Fadaiat, freedom of knowledge and freedom of movement





Breaking news: more than 50 arrested in a peaceful action of The Caravan against the new "CIE" + The judge accepts habeas corpus for some arrested of the "CIE"
[Jun 24th] Universitat Sq., 18h. Demonstration: Enough repression to immigration
[Jun 20th-24th]Fadaiat: For the freedom of movement//Freedom of knowledge
[Jun 23th-25th] Barcelona, 2nd European caravan for the freedom of movement

related news: Danger of expulsion to young schoolboys of french "without documents" families ::: For the immigrants right to vote ::: Melilla:SOS Racisme reports the "connivance" between Spain and Morocco in the repression to immigrants ::: Unió d'Argentins de Catalunya's Communique ::: occupation and hunger strike in Dublin's Cathedral [reports in english from ireland imc: 1 + 2]

+info:immigration, imc-straits, fadaiat, caravan

Djarbakyr



Vilket underligt land Turkiet ar. Den underliga sjalvsakerheten hos den nya liberala eliten... Polisernas orubbliga forsakran om sin egen makt. Oandliga gatpojkar; det lekande stadslivet som har forsvunnit hos oss. Konsuppdelningen pa gatuniva. Det oerhort bara hos de kvinnor som inte ar tackta. Magra kattor. Moln av swifts, vad de nu heter pa svenska. Varningar. Varningar for att ga sjalv pa gatan, det oerhort underliga I detta.

S

Torture according to Opus Dei

I have been following with attention and curiosity the discussion about torture, if torture works, how it works, and why we are still using it, despite our declaration that we live in a civilized world. As one who has been tortured, I can say, yes, torture works, not because of the pain inflicted, or the feeling of loneliness and despair, but because torture acts at a level of consciousness we seldom have access to.

I was 19 years old when I was tortured, in Uruguay, at that time one of South America's most 'exemplary' countries, with a long tradition of democracy and legality. Uruguay, a country with a small army and without any military conscription, demanded several CIA agents to train its military in torture and pressure. The agent who trained my countrymen in torture was the American Dan Mitrione. He was executed by guerrillas in 1971. Afterwards, a swarm of agents came to our country to 'take the reins', vindicate Mitrione, and dismantle the guerrilla force.

We were tortured by people we knew. I was raised in a family with several members in the military. I was beaten and tortured by friends of my uncles and my cousins.

Some years ago, I went to church in Spain and confessed (I am a freelance Catholic, I accept some aspects of the Church and its doctrine, but about others I am critical or skeptical). I didn't know the priest was a member of Opus Dei, the Catholic right-wing sect who supported Franco and Pinochet. He asked me why I have not been in confession for so many years, so I told him briefly about my four years in jail, and my exile in Sweden. He asked me how I felt about the men who interrogated me. I was a bit struck by his question … up until that time, I had not given them much thought. Yet he insisted, and so I said "Today, I am not sure how I feel. I can accept that many of them believed they were right, and that torture or pressure were only methods to gather information, but …" He interrupted me and said: "But you should love the people who tortured you. They did it to save your immortal soul. If you died under torture, you should go directly to heaven. They were good Catholics, and only wanted to save you from the devil, and from Marxism." Torture is still in my body as a memory and as a trace. It's still a challenge for me to discover the reasons why friends of my uncles, and good Catholics, could torture and kill, and still go to church on Sundays. [1]

The fence, Ceuta, Melilla




We arrived at the fence. I cut myself with the debris of barbed wire lying on the path.
We are 52 now. Jusefs group tried to do the same yesterday. We were split in three
groups to make the jump. We said farewell. Now its time. I see Sali, he smiles and
points to the other side with his chin. A phonecall when we are there. We will see each
other there.
Guards in two trucks have seen us. The guards get out from the trucks. They shoot at
us with rubberballs.
They have the same sound as cannonballs. More cars and jeeps
arrive. I was the first to jump the fence and tried to bring the ladder with me. They are
coming fast and their steps are louder and louder. Now its more noisy. We jump over
the second fence. Everyone. It's no longer silent.



