I Was Tortured By the Syrian Secret Police

Epilogue

Two months later…

My son is gazing through the window one morning; he is bored. I am busy doing some work in the house. All of a sudden, I hear him scream out “Baba! Baba![1] I can’t believe this! Look, its... it’s… Uncle *******! He’s back!”

For a moment I am bewildered. I think to myself: perhaps he is hallucinating. I walk slowly towards the window and see the brother coming out of his car with his son! I can’t believe my eyes as I rush out to the door. For a moment I am in complete awe, muted with amazement. He smiles as I hug him and say “Allaahu Akbar, it’s you! You’re back... come in!”

We welcome him and give him a seat. The kids are excited. I notice that he is walking with a limp.

While he is seated before me, I simply don’t know what to say to him, how to show my joy. Finally, I say to him, “Alhamdulilah you are safe and back. How did you come back? What a miracle, Allaahu Akbar.”

He starts by thanking Allaah and praising him. His voice is low and he sounds weak… 

The Nightmare Begins

“I was away from home when the Mukhabarat[2] came.  They interview my family and obtain as much details and information about me as they possibly could. Upon my return, my wife informs me of the interrogation that had occurred. I think that perhaps it is a normal routine of the Syrian intelligence and perhaps they just want to add more information to their database and that everything is alright.

However, I decide not to sleep at my home that night and I spent the night at one of the brothers’ houses instead. The next day, I return home to find that everything is seemingly okay. A month passes by and I am getting on well with life. I have  almost forgotten about what happened a while ago... Another month passes and still everything is normal. I meet some brothers who have just come back from Iraq and we discuss things that are going on. They tell me about events that have occurred in Iraq and the victory of the Mujaahideen which hasn’t been covered by the Media. I get to know many good brothers; amongst them are brothers who were Mujaahideen from Algeria, Egypt and Iraq.

The next day I go to the Masjid, pray the Salat in congregation and speak with a brother immediately after the prayer. Five minutes into our conversation, I am surrounded by three men, one of whom I knew personally and had a good relationship with. He would always greet me and discuss Islamic issues with me. They order me to come with them and inform me that they are the secret police. They take me into their car, and ask for my passport. I tell them that I have left it at home and ask if they can drop me off at my house to get it for them. They agree and take me to my house. I tell my wife very briefly about what is happening and ask for my passport.  The family go wild; children are crying and everyone is in disarray.

The police get restless when the family take a long time to find my papers, so they handcuff me and drag me away into their car. I am informed that they'll return later for my passport. They speed me away in their car towards an intelligence base. It is in a certain location which some brothers told me about a while ago. During the drive they ask if I have a knife. I reply “No”. They ask if I have a mobile phone, so I switch my phone off and give it to them. Upon entering the base, I see that there are many different roads leading to different locations.  I read the street names and they lead me into a road called 'Tareeq alkhariji' (External road). As they drive me through, I see officers eating during the day when they are meant to be fasting[3] .

The car stops and I am hurriedly transferred into another car. I am then driven once again to a close-by location. They shackle me and take me into a small dark cell. I am locked in there and I am left for a day or two... Upon entering I begin to waver, but then resort to the remembrance of Allaah. The darkness makes me remember the grave and how we will meet Allaah on the Day of Judgement alone. Thoughts and images of the Shaykhs of Jihaad begin to pass through my mind: Sayed Qutub, Umar Abdur-Rahman, Ibn Taymiyah. All of these Shaykhs have gone through this same experience. This increases my patience and resolve.

I pray ‘Asr and begin to supplicate to Allah to make my path easier. I think to myself, 'I have come here for a reason approved by Sharee’ah. I am not a criminal. Nor am I better than those who have been arrested in Pakistan, sent to Guantenamo and left their families behind. So, I must follow their steps'. I continue to make duaa to Allaah in secret, lowering my voice, so the guards from outside cannot hear.

The next day, a guard opens the door to my cell and enters. He puts a cloth around my eyes, shackles and handcuffs me. He strips me off my clothes to the bare minimum (a singlet and tiny shorts). I am then led to what I think is the interrogation room. I am seated before someone who begins to question me. He asks for my name, father’s name, address, contact details, when I departed ********* (the country I departed from) and when I had arrived in Syria. They ask me for my country of origin. I reply to all of his questions until he tells me,

“You are wanted in ***** (A certain Arab country), and you are sentenced in absence to 20 years imprisonment. What is the name of the military (jihad) faction you joined during your stay in (that country)?” 

I answer that I had no connection with any group. He then asks me to confess to killing three secret police in that country.  I deny this, and he scolds me whilst repeating the question. I am then asked to recount my whole life, and I do so. Fortunately, I had prepared for most of these questions whilst I was in the cell, and I manage to fabricate a story which would perhaps get me out of trouble -  with the help of Allaah.

Once again the interrogator asks me to confess to his allegations against me, but I keep denying them. He then calls in one of the guards, and they beat me and give me electric shocks. I begin to repeat the words "hasbiyallahu laa ilaha ilahuwa, ni'mal mawlaa wa ni'manaseer"[4]. The torturer would continue until the interrogator would tell him to stop. The prison guard is ordered to send me back to the cell and I am again left in there for a long period of time.

