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Authors: Amjad Nasser
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the slogan ‘Let the ox do the work’ and said the ox would turn its horns on everyone. Now you’re wondering whether what he did was make an ideological and political choice in favour of one evil over another, or whether on the Island of the Sun, the last place you had been together, Mahmoud had met one of the Hamiya officials who had come to the island for tourism and shopping; and the bargaining had started there. You don’t know and you didn’t ask him. But you could find no other convincing explanation for how he had managed to enter the country without being sent back, because he was one of a small minority of people that had tried to go home and not been re-deported by the border guards. Hamiya’s policy in this regard was inflexible: not to let back fugitives even if they were wanted men, to leave them like stray dogs barking in the streets. This was the exact expression current in the official media when referring to opponents of the regime who were active abroad. The expression ‘stray dogs’ rarely meant actual dogs. Anyone who heard the expression on the radio or read it in the newspapers understood immediately what was meant.
* * *
Hamiya may be the only country in the world that does not arrest fugitive dissidents when they try to come home. Instead, it sends them back where they came from. This has created several diplomatic crises with neighbouring states as well as with other more distant countries. It once happened that a group from an organisation similar to your own left the airport on the Island of the Sun to go home, and the airport authorities in Hamiya put them back on the plane that brought them. The authorities on the island wouldn’t let them back in and put them on the first plane back to Hamiya, and the guards at Hamiya airport sent them back to the island again. The authorities on the island contacted Hamiya, but the contacts failed to secure assurances that the group of returnees would be let in. Human rights groups condemned Hamiya’s conduct. Statements were issued demanding that Hamiya let its dissident nationals come home, especially as some of them had wives and children. The appeals and protests fell on deaf ears in Hamiya, which forced the Island of the Sun to accept the group, who were kicked around between planes and airports until another country agreed to take them.
Many people know that this strange arrangement, unique to Hamiya among all the countries in the world, is the brainchild of the security-obsessed adviser, who is said to be a relic of a vanished empire, a man who does not appear at any public functions and whose photograph is not published in the newspapers; so shadowy a man that some people doubt he even exists. But those who are confident that he does exist assert that he was the man closest to the ear of the Grandson and that it was he who suggested this despicable procedure, which is a punishment harsher than the humiliations of imprisonment. The Hamiya authorities do not explain the procedure. They neither admit it nor deny it. But the most plausible explanation for it can be derived from the phrase, almost a slogan, that recurs in the official media: Let them rot abroad.
* * *
In his usual friendly way Mahmoud said, ‘Let’s go and have a coffee outside. Don’t you know a good café where we can sit?’ ‘Sure,’ you told him.
The cultural complex where the exhibition was being held lies on the riverside. Nearby there are several cafés and bars. It was afternoon. The great river that divides the city in two twists and turns like the body of a giant snake. Dark. Mysterious. On its surface floats the detritus of human society – empty bottles and cigarette ends, just as the city’s famous poet described it. Men and women cross in both directions, carrying umbrellas as a precaution against rain that might fall at any moment, their eyes fixed before their feet, oblivious of everything around them. You noticed that while speaking to you
* * *
Hamiya may be the only country in the world that does not arrest fugitive dissidents when they try to come home. Instead, it sends them back where they came from. This has created several diplomatic crises with neighbouring states as well as with other more distant countries. It once happened that a group from an organisation similar to your own left the airport on the Island of the Sun to go home, and the airport authorities in Hamiya put them back on the plane that brought them. The authorities on the island wouldn’t let them back in and put them on the first plane back to Hamiya, and the guards at Hamiya airport sent them back to the island again. The authorities on the island contacted Hamiya, but the contacts failed to secure assurances that the group of returnees would be let in. Human rights groups condemned Hamiya’s conduct. Statements were issued demanding that Hamiya let its dissident nationals come home, especially as some of them had wives and children. The appeals and protests fell on deaf ears in Hamiya, which forced the Island of the Sun to accept the group, who were kicked around between planes and airports until another country agreed to take them.
Many people know that this strange arrangement, unique to Hamiya among all the countries in the world, is the brainchild of the security-obsessed adviser, who is said to be a relic of a vanished empire, a man who does not appear at any public functions and whose photograph is not published in the newspapers; so shadowy a man that some people doubt he even exists. But those who are confident that he does exist assert that he was the man closest to the ear of the Grandson and that it was he who suggested this despicable procedure, which is a punishment harsher than the humiliations of imprisonment. The Hamiya authorities do not explain the procedure. They neither admit it nor deny it. But the most plausible explanation for it can be derived from the phrase, almost a slogan, that recurs in the official media: Let them rot abroad.
* * *
In his usual friendly way Mahmoud said, ‘Let’s go and have a coffee outside. Don’t you know a good café where we can sit?’ ‘Sure,’ you told him.
The cultural complex where the exhibition was being held lies on the riverside. Nearby there are several cafés and bars. It was afternoon. The great river that divides the city in two twists and turns like the body of a giant snake. Dark. Mysterious. On its surface floats the detritus of human society – empty bottles and cigarette ends, just as the city’s famous poet described it. Men and women cross in both directions, carrying umbrellas as a precaution against rain that might fall at any moment, their eyes fixed before their feet, oblivious of everything around them. You noticed that while speaking to you
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