Hope and Despair

by Monia Mazigh

  “Not a word to the media, now. No one must know,” she said. I promised not to breathe a word to the journalists.

  Before ending the conversation, Marlene asked, “Are you happy?” I didn’t know what to say. Why was she asking me this?

  “I think so,” I said. “I hope it all goes well.”

  That night I couldn’t sleep a wink, unable to believe that Prime Minister Chrétien was really going to send a letter to the President of Syria about Maher. Was it really a victory that the Canadian prime minister was getting involved personally? Could I really be pleased and optimistic? Or was this another trial balloon that was going to burst like so many others? But this was exactly what I had dared hope for – wasn’t it? – that Mr. Chrétien would intervene personally in Maher’s file. So why was I being nagged by all these doubts and fears?

  The next morning I sent an email to Kerry, Alex, and Riad about the latest news. I had confidence in all of them, knowing that they would take it seriously and be ready to help with their ideas and their time. I was sworn to silence, I told them. Then, as if to reassure myself, I wrote that even if the outcome were positive, we would not let up. It was my way of telling my subconscious that I must take nothing for granted. Their response told me that this latest development could only be a step in the right direction, although we had no idea when the letter would be delivered or what impact it would have on the Maher Arar affair.

  Seymour Hersh’s article appeared in the July 28 issue of The New Yorker and, to my great surprise, it said not a word about Maher. (“The Syrian Bet: Did the Bush Administration burn a useful source on Al Qaeda?” Seymour M. Hersh, The New Yorker, July 28, 2003.) Hersh had an intriguing theory: Syria, a country officially at war with Israel, had played on the theme of terrorism ever since September 11, 2001, to ensure that it would have a key role in any peace negotiations involving the United States, Israel, and other countries in the region. The Syrians, he maintained, had given many signs of “cooperation” over the files of al-Qaeda terrorists as a friendly gesture toward the United States, even helping the CIA foil an attack on the American Embassy in Ottawa with timely information. He seemed to have developed a remarkable talent for extracting confidential information from anonymous sources. He described the case of Mohammad Haydar al-Zammar, a Syrian-born German citizen suspected of being a major recruiter in the September 11 attacks, who was arrested in Morocco in 2002, then deported to Syria, where he was still being held by Syrian intelligence. But for all the talk about Syria, al-Qaeda, and plots foiled at the last minute, there was not a word about Maher Arar. So why had the journalist Lawrence Morton told me that Hersh was going to write about Maher? Had it been his own supposition?

  JULY 24, 2003. I was about to leave for work. The children were still in their pyjamas. When Houd saw me at the door, he began to whimper as usual. Barâa, who loved to play the big sister, tried to take him in her arms to comfort him, but he wriggled away from her and ran to me. My mother came to the rescue and took Houd to see the squirrels on the balcony; magically, he forgot his woes. I kissed Barâa and left, almost on the run, for the parking lot.

  It was almost the same scene every morning since I had begun to work part-time at Marissa’s language school. Marissa and I had hit it off immediately. She was dynamic, always there bright and early, and ran her school with rare dedication. I wasn’t working full-time because I didn’t want to be away that much from the children, or put such a big responsibility on my mother’s shoulders. Marissa never talked to me about my husband’s case. It was as though there was an understanding between us. Our eyes would meet and I sensed that she knew everything; an exchange of smiles was enough.

  I would spend the morning at work. I had a single student, a middle-aged civil servant who was anxious to pass her French exams in order to advance and get the promotion she was hoping for. I would have her read in French, conjugate verbs, take dictation, and we would review certain rules of grammar. Sometimes I could see myself as a child again, sitting at my desk, copying verb endings in the different past tenses. Who would have thought back then that I would be teaching French one day? But my life had taken a turn that no one could have predicted, and I was more than happy to have found a little job that gave me a smidgen of pride and a chance to meet new people. Since Maher’s arrest, my life had been focused only on how to get him home; my new job was giving me a kind of respite and allowing me to see and think more clearly.