29 august
South Border of Spain. Spain. Automous city of Melilla.
The fence.
02.00

We arrived to the fence. I cut myself with the debris of barbed wire lying on the path.
We are 52 now. Jusefs group tried to do the same yesterday. We were splitted in three groups to make the jump. We
said farewell. Now its time. I see Sali, he smiles and points to the other side with his chin. A phonecall when we are
there. We will see each other there.
Guards in two trucks has seen us. The guards get out from the trucks. They shoot at us with rubberballs.
They
have the same sound as cannonballs. More cars and jeeps arrive. I was the first to jump the fence and tried to
bring the ladder with me. They are coming fast and their steps are louder and louder. Now its more soundly. We
jump over the second fence. Everyone. It's not longer silent.
The ladder holds well. I see that Sam and Adama are bleeding. We look at both sides of the fence before we run.
We are 6 people. Where
are Nipa and Nam? The cloud of dust goes down. There are two bodies in the mark. I
close the eyes to open them again and I see they are alive. We fetch them. They are vomiting blood. Nam was hit in the chest from a pair meters. Nipa doesn't speak but Arianne was besides her when the ball hit her belly.
They are coming now, with the rifles in their hands. They encircle us. We see them but they can't see us. Nipa and
Nam continue to vomite blood. Electrical charges. I see than Nam is not longer moving. At least they are not
longer hitting us. They start to lift us from the mark. : Up! Listen to me! Nigger, come up!
They pull them along. Nipa has still the eyes open and looks at me. Nam is a still body, inert. They take us down,
they have opened the small entry. Again the small door. We are again outside the fence. We hear the steps of the
Moroccans and we run fast, we run, we run. We hide in the night.

South border of Europe. Morocco.
Refugee camps in the woods of Nador. Melilla fence.
08.00



Its dawn since hours. We start to go out from our hideouts. We recognize each other, we must go and fetch the rest
of us. Nams inert body lies on the mark 50 meters from the fence. From inside I feel the pain go through my body .
I feel I die inside. The images of the assault come back to us. We all scream meanwhile we go near the body. Jusef
becames ill when he touch the cold body. We help him to go up and without second thoughts we take the body and
carry it to our camp.
The Guinean Nassur tell us the Maroccan guards took away the dead body of Nipa. Only a short time after we ran
to the woods. Maybe they didn't see the body of Nam, maybe they thought two dead were too many dead.

13.00
We are going to ask for support in the city. Some phonecalls to confirm what happened and tell the rest of the
world. We need to be seen and heard. The dead are not invisible. Everything is speeding up. Europe? Democracy
defending itself with shots in the night. Cutting knives and blood in the skin of all of us.

17.00

In the camp the air is thick. Some are looking away. We sit down and try to find any exit. In the middle of us the
body of Nam is at least protected. Our beaten bodies speak up. Our bodies rather scream. We look at each other
continuely, we look for answers in the other eyes. We are not going anybody to die alone along this long way. They
are not noman's land dead.
We carry the inert body of our comrade near the fence. The guards of the damned fence may not close the eyes.
They are there, murdereres paid by the mighty. We scream from our bellies. Murderers!
They look at us. They
speak with each other. Murderers!
The royal guards come. They surround us. We are going with them to declare about the deaths in the night. I have
seen everything. We don't have other option. Now they are going to interrogate us, the tricky questions. Some have
fleed.

