Dialogue

Mario Rustan   |  Sun, 12/14/2008 10:33 AM  |  Bookmark

The gunman lifted me up and led me away from the other hostages. He took me to an unlocked hotel room and told me to open the door and to sit on a chair.

He waited for someone else to enter.

It's so unsettling to be a singled-out hostage. Hours ago I was having a nice dinner with a colleague and his family when the terrorists struck.

Then, I took cover under the table and told everyone to do the same. After the pandemonium I was horror-struck. I saw the couple and their children covered in blood, struggling for their lives. I couldn't think what to do next, amid all the screaming, when a young man raised his rifle to my head and asked my nationality.

I was dragged off and rounded up like many of the other hostages. My head wanted to both tell him to behave and then yell for hotel security to come. The security officers had probably been the first to die.

"Professor Malik," the man entering the bedroom called my name. I nodded. I had made public appearances, in bookshops and conferences and on the news channels, but I wondered if I was that famous. The first gunman left us and closed the door.

Since he knew me, I thought I had the right to know him, so I glanced up at his face. "Do you remember me?" he asked. He held a submachine gun.

After a pause I steadied my voice. "I believe you are Aziz."

"Yes, Professor, I'm glad you remember," he sat on the bed and put the gun on his lap.

I kept quiet. Aziz was my student, one of thousands I had been teaching for decades.

Specifically, he was one of thousands who enrolled in my courses, but we went through the semester with no closer contact than from the two ends of a lecture hall. Still I recognized his face, his name. I recalled the tutors telling me Aziz was active in their sessions, assertively so, and didn't hesitate to attack others' opinions, but he did well in his papers. Like many other students, he graduated and went home.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. But I'm glad. Because I want to ask you some questions,"

"Well, me too."

"Then let me start. Why are you here?"

I thought that was supposed to be my question. "I'm here for a conference. On development. I'm not stay in the hotel, I was meeting my colleague here. Do you mind if I ask why you're here?"

"You must know why."

"As a matter of fact, I would like to hear it from you."

"To wage holy war."

That is always the cover story. I didn't reply, waiting. He spoke again.

"I'm disappointed to see you here, Professor. You shouldn't be here. You make me hate you."

"What did I do, Aziz, that now you hate me?"

"You're just like the other captives here. You're a villain. You come to this country to spread lies. You were having an expensive dinner -- unclean meat and alcohol -- even though you know many beggars are just outside." He looked at me scornfully. "All these years you've lied to me, Professor."

In my younger years I had dealt with one or two manipulative girls who were practiced at blame shifting and plagiarism. This was worse -- and much more confusing.

"I'm afraid I still don't follow you. Honestly."

"You and your kind always like to pretend to be idiots, don't you?" He sneered. "Maybe you really are an idiot. Let me explain, then. You said you're here for a conference on development. What is that? Forcing this country to open its doors wider for the multinationals? Letting the missionaries come in with their Bibles and dollars? Building more hotels like this one?"

"No," I dared myself to reply. "It's about providing clean water, basic housing and education."

"There you go, lying again!"

***

The interrogation was going nowhere so I switched the focus trying to dampen Aziz' subtly sweltering anger.

"May I ask you something? I think both of us understand your position and world view. If you hate the West, why did you study in a Western country?"

"You want to contradict me, do you? That's alright. That's what I like from the West -- always pretending to accept us. Perhaps ... I wanted to change it: I wanted to show them what true virtue and faith was like. It wasn't that bad there. They let me speak up against injustice. In my country the police would have arrested me."

He smiled and continued,"The police -- your government's paid thugs."

"And yet, you keep on hating the West."

"Of course, like they keep on hating us. They know but they never want to change."

"You know politics always evolve. America has a new president. We have a new prime minister. All are different from the former leaders you hate."

"No, they're all the same. Racists and liars, phobic, and hypocrites. So do their voters. You are one of them."

I protested.

"No, Aziz. You know I demonstrated against the occupation of Iraq too -- and got arrested. You know I campaigned for the opposition."

"Yes, Professor. I remember your lectures on democracy. You really think demonstration and election change the world?" He raised his gun. "This is change."

At that moment all my fear left me. I thought I was just having a regular political debate. "You think so? What change has it made? Only sadness and terror. You have achieved nothing, just more bad reputation and more violence. I don't see how killing families bring change."

He glared at me. "Don't you make fun of our struggle! Families? Then what about families in Palestine, Kashmir and Iraq who were killed?! What do you say?"

"Tragedies -- that should be minimized, not multiplied."

"No, the West and the Jews deliberately killed them, to exterminate them. Just like the Americans did to the Indians and the white Australians did to the Aborigines."

"Look at me, Aziz. Do I look like an exterminator? Did people try to kill you when you were a student?"

"That's because the Westerners are cowards and backstabbers. They act nice and friendly, but they do all the evils in the world. All that free sex, rock music, and malls. They force other countries to buy from them and to obey. Countries that refuse them are destroyed or isolated."

***

I was getting frustrated with his rants. "What do you want from the government? Release of prisoners? Military withdrawal?"

"We just want them to regret. To fear us."

"Unfortunately they would only hate you more. And you must have expected this. The Special Forces will attack this place and kill you. You probably want to bomb this hotel to rubble. But in the end you will die and things will not get better in Palestine or Iraq."

"It doesn't matter. But they will talk about this for a long time. They won't be laughing again. If they don't understand now, perhaps someday they will understand."

He paused and put his gun aside. "I'm giving you a last chance, Professor. Repent. Convert now, be a true believer, and your life will be spared."

"I'm sorry. You don't have the right to force me. On the other hand, I want you to consider. Do you think you've killed your own brothers and sisters tonight? Perhaps the waiters, or the security guards, or even other hostages over there. Did you give them a last chance?"

"You're very arrogant and deserve to die. We're going back to the hall. We will kill you all now."

As he stood up, I harnessed all my rage and emotion, leapt up and tackled him. I pushed him to the bed, and punched his face -- the only student I ever smacked.

His right hand, however, grabbed his submachine gun and swung it against my skull. I crashed to the floor. He shot a round of bullets into my chest.

"Pig!" he cursed. I breathed heavily. Oh no, I'm going to die. In this darkness. I always wanted to die in a hospital or in my own bed, holding hands with my wife, seeing my children and grandchildren. Not here, not now.

I became really angry with him. I struggled to move my head to look at his face. "Aziz," I grunted "You will die in disgrace."

Not the wisest last words. I should have asked God to accept my soul, or to forgive him, or to say a prayer. No, I wanted my voice to haunt him when the government troops came, or at least to give him an uncomfortable second thought before suicide. I could not forgive him for separating me from my family. For ignoring all that I have taught. For being antisocial.

***

Was that the end of all my hard work? Years of education, all the competition, all the financial concerns and the complexity of marriage? Did Aziz care about all those things? He finished me off with a few more blasts.

"That's my testimony."

Beep. The clear tone signaled that my testimony had been recorded.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry for what happened," the officer said.

"So, what did happen?"

"Well, the soldiers came and killed Aziz and his friends. They found your body, and it has been flown home. You made big news back home. Your funeral is scheduled. You may attend it with assistance from our staff."

That would be quite hard on me. I really wanted to see my family again but couldn't bear to see them weep. Of course, I shouldn't attempt to contact them again while they are alive.

"May I know the current situation of Aziz?"

"I can only say he's facing serious charges, multiple charges of first degree murder."

"What about me?"

"You need to go through the registration process. Please be assured that we completely understand your situation and we are particularly concerned about ensuring your comfort."

"I'm happy to hear that. I hope it will be much simpler than what I used to have to do."

"Of course. In the mean time, please help yourself at the snack bar."

I shook her hand and left the table. I grabbed tea and cookies and sat down to talk with a Zimbabwean who was enjoying a glass of water. He had just died from cholera, he said.

Bandung, December 2008 For Lo Hwei Yen

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