: “I call upon the world community to help Azerbaijan and freedom of speech in Azerbaijan. So that our colleagues might be released. So that our country might become a normal country in which we and others might live freely.”
This week we will be showcasing our shortlisted nominees from the journalism category. This year’s nominees include Lirio Abbate, an Italian journalist whose investigations into the mafia mean he requires round-the-clock police protection; Safa Al Ahmad, whose documentary exposed details of an unreported mass uprising in Saudi Arabia; radio station Echo of Moscow, one of Russia’s last remaining independent media outlets; and Rafael Marques de Morais, an Angolan reporter repeatedly prosecuted for his work exposing government and industry corruption.
Tuesday: Documentary maker Safa Al Ahmad
Wednesday: Investigative journalist Lirio Abbate
Thursday: Journalist and human rights activist Rafael Marques de Morais
Friday: Radio station Ekho Moskvy
In 2003, internationally recognised journalist Fergal Keane was the first to win an award under the journalism category, however, the previous year Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya, who was killed in 2006, won the Defence of Free Expression award. In 2001 the same award was given to Iranian journalist, Mashallah Shamsolvaezin.
Council of Europe Commissioner for Human Rights Nils Muižnieks (Photo: Council of Europe)
I recently returned from one of the most difficult missions of my two-and-a-half year tenure as Council of Europe Commissioner for Human Rights. In late October I was in Azerbaijan, the oil-rich country in the South Caucasus, which just finished holding the rotating chairmanship of the 47-member Council of Europe. Most countries chairing the organisation, which prides itself as the continent’s guardian of human rights, democracy and the rule of law, use their time at the helm to tout their democratic credentials. Azerbaijan will go down in history as the country that carried out an unprecedented crackdown on human rights defenders during its chairmanship.
All of my partners in Azerbaijan are in jail. It was heart-wrenching to visit Leyla Yunus in pre-trial detention outside of Baku, Azerbaijan’s capital. Head of the Institute for Peace and Democracy, Leyla is Azerbaijan’s most prominent human rights activist and one of three finalists for this year’s prestigious Sakharov award, granted by the European Parliament. I do not know whether it was due to her cataracts or her emotional distress, but she cried throughout our half-hour meeting. The 58-year-old also has diabetes, Hepatitis C and kidney problems. She was in particular anguish for not having had the chance to see Arif, her husband of 26 years, for more than three months. He is also in pre-trial detention, despite having had a stroke just prior to his arrest.
The Yunus couple are among the brave activists in the region that have sought to promote dialogue with their counterparts in Armenia, a country with which Azerbaijan has been at war for the last 25 years over the Nagorno-Karabakh region, which was violently wrested from Azerbaijan as the Soviet Union collapsed. Arif and Leyla Yunus have both been charged with the crime of treason. Leyla regularly compiled lists of the country’s political prisoners for submission to international organisations. On October 24, the day I left Azerbaijan, a Baku court prolonged Leyla’s pre-trial detention for another four months.
Another difficult meeting was with Intigam Aliyev, one of Azerbaijan’s most renowned human rights lawyers, who is also in pre-trial detention for allegedly violating the restrictive provisions that make human rights work virtually impossible in the country. Until his arrest three months ago, Intigam was the co-ordinator of the Council of Europe’s legal training programme in the country. He was also legal counsel for dozens of cases against Azerbaijan before the European Court of Human Rights. When the authorities seized all of his documents, including the case files, he said he felt like the rug had been pulled from under his feet. He did not know how he could continue pushing the cases at the European Court or how he could defend himself. Again, the day I left Azerbaijan, his pre-trial detention was prolonged for another three months. When the judge announced his decision, Intigam nearly fainted.
I had a more upbeat meeting with Anar Mammadli, winner of this year’s Vaclav Havel prize, granted by the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe. Anar has already been convicted to a five-and-a-half-year prison sentence for violating the country’s cumbersome NGO laws (the formal charges were tax evasion, illegal entrepreneurship and abuse of authority). Anar was appealing his conviction and was in good spirits, despite the scant chances of success of his appeal. As one of the country’s most professional organisers of election monitoring, Anar had been harshly critical of several previous ballots in the country. Anar spends most of his time exercising and reading books on political science, philosophy and history. He wanted to know how from prison he could provide input to the Council of Europe’s efforts to assist Azerbaijan improve the legal framework for NGOs.
I also left heartened by a meeting with Rasul Jafarov, the head of an NGO called the Human Rights Club. Though he had had his pre-trial detention extended for another three months the day before I met him, Rasul was in good spirits. Rasul made a name for himself by organising a campaign called “Sing for Democracy” in the run-up to the holding of the Eurovision Song contest, which Azerbaijan hosted in 2012. He had planned to organise a new campaign called “Sports for Democracy” in the run-up to the holding of the European Games in Azerbaijan in 2015. Though he is charged with violations of the NGO law, as we bid farewell to each other, he related his plans to organise a human rights NGO among detainees.
While most of my partners are in detention, others discontinued their human rights work, left the country over the summer, or went into hiding as the crackdown spread. I visited one of the activists in hiding, Emin Huseynov, head of the Institute for Reporters’ Freedom and Safety, an NGO defending journalists in Azerbaijan’s restrictive media context. Though Emin is only 35 years old, he has very high blood pressure and an old spinal injury caused by an encounter with Azerbaijani police batons at an “unauthorised” demonstration a few years ago. Doctors who have examined him say he will not survive an Azerbaijani prison.
These are just some of the activists and journalists languishing in prison or under pressure in Azerbaijan. They are core partners for the Council of Europe – they have all attended roundtables for human rights defenders organised by my office or participated in events organised by the Parliamentary Assembly. The Council of Europe’s primary friends and partners in the country have almost all been targeted. While this pains me deeply, it also makes practical cooperation between Azerbaijan and the Council of Europe extremely difficult. The reprisals must stop. Now.
