
Annons
Khodr: It was related to my activities and connections with members of the Free Syrian Army, particularly from al-Zabadani [a city in south-western Syria, close to the Lebanese border], who were probably under surveillance. They were buying weapons from Palestinian militias in Ain el-Hilweh [the Palestinian refugee camp in the southern city of Saida] and others, including Shia groups who supported Assad but wanted the money.
Annons
They suspected me of being part of Free Syrian Army logistics, not a fighter. I denied any connection to the people they mentioned in my interrogation, but they found their numbers and names in my phone, as well as on my Facebook and Skype. In the military court they accused me of obtaining a counterfeit visa and activities assaulting the security of the Lebanese state. At that moment, I realised the seriousness of the situation.What were the first couple of weeks like inside Roumieh?
It was really hard to adapt. I suddenly found myself in this incredibly shady place, surrounded by hardened criminals and drug abuse. I’d never been in a place like that. I was very depressed and scared.How rampant was the drug abuse?
I’d say 90 percent – or higher – of the inmates were using. It stretched from prescription drugs, like benzocaine and Tramol, to hashish, cocaine and heroin. Everything is available – benzocaine being the cheapest, with heroin and cocaine the most expensive. There is no chance of rehabilitation. I remember one inmate saying to me, "The only thing they have imprisoned here is my dick."Some people had [homosexual] relationships, but they wouldn’t show it. Late at night or early in the morning, when most people were asleep or high, they would go to the bathroom. Two guys would pay the janitor a couple grams of hashish in order not to let anyone in for ten to 15 minutes. They wouldn’t be abused or ostracised, but if the sharwishe found out then they would be beaten up. I wasn’t aware of rape.
Annons
In every hall of the prison there is a head sharwishe. He's a prisoner but also kind of like a mafia boss or strong man. In my hall the sharwishe was a former officer in the Lebanese police force who had been imprisoned for forming an armed group and exploiting his position to sell and distribute drugs. The sharwishe controlled the sale of everything – food and drinks, cleaning products and drugs. He – not the prison officers – was in charge of maintaining order in the hall. The prison authorities were involved in the trade through the sharwishe. Whenever drugs were brought into the prison they would tell all the prisoners to remain in their respective halls.The profits that the sharwishe got from the sale of drugs were divided between him, sharwishes in other halls and the prison director. Let’s say $1,000 of drugs were sold, then the prison director would take a cut of $300. Often the prison director would come and sit with the sharwishes in their rooms and drink coffee and talk before our eyes. The entire system is deeply corrupt. It is in the interest of the prison authorities to have drugs in the prison because then the prisoners will be lazy and incapacitated. They won’t revolt for their rights and object to things they think are in bad condition that could be improved.How did the economy of the prison work? For example, how did people buy drugs?
No material money is allowed in the prison. Everything worked through a system of transferring phone credit to the account of the sellers who worked for the sharwishe. People would contact friends and relatives on the outside, who would then send them credit to use inside the prison. For example, if you wanted to buy two pills of benzocaine, this would cost $10, Coca-Cola would cost $3 and two small “capsules” of hashish would cost $10. Anyone can get a phone if they have the money – it costs around $120 for a simple Nokia with a sim card. After a month inside I asked my cousin to transfer the amount to a seller so I could get a phone and sim card. In block “Mahkumeen” of the prison, where members of Fatah al-Islam [linked to the 2007 Nahr el-Bared conflict] and other Islamist groups like Jund al-Islam are held, they have computers. Not just any computers, but Macs. They have powerful backers outside the prison and the government fears retribution if their demands aren't met.
Annons
The sharwishe had his own room, which is separate from the rest. He had his own TV, fridge, a proper bed with a mattress and clean sheets. His room was shining. He had at least five bodyguards who were always with him or standing outside his room making sure everything was under control.How did you adapt and cope with prison life?
The law in the prison hall was based around paying a weekly fee of one pack of cigarettes to the sharwishe in order to avoid having to work for him – say, for example, as a cleaner. These packets were distributed between the sharwishe, the head janitor, the doorman and the guy in charge of food. Sometimes, even if the Syrians and Palestinians paid a pack of cigarettes, they would be forced to work anyway. This happened to me at the beginning.
Annons
Relationships in the prison are mostly based on mutual interest, for example between people taking drugs and those selling drugs. If it goes wrong it can easily lead to violence. People would make knives from everything, from bits of wood to door handles that they would sharpen against the wall into shanks. Small fights often broke out; bigger fights between rival groups were less common. The sharwishe was in charge of trying to restore order. The prison authorities did not intervene.I socialised with some people I met through my work with the association. These included people who had spied for Israel. They were educated and intelligent and also quite powerful. At the beginning I didn’t take any drugs, but after three months I became really depressed and desperate. I started to smoke hash sometimes with the Israeli agents and sometimes take benzedrine or Tramol.
Annons
I was in a block composed of Shia and Maronite Christians. Nearly all of the Shia inmates supported Hezbollah and the Amal movement [a political party associated with Hezbollah and Lebanon's Shia community]. When Hezbollah became strongly involved militarily in Syria over the summer, particularly during the battle for al-Qusayr, they would threaten and taunt the Syrian inmates. I would just say, "Bashar al-Assad is our president – we support him." I couldn’t say I supported the revolution; there would have been trouble if I had. I was careful not to criticise the system itself. The sharwishe had his feelers – you can’t speak against the system.How did you feel when you were released?
When they interrogated me they made me feel I was a criminal. I thought I would be inside for years. I had tried so many types of wasta [Arabic term for "connections"] through Hezbollah and other political parties and politicians in Lebanon, activists with powerful connections and lawyers, but nothing worked out. Somehow this Anglican priest was able to facilitate my release through the payment of a one million Lebanese lira fine. When they were releasing me, I didn’t believe it at first. I said to myself that, when I pass through this final gate, I will believe. I felt like I had wings and I could fly.But now I cannot do anything. I have an obligatory deportation against me, but all my documents – in particular my passport – remain confiscated. If I am stopped at any time at a checkpoint I'm scared they could put me back in prison for being in the country illegally. I try not to walk around; I always take taxis. I am literally stuck.More stories from Lebanon:People in Lebanon Are Killing Each Other Over Syria Lebanon's Sunni Child Soldiers Lebanon's Metalheads Aren't All Satanists