A while later someone enters my prison cell; it is the torturer. He tells me, “I am sorry. I am under orders. I tried to not hurt you very hard with the electric shock machine, but I had no choice but to do it”. I remembered noticing that him and another person were the only ones whom I had seen observe fasting and even praying Taraweeh[5] together. Upon hearing that, I tell him that it is okay, whilst thinking to myself “Is this the only job you could find, oh servant of Allaah?!?, Cursed job it is indeed” I think that perhaps there is some benefit that I could gain from him and ask “I want to send a letter to my family urgently. If I write a letter, could you send it to them?”
He replies “That is a betrayal to my trust”.
I am shocked by the response. I fall silent, saddened and think to myself “Subhanallah, he finds it impossible to betray the trust of a taghoot[6], and so easy and simple to betray the trust of the Lord of the kings?”

After a while, the door is flung open once again. A day (or so) had passed… my body is aching from the surges of current which seared through my body. I am in deep pain. The prison guard covers my eyes with a cloth and leads me into the (interrogation) room. I am repeatedly asked many of the same questions that I had previously been asked. The interrogator then suggests sending me along with my family to *******[7] 
I reply sharply… “Yes, but only if my family will agree”, I say this since I know they will deport me anyway. Perhaps if I agree, he might think that I am innocent after all. He allows me to contact home and I put the offer to my wife. She rejects it outright and says that even if I go, she won’t come with me… I hang up the phone and the interrogator brushes their objection aside and asks me to sign a form. I tell him that I must first read it before agreeing to it. They try to force me to sign it, but I keep refusing. They then resort to forcibly putting ink onto my finger to stamp the paper. Two men hold my hand tightly and push my thumb on the paper. I smear the ink over the whole paper in an attempt to make the thumbprint invalid. The two people holding me then leave me and lock me in the same cell.

After a while I am called up and told to wear the best clothes available (as if I have any!). I am given some ‘good’ clothes and told to make myself presentable. They inform me that the intelligence officer wants to talk to me. After they prepare me, I am escorted up a staircase and into his room. The room is very large and spacious. There is a large meeting desk in the center, and on the other end, sits the officer.  As I walk closer, I notice the two books beside him entitled ‘wihdatul adyaan’[8]. I suspect that he is an Alawee[9], and sit on a table next to him. He asks for my name, my details and a long list of other personal information. He questions my cover-story in ****** (the country). He says “We have received reports from (the country) that you are involved in murdering three of their intelligence officers, and that you had a major role in taking part in the ******** (a certain event in the country). We have also been informed that you are a member of a certain “criminal” jihad faction, and when you are asked to sign a form you refuse to do so. Who do you think you are?”

I reply to him that the allegations were false and that perhaps he is seeking the wrong person. I explain to him that I had been coerced into signing those documents and that was why I had smeared the thumbprint and made it void.

He then says, “Okay, so your family doesn’t want to go with you. How about we send you by yourself?” I quickly reply, “Yes, but if only you can permit me to leave for a few days so that I may go and collect my belongings. I also need to finish a few business deals which I have pending”. The officer gives me an evil smirk and concludes, “You are asking for too much. We have spoilt you enough”. He then suggests, “Your family can send your belongings. As for you, I think it would be best if you left earlier, rather than later”.

He orders me to be transferred into the high security prison instead of the intelligence agency interrogation unit. I spend the whole night making intensive duaa, asking Allaah to free me. I remember the story of the three men who were trapped in the cave and asked Allaah to open the cave entrance with their good deeds. So I turned to Allaah, and say “Oh Allaah! I ask you to free me from this fitnah[10], with all my good deeds that you know of. Oh Allaah, I promise that I will feed such amount of poor people [and he mentions other vows he makes for Allaah].”

After a number of days spent in the prison, a man whom I have never seen in my life enters. He hugs me as though he is a friend who has not seen me for years and has been re-united with me. He asks about my condition, and I tell him about my situation. The man comforts me and I ask how he has heard about me. I do not receive a clear reply; however, he enquires whether I want him to arrange for my family to visit me. Instead I request to send a letter to my family. He agrees, so I write to them, asking them to not panic. I order them not to attempt to offer ransom to the regime to free me[11], but to intensify their duaa and to ask Allaah to make my plight easy.

After writing the letter, the brother left immediately. He returned a few days later and tells me that the officers are going to send me to the local prison, where they are going to process my forms and papers to deport me. The brother told me not to worry, and that he was doing his best to divert the flight from going to ****** to ********** (A western country) instead. He left me and I had some fear in my heart that perhaps all this was a plot against me. I was transferred into a civilian prison, where I am again interrogated. Around midnight I am escorted from the prison, and am driven to an unknown destination. While driving along, one of the personnel informs me that I had instead been deported to ********* (A western country). I pretended not to hear what he’d said and kept asking Allah for forgiveness and help.

Finally, I am hurried into the airport and one of the guards stays besides me, while another one talks with the customs officers. I am then escorted into the aeroplane, and from there I am flown here (to his current location).

Alhamdulillaah, I thank Allaah for freeing me. It is a great favour that He has bestowed upon me. I swear by Allaah, I saw brothers in the intelligence base who told me that they had been there for nine whole months. These were Egyptian brothers, who are valiantly and heroically withstanding the extreme torture inflicted upon them. To this day, they are still enduring the suffering whilst remaining steadfast.

Subhanallah, I remember hearing during my imprisonment, the interrogator asking one of these brothers “How many Americans did you kill (in Iraq)?” The brother kept replying “Who do you think you are asking me with that attitude? Ikhsa ya aduwallaah[12]” He would be then be tortured and asked the same question again.”

End of Interview

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Walhamdulilahi rabbil Aalameen. We ask Allaah to reward our brother for this great trial. May He raise him in a high position on the day of Judgement and may those who tortured him in this life taste a grievous punishment in the Hereafter, ameen