  On that particular day, after the first session I went downstairs to the computer room to check my messages. I found an email from Kerry, who would forward articles that mentioned Maher. An article written by Robert Fife at the Ottawa Citizen left me in shock. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Fife claimed that, according to Seymour Hersh, the Syrians had relayed confidential information to the Americans that helped them foil terrorist attacks; Fife speculated that Maher’s arrest had been linked to one such attack, creating the impression that Maher had been involved in the alleged plot to attack the American Embassy in Ottawa. (“Terror threats in Ottawa: Two kinds of fear: Report says Syrian intelligence helped U.S. to foil al-Qaeda plot on target in Ottawa,” Robert Fife, Ottawa Citizen, July 24, 2003.) Yet Hersh had never mentioned Maher’s name, merely citing the American Embassy case as an example of the Syrians’ efforts to curry favour with the Americans and carve out a more important role in Middle Eastern peace negotiations.

  I felt the blood run cold in my veins. When would these speculations end? Why were people so determined to make Maher out to be a villain? Why had Robert Fife not called me to get my point of view and comments? I was always available to the media, wasn’t I?

  The break between sessions was almost over and my head was spinning. I went to the public telephones, wanting to talk to Kerry, wanting desperately to talk to someone to share my pain, sadness, and fury. Kerry was at home; she often worked there.

  “Do you know Robert Fife?” I asked her. “He’s never written about Maher before. Why didn’t he speak to me before writing his article?” I bombarded her with questions, giving her no time to answer. Then I slowed down. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. We must talk about it with cool heads, and in the meantime I’ll contact Robert Fife. Call me from home when you’re through at school.”

  I went to the classroom where my student was waiting. I hid my emotions and pretended nothing had happened. I don’t know by what miracle or willpower I managed to deliver the dictation I had planned; I had to force the words out of my mouth. All I really wanted to do was go home and finish talking to Kerry.

  Once home, I called her. She told me she had contacted Robert Fife and suggested he speak to me. I waited impatiently for him to call, and when he did, the first thing he said was: “How’s it going?”

  “Very badly since I read your article,” I retorted. I don’t know how the words came to my mouth, but I immediately felt better. Fife had nothing to say in reply. I told him he should have spoken to me before writing his article, and that I knew my husband was innocent and had never been involved in a terrorist plot. We continued the discussion, I not knowing whether he intended to use my comments but wanting to give him my perspective. I was afraid that the article he had written, which smeared Maher insidiously and linked him to a plot that never existed, according to the RCMP, would destroy any progress I had made toward helping my husband. In fact, it had the reverse effect: journalists who had had nothing to report since Marlene’s visit to Syria were now back covering the Maher Arar affair. Besides, after the adjournment of Parliament for the summer, there was not much else of interest happening.

  Several days after our first conversation, Fife called again, asking if I knew about Pierre de Bané’s mission to Syria and the letter from Prime Minister Chrétien that he was to deliver to President al-Assad. I was cornered. What was I going to say? Marlene had made me promise not to breathe a word, and here was this journalist asking me if I knew about it. If I said no I would be lying and if I said yes
I would be breaking my promise. Then he would want to know how I knew and there was no way I wanted to mention Marlene’s name. All this flashed through my head and I ducked his first question with my reply:

  “That’s very positive and promising news. Will it be enough, though? Will it convince the Syrians to release Maher; I don’t know …” Fife didn’t press me further; perhaps what he wanted was my reaction, and information about the visit was not important for the story he was working on. When I had hung up the telephone, I thanked God for giving me the words to escape this little trap. In the context, keeping a secret had turned out to be harder than walking on sheer ice.

  LATE JULY 2003. I had not had any news of Maher since Marlene’s trip to Damascus on April 23. Mr. Pardy had stopped calling to tell me if there had been consular visits. I was sorry now for being so ungrateful when I received reports of these visits; at least they told me that Maher was alive.