31 August
Europes Southern Border. Morocco.
Migrants camp in the woods of Nador. Melilla's fence.
06.00

The Moroccan military come into the camp. We hide in the woods but they take many of us, we don't know how
many. We must wait until tomorrow to see who are safe. We ran before they came. Their steps are less firm now
but the earth still shake with the same intensity when they go.
The choppers are still flying over the zone. The horrible sound make us shiver. The branches of the trees shiver
too. We hear somebody speaking Spanish. When they are near the fence they make an agreement. We hear
Hammu and Salem, screaming. They look at their eyes but they don't see them. The shots hit you inside. You feel
that you die. We die all of us with each buzz. I see other eyes in the night, among the leaves. We hear our
comrades screaming. The minutes pass over me.

15.00

A few hours of the morning has passed, they decide to leave. We start to call everyone who can help us. We are
still hidden, among the leaves. We tell people they told us they were taken to Alger. They are driven back. Some of
them were hurt by the kicks and the beating of the guards. They were working faster than before. They are taken to
the busses and driven away, they are taken away.
The militar took also the food and the blankets. They took everything. They burned the tents. They worked the
whole night. They work in shifts. It seems we are not going to make it. We must gather again. We must jump. We
will try again.

8th September
Europe's Southern Border. Morocco.
The camp of migrants of the woods of Benyounes. The fence of Ceuta.
04.00 h

We hear the steps in despite of the distance. Sturdy boots which don't stop at anything. Sometimes the guards seem
bored. They smoke American cigarettes. We see them through the fence. We recognize them, we know their faces
and try to understand their looks. We should learn to penetrate our eyes with our eyes, learn them to look from the
other side. Only to make the crossing, for a few minutes, to make the crossing.
The lights are now more intense. Only a few weeks ago they were only four or five walking the 8 kilometers. Now
they are more, maybe thirty. They carried some big movile reflectors which illuminates these side too. They are a
lot more of them now. They came only a few days ago. On the uniforms they have insignias shining upon the
lights. Their faces are young but they seem have lived several wars.
Everything is speeded up. We can't go back. We have the police too near. This week they took some of us when
they come back from the city. They went to buy food and ropes. They had chargers for the car batteries. Now some
of them must go back to recharge them. They call us from the south, one of the fields of the zone has been
destroyed. They said they took them to the border with Alger. Tonight we are going to jump again.

13th September
Europe's Southern Border. Morocco.
The camp of migrants in the woods of Nador. The fence of Melilla.
12.00



They speak already of another dead. They say he was in coma in a hospital in the Spanish side. From the 8th. He
died yesterday. Munir and Hassane saw everything.
We were hidden in the bushes. The Moroccan guards beated his body, who was almost still, We shivered. We saw
something shining. They were stabbing his legs. The body falls over a ramp. He was dieying when the brutes left.
We closed our fist to no scream. Brutes. We come near the body of our brother, we lifted it. Someone whisled to us
from the other side of the fence. He has seen everything too. He
must go to a hospital. We took the body to his
side. They dissapeared and we went back to the woods.
We still don't know who are the dead they speak about. More and more people are dissapeared. They say the guy
who died was from Mali. Maybe Alem or Rasid. We don't know anything about Idrissa, she went to declare with
the royal guards. They start to speak about unnamed dead, as in our country, as in all the wars.

17.00

They are working on the fence. Africa. They want us to leave, isn't? To the land of no existence, to the silence of
the desert. Black holes of the present. They want erase us from the maps, they want rise the prices of the jumps, of
the ferry and of the pateras. They want take everything from us.
Not either we which demanded political asyle has too much to do. We scream too, to be heard, but nobody listen to
us. We are passing people. The transit becomes longer, we don't entry. We must continue walking.

15th September
Europe's Southerner Border. Morocco.
The woods of Nador. The fence of Melilla.
02.00

They take away the body hit by the damn rubber bullets. Just in the neck. Dead. Bright eyes among the branches.
Afraid, sad and enraged. They look at each other looking for answers. What
is happening?
The hunt of the royal guard don't end. The children learn from very early the worth of the silence. They shot with
rifles and real bullets. Now, from both sides.

