In the summer of 2022, I gained insight into the British penal system when I was jailed for a month following direct action against Elbit—this is my prison diary (pt.7)
In the summer of 2022, I gained insight into the British penal system when I was remanded to Her Majesty’s Prison Eastwood Park. I was sent to jail for one month along with eight other activists following direct action in Bristol against Elbit Systems, Israel’s largest private arms company. During the month I spent in the penitentiary, I documented everything I saw, heard, felt, and thought as a form of resistance. This is my prison diary (pt.7).
May 31st 2022
Grace fell upon us today in the courtyard as the sun shun bright. I ran across the walls’ path as fast as I could and jumped between the flowerbeds like a hare. I didn’t mind how other women were looking at me! One of the prisoners was shouting: “I wanna have what she’s having”, but I haven’t taken anything apart of the love of sun and freedom! In the background stood a gloomy call with my solicitor, who told me of the draconian punishments given in Bristol for political cases. It seems that if found guilty, I could face a long time here. I am prepared for that, although we never thought it would happen. I can only hope that this sacrifice, which pales in significance in comparison to that of the Palestinians, will be seen in the sky above and that the stars will be looking kindly down on us and all of the young man and girls who are imprisoned in the apartheid prisons.
Last night I couldn’t fall asleep. The reason is quite funny: I had an appointment with a doctor early morning, and I wanted to look nice and show up in my best prison outfit – gray T-shirt and sweatpants (the good ones)! Being so anxious about getting up early, without knowing what time it was, I almost didn’t fall asleep all night. I was swept into the morning dream only to have the jailer (the hot one) dragging me out of my bed without being prepared, not even brushing my teeth. Despite all that, I’ve managed, after a long time of not seeing myself, to take look in the one-way mirror on the way to the health facility. I’ve looked pretty nice, I thought, even better than usual, even without having the time to beautify myself in the morning. The doctor who examined me was a super-hotty, and his arms were big and strong. Although I haven’t seen his face beneath the mask he wore, I would have loved to jump in his lap and cuddle in his arms. He had a wedding ring on his finger, and although I don’t interact with married people, I was about to die from my passion for him. These feelings are authentic, but they are also connected to the fact that it’s been two weeks since I got my period which means that I’m ovulating – I can feel both of my ovaries on fire! This must be the life energy exploding out of me. It also means that the cycle will change in two weeks, and I will experience its low point. The fact that I was deprived of my medicines amounts to abuse. I must remind myself that the negative feelings that I will be undoubtedly experiencing aren’t really “mine”, but only the product of hormonal deprivation. I must recall all those years when I didn’t even take painkillers while having my period in fear of not having these accessible in prison.
June 1st 2022
Today I have written to Belez the following:
“I’m flooded with letters. Prison keeps me busy. I’ve been writing a lot and was able to finally live philosophy, not merely contemplate it – and it has been perhaps the most profound experience of my life. The days before the arrest were the most beautiful I’ve ever had. And who can really imprison a philosopher? A philosopher whose soul is free and unbreakable by essences? It is now that philosophy comes to my aid to manifest itself in protecting my inner self, which cannot be damaged – my body might be imprisoned, but the soul is ever free and undivided by nature.
I’ve never cared about esthetics, and in fact, things aren’t as gloomy as it might appear on Google. To me, prison looks like a 17th-century Dutch painting when I’m looking through the bars, and the sky is blue as if to say ‘We are eternity’ […] I am grateful for every bird or squirrel I see – for I do not need more to brighten my day. I am blessed. I’ve seen the roses you mentioned in your letter. They were white like those of Sophie Scholl. I want to be a black rose if I could. Let them black roses flower in our way to liberation and freedom, for what other reason is there to draw breath in a world governed by oppression [other than resisting it]?
Only R and I got sent to prison for a longer period among the nine arrested […] I’m sure we shall emerge triumphant, although they kinda locked us up and threw away the keys.
I have disappeared on you but I was always here, in the realm of thought, removed and aloof from society, punished (!) and confined by my own body. Perhaps here I would gain true clarity of thought and transcend all physical sufferings – I hope to be worthy of these sufferings…
Kiss M for me,
Love, Stav.
June 2nd 2022
Today the Jubilee celebrations began, and I’m watching TV and seeing the poor soldiers forced to perform embarrassing drills in cumbersome uniforms under the boiling summer sun. I burst into laughter when one of them lifted his leg slightly above the others while marching in place.
I began reading Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front. The connection between the books’ historic WWI era and the national celebration and military parades seen on TV cannot be clearer. How demonic is the machine called an “army”. Despite the great wars and WWII, militarism was not crushed but readapted and expanded. It’s being celebrated in the military empire of Great Britain. Aristocracy is celebrated today as well. It stands for privileges for a few families on the expanse of masses that suffer under the yoke of living costs and who cannot provide three meals a day for themselves in one of the biggest economies in the world. At the same time, a fortune is poured into a pathetic spectacle of guns, horses, and ridiculous huts for the queen’s glory. I can’t do much but laugh about it and hope that nobody will notice my discontent towards one of the most sacred values of the kingdom and its very being. And what could they do really to me if they found out? Put me in prison? In the worst case, they can take my TV away, which I have never asked for. They would have to find new ways of punishment.
I should not have been at all surprised that I got remanded. I’ve never thought that the authorities could not or won’t imprison me. I’ve never claimed that my body cannot be thrown in jail; but only with regards to the soul. I would have already given myself into slavery had I thought otherwise. I am a political prisoner and a prisoner of conscience. The only thing that can really imprison such people is their own consciousness. The only freedom there is in surrendering to its pursuit.
June 3rd 2022
I’ve just now seen a butterfly in the backyard! A white butterfly! Why wouldn’t jail be a fine place for me when the birds, squirrels, butterflies, and crows find their way to it? If prison is good enough for them, it’s undoubtedly good enough for me.
The guard locked us up again without allowing us to finish our lunch together. When the women see the guards, they run away so quickly to their cells. The guard said, “Thanks!” and locks the door behind me. In fact, I am the one who should be thanking him for sheltering the external world from me. He locks up the cell with the dangling key that swings from his belt, and in the keys lies the essence of the punishment the judge has rendered – to be locked up. But it is only my body that is imprisoned, and in my thoughts, I wander off to different realms, which are beautiful in their clarity; these are historical spaces, spaces of thought – they stretch all the way to eternity. They are eternity. Had I not been imprisoned, I would have never reached them.
It’s evening now, and it seems that I’m experiencing for the first time since I got locked up what Frankl calls “Sunday neurosis”. I’m trying to observe myself and understand why I feel so restless today and why now. Everything is so quiet, and I take pleasure in the silence. Only the birds are singing. I’m copying sentences from Frankl’s phenomenal book to have whenever I need them. I’ve already read quite a lot today, and yet I’m restless. Usually, it’s not so quiet in here. Most of the time, there’s an endless buzz, like an endless tinnitus, which is only broken by the women’s tormented scrams (only