  Since I had begun to work closely with Kerry, Ahmed was much less involved with our work, though he and his family were still fast friends of mine. In the meantime, Ahmed had lost his job and was working from home, creating some pressure in the family; I certainly didn’t want to add to it. One day Ahmed phoned to tell me he had read on the website of the Syrian Human Rights Committee (SHRC), based in Great Britain, that Maher was being tortured.

  I was horror-struck.

  As soon as I had found out that he was being sent to Syria, I suspected he might be tortured, but I tried not to think about it. The country was notorious for serious human rights violations. When the Canadian consular reports said that Maher “was well,” I knew the little act staged by the Syrian authorities must have covered up another reality. The site Ahmed referred me to was appalling: it gave detailed descriptions of torture of prisoners and political opponents: electric cables, beatings, sleep deprivation, isolation, and so on. And there, amidst this shocking information, was Maher’s name. It made my flesh creep. At times I couldn’t take any more and would stop reading, then, as if driven by an invisible power, I would start again. There was a big difference between suspecting something might happen and having proof of it.

  What was I going to do? I had to tell Mr. Pardy, had to talk to Kerry and Alex. Amnesty International might be able to help; this was their field. Kerry said I should start by getting a letter from the Syrian Human Rights Committee. Amnesty Canada confirmed through Amnesty London that SHRC was a serious, reliable organization. I wrote to its executive director, Saleem al-Hasan. I didn’t have high hopes of receiving more information, presuming that such organizations must be careful not to reveal their sources. Mr. al-Hasan’s reply came promptly, however, offering to give me in writing what his organization had learned of the torture inflicted on Maher.

  Now I was truly torn. I wanted written proof that he had been tortured, which would be vital to the process of getting him released. But I wanted most of all to find out if my husband was well.

  I received the letter from SHRC describing Maher’s dreadful treatment at the hands of the Syrians: it confirmed that Maher was really suffering while the Canadian government here in Canada was doing precious little to obtain his release.

  JULY 30, 2003. In a new article by Robert Fife in the Ottawa Citizen, I learned, for the first time since Maher disappeared, that “rogue” elements in the RCMP might have fed information to American authorities leading to Maher’s arrest and deportation (“Chrétien wants to know who gave up Ottawa man to CIA, Syria,” Robert Fife, Ottawa Citizen, July 23, 2003). This astonishing revelation had come from the Solicitor General of Canada, Wayne Easter, minister responsible for the RCMP and intelligence agencies! How could the minister say such a thing when the RCMP had steadfastly refused to make any comment whatever on the case? In a way, it might even prove to be a source of grim satisfaction for me. For the first time, the possibility was being raised publicly and officially that Canadian public servants were behind Maher’s woes, and mine.

  There could no longer be any mistake: someone, somewhere in Canada, had helped the Americans deport my husband and send him to be tortured! I was relieved to read, at least, that my suspicions were not just the fruit of my imagination or my paranoia. But the reality was the same: Maher was still in prison, the Syrians were not budging from their position, the Americans were turning a deaf ear, and Canada was twiddling its thumbs.

  Fife’s article raised a question that no one had dared ask before: what role did the RCMP or CSIS play in Maher’s arrest and deportation? The data from the Syrian Human Rights Committee and the news that “rogue” elements in the RCMP might be involved opened the door to questions from organizations such as Amnesty International. Voices were beginning to be heard demanding a parliamentary inquiry. So it was no longer just I, the tearful wife, who was seeing secret agents behind every tree and wanting at all costs to find an offender; now there were many of us looking for the truth about Canada’s real role in this affair.

  Since I had begun working at the language school, my life was strictly ruled by the clock. I would spend my mornings teaching and my evenings, after the children were in bed, preparing for the next day’s class. As soon as I came home from work, my time was divided between the children and phone calls with Kerry or with journalists. My mother looked after the children when I was out or on the phone, and prepared most of our meals. When the weather was fine, I would make some sandwiches and we would all go to the park or the beach; we would stay outdoors for hours, Barâa riding around on her bicycle and Houd in the sand or on the swings.

  As I watched the children at play, happy, innocent, and carefree, I thanked God for the gift He had given me. But I also felt a twinge in my heart. Both of them were growing up without their father, Barâa having known him and remembering him and Houd not having known him at all. How would this affect their future? They might not ever see their father again. I didn’t know if, later, they would agree with the choice I had made to speak publicly about what had happened to us. It weighed constantly on my mind. Where once I had been a woman who made plans for life, who considered herself fulfilled and happy with a husband and two children, I had now seen my life turned upside down. But I no longer felt the despair of the first days; instead, there was bitterness and an almost gentle grief. I closed my eyes and drew a long breath; I prayed that all my fears would be unfounded, and that I would remain sure of what I was doing.

  Preparations were underway to hold a press conference to announce publicly that Maher was being tortured in Syria, as documented by the Syrian Human Rights Committee. This had been a difficult decision; I would rather never have Barâa hear of such a terrible thing, but if I was to obtain massive public support, there was really no choice. Kerry, Alex, and I agreed that our strategy should be to go public with the torture letter, but also to ask Mr. Chrétien to recall Franco Pillarella, the Canadian ambassador to Syria. I had already suggested this to Mr. Pardy in the past, but he had been against it.

  “It would serve absolutely no purpose to recall the Canadian ambassador,” he had said. “Relations between the two countries would only get worse, and what will we do when we no longer have an ambassador in Syria?”

  Mr. Pardy had a good point. Still, I could hardly tell people that my husband was being tortured and not insist that Canada harden its attitude toward Syria. I was no diplomat. I was suffering, I was the wife of a man who was suffering, and I had to use all the weapons available before it was too late.

  AUGUST 7, 2003. I went to Kerry’s office in downtown Ottawa. Kerry was putting the final touches to the kits we were going to hand out to the journalists. Everything was there: a press release; a chronology of events, the letter from the Syrian Human Rights Committee, and a letter from Amnesty International denouncing torture and demanding that the Canadian government obtain Maher’s release or assure him the chance to defend himself in a fair trial. I helped Kerry finish the photocopies and put all the documents in cardboard boxes. The evening before, I had prepared notes of what I was going to say in
English and French, and now I went into an empty office beside Kerry’s and practised. Then Kerry came for me and we left on foot, our arms laden with boxes. Parliament was only a few minutes’ walk away. I was nervous and my stomach hurt.

  Alex Neve and Marion Dewar were waiting for us at the entrance to the Parliament Buildings; both would also be speaking at the press conference. We passed security with no problem. The room we had reserved was crowded with journalists. I went to the podium with Alex and Marion beside me. Alex spoke first. Maher Arar must be released immediately, he insisted, and if he was accused of anything he must be given the right to defend himself.

  Though I knew Maher was innocent, I liked these words. They expressed the idea of fundamental justice and should answer the skeptics and those who had already made up their minds that Maher was guilty. What could be more obvious than the right to defend oneself against allegations? When my turn came, I was feeling better. I went to the microphone and spoke calmly. As soon as I had finished, the journalists asked a number of questions and I answered them. Then Marion spoke to demand, along with Amnesty, that the Canadian government take action.

  Afterwards, I had many requests for radio and television interviews. The interest was encouraging, but I was anxious above all to see how the government would react to my demands and those from Amnesty. The reaction was prompt. The next morning, a spokesman for the Prime Minister’s Office told the media:

  “We believe that the ambassador should remain in Syria. It would do no good to recall him.” I was not surprised by this reply; I had expected it. From the comments I read in the press, however, it was clear the government was in a predicament. It was taking the “allegations of torture” (these were the terms it used) seriously and promising to take the matter up with the Syrians.