Europe's Southern Border. Morocco. Rabat.
Neighboorhood of Ayn Nada 2.
04.00

We are awoke by the beating on the doors and the screams of the children. They come here too. They are many
and are in a hurry. They go in. Hits. We are evicted from our houses. They draw the arms of the people who resist
and beat them. In every place, without any hesitation. We are going out and they gather us in groups. They treat
us as animals.
Many comrades show their papers with the stamps of permits of stay and work. But nobody look or listen. The
children scream. The silence ended tonight. In this quarter we are most Congolese and from the Cost of Ivory.
Some are Nigerians. We go out from a war to go back to it. This is a no declared war.
It's wounded people everywhere. The watchers of the law don't lose time. They put us into buses. Hurry
up
nigger! Hurry up! We don't know how many. We don't know if we are all here. We see that Amina is bleeding.
Ngodi limps, he can barely walk. They are killing us, slowly, they are killing us. We see that we are hundreds and
try to resist. They are many and have weapons. The beatings don't stop until the buses are runningYou
are not
coming back! They laugh. Again the border with Argel.
We don't have enouth with air. The buses of the death. Arms outside the windows looking for some possibility.
Anima is still bleeding. The people who succeded hiding their cellphones are informing. Desperate shouts. They
say they are going to do what they can, they urge us to continue together. That we keep demanding asylum.
Mpele has the head split. Her bloody hand still squeeze strong the papers. The police are scared and they stop the
buses. They are many buses, almost 10. A lot of blood. Too many dead. We keep going.

21th September
Europe's South Border
The network
23.00

The news don't stop, every day. Every hour. We are with them. Everything is speeding up. The nightly raids, the
small door.
Morocco play well their cards. They told us. They urged them to make the jump. They put theirs in the camps. It's
a money thing, the damned money. Millions of Euros. The dam. They can build it with steel or with cement. The
water look for it's course. Or the wall crashes.
It's not so many who pass over the fence. There is always another way. Who jump over the fence walk. But if you
can pay, you can choose.
They sent back to Spain a group of Senegalese demanding asylum. It's now weeks since we got good news. In
despite of that we celebrate it. Some people do that from their cells in Morocco. They send greetings. The mails
make find the paths. We are others.

27th September
Europe's Southern Border. Spain. The autonomous city of Melilla.
The fence.
02.14

We jump. These time not all of us make it. It's panic in the camps tonight. The army make us to be invisible. There
are more of them every time, we are fewer. They took away hundreds, in the whole country, maybe thousands.
They called us. It's not any way back. We run.
We run to the city. I cut myself in the arm and I am bleeding. Nadin try to stop the bleeding with a compression
bandage made with threads of his shirt. We must hurry up. We flee from the civil guards. If they catch us before we
come to the police station we are going to be sebt back by the small door. Run, hurry up, run. We hide among the
cars to go out when they are gone. Ken lead us. We ran in the city. The police station is there. Only a few more
steps.

29th September
The network and the fence
03.50

The telephone rings. 50 minutes ago 200 people tried to jump over the fence. Many succeeded. There are at least
40 serious wounded and they think 2 persons are dead. Tge communication breaks. They must take care of the
wounded and see what is happening. We call and keep calling. 4.30 we wake up some journalist. We go down to
the street to charge our cell phone. 30 Euros.
Never before so many people made the jump in Ceuta. The civil guard want take the wounded to the hospital. They
are afraid. Noises and beatings. We are all afraid. Asylum,
we want asylum!

05.30

The ambulance is coming. We are a bit more calm now. We keep calling. Someone must be witness to the demand
of asylum. We call. Asylum!
The tone of the conversation rises up. They scream. They are being taken to the small
door. Pushes and beatings. They want do that before the press comes. We must resist until dawn, demand asylum,
all together. The whims of the authorities, a fast decision from the higher levels, who knows.The international law
don't exist in these war in the borders.
The Congolese sit on the floor. We are more than hundred but we are divided in several groups, we are not longer
all together. Cries. A small toddler of three months died, he was the son of a girl we know.
This is their war but these dead are our dead. We don't forget. The mother tried to cross carrying the baby in the
arms. The hits of the rubber bullets and the gas make them fell and the baby died. He died in the Maroccan side.

07.08

The first tvnews
speak about 6 dead. Someone call us from Morocco. They are deporting lots of people, illegally.
They have not gone through the police station and they are again in the woods. Someone call us from his hideout,
in the wood. The civil guards shot. Some of them are being left there. Others are being taken directly to the
hospital.
6 dead? We don't know how or when. We don't know why they decided to make the jump tonight and in these way.
It's not a usual strategy in the camps of Ceuta. We don't know what happened. We hear than in Melilla the people
were passing and maybe they tried to make the jump together.
In a few hours the authorities have a meeting. Money for the guards. Millions of Euros.

2th October
Europe's Southerner border. Morocco. Rabat.
Police station number 15.
09.35

We are around 30. Everyone demanding asylum. Be
quiet, nigger! Everyone inside, all inside! The cells are
small. Dirty and damp. Hannas is almost fainting of hunger. They don't give us water.
A stream of light under the door. The door opens. They allow us to go back.

Europe's South Border. Morocco. Rabat.
Police station number 3.
10.20

We are more than 50. All in the same cell. Gray. I breath badly. Karim is not yet 17 years old.
22.10
We are being taken away fast, they put us in buses. Not all of us are here. Adama, from the Cost of Ivory, has an
ache in the belly and is in pain. The medicines. There is a boy halv dead, on the mark, he doesn't react. He is still
breathing but the eyes are white. Nos han sacado deprisa y nos suben a los autobuses. No estamos todos. Adama
el costamarfileño tiene una infección en el estómago y se retuerce. Las medicinas. Hay un chico que está ya
medio muerto, tirado en el suelo y no reacciona. Respira , pero sus ojos están en blanco. My life is more in danger
here than in my own country. Who
is having some winning from this barbaric thing?

3th October
Europe's South Border. Morocco.
Highway of Bouanane.
18.44

A cloud of dust over the asphalt. At least thirty buses. We must spare our strenght. Some of them are already there,
left alone, in the desert. Without any food or water. In small groups to don't resist. To die here or in my country.
This is a slow death.
We are arriving. The motors roar. We are afraid for the seriously wounded. The nigh is now darker. We call and
keep calling. They are killing us. We are dead, many of us, we are already dead. I squeeze with strenght the hand
of Mansour. We must keep the contact.

5th October
Europe's South Border. Algery.
Desert of Sahara.
04.10

There are 14 dead. Nothing to drink. They took us to die in the desert. To the emptiness.
We walk all the time looking for some lights. We lost many of us in the way. The night and the sand. Omar had a
broken leg. We looked at each other when we went out from the buses. I have in my eyes the rage of everyone of us
and the fear. Laila come either. I have still some charge in my cellphone. Until we come to the lights or until it
dawns. They say there is Alger.
We are the travellers of the permanent transit. Beaten bodies coming back to the life. We are full of death but we
keep going back to the way. If we pass the night we can try to remake the way.

Europe's South Border. Morocco.
The woods of Nador.
06.20

The whole night. We are being on the trees for hours. We moved in small groups. There were thousands of
soldiers. From
where are they coming? We run fast, we are fast and silent. Our children forget how to cry.
We are being taken away. They burn everything. We are being used until we crash. Dirty animals, disgusting serfs
of whoever. Maybe somebody evaded the dogs. I breath deeply and hug Aisha towards my chest. They are there,
the buses.

6th October
Europe's South Border. Autonomous city of Melilla.
The fence.
05.50

We are all here. We succeded. They are shooting the big rubber balls. I can still hear the buzz. There were several
choppers, from the both sides. My eyes burn. These gases can make you blind.
We came to the police station. We are safe. We must give strenght to the people left away, on the path.

8th October
Europe's South Border. Algery.
Desert of Sahara.
08.20

You must choose between to die in the desert or to die by a shot in the fence. There are now dozens of dead. Of
hunger and thirst. Condemned to be outside. There are thousands, many brothers are being kept in military
camps. There are women with toddlers in their arms. Many of them are pregnant.
I remember the dead and I keep dying inside. The buses made a stop, the military trucks and the jeeps are coming.
We are being separated in small groups and thrown into the desert. Janik speaks to the mobile phone. He has
managed to avoid the moroccan. He says that they try to stop all that from another side. It is not time. Every
second is a loss. The minutes pass over me.
We have gone the whole night towards the lights, some of us have come. The Algerian military men have given us
water and food. Companions have been appearing during the whole night. Others not. We lost them in the desert.
The sand will cover the bodies of our dead men. We will make you pay for this massacre.

26 October
Europa's south border. Morocco. Kenitra's military airport.
15.00

They take to us again Mali, we will come to Bamako this night. They took Johannes and others to Guelmín. They
were hundred.
Many of ours have lied. We change the names into the lives. Some of them declared themselves from senegal to
prevent them to be taken to the desert. They were scared stiff.

Europa's south border. Morocco. Military camp in Guelmín.
19.00
There are no bathrooms. There are no showers where we are. They do not stop monitoring our any more slight
movements. Bread with tea and a glass with lentils, for the whole day. They name the desert to make ourselves to
tremble. We take with us the pain of others.

31 October
Europa's south border. Morocco. Military camp in Guelmín.

Ivory Coast, The Congo RDC, Sierra Leone and Liberia. We all have asked for it, rather, have shouted it. I
shelter!.
They do not listen to us. The conditions here are unbearable. New jails of the land of nobody. Military
jails. We are the prisoners of the war in the border, expelled from the possibility, them without name.
They say that after that they repatriate us, condemned to death. They have stopped to approach the leaders of our
countries in war. The same ones of which we fled. They cooperate the powerful ones to submit the travellers. Our
information has happened to them in tray.
We still have our alive bodies. It is the only thing that we have. Hunger strike. They will have to come for us or to
bury all all. This war never ends. We will return. There will be necessary to return to invent the way.

Dziga

The boat Samy




We are on our way to Barcelona's harbour, walking among derelict boats and debris, some boats are now squatters, one of them is owned by the legendary theater group La Fura dels Baus
Samy and Quomar, two sailors living in terrible conditions in a huge cargo boat, the Samy, invite us to eat with them, we collect some money and buy wine, rice and lentils. Quomar lower the broken stair to allow us to climb onboard, I tell him I feel as the queen Elizabeth 1, when sir Walter Raleigh put his cloak on the mud, Samy and Quomar laugh, they kiss my hand...



Indymedia and other independent media wrote about them several times:

"A crew of 13 people are currently trapped on a cargo boat docked in Barcelona.
The crew were employed to facilitate repairs on the boat registered in Liberia, "SAMY" or "Freetown" and were contracted by the ship's owner between april and august of 2005 in Mumbay India.
The boat now repaired is shipworthy and may soon receive orders to clear the port. The crew have not been paid their wages, but the Barcelona Port Authority has been paid its daily charges. The owner of the boat dealing through multiple agencies and sheltered by the lack of proper attention to international martime workers' rights, has not paid them, and only sent a insuficient sum of money to cover food, water and other essential living costs.

These men have been brought here on a one way plane ticket by the owner.

The ITF (International Transport Workers' Federation) has long campaigned to bring attention to the plight of workers globally who are effectively in endentured labour, near slavery, on floating prisons.

The crew welcome ( & need )Support and Solidarity and Visits. It gets pretty boring with no food and no money in one of the richest yachting ports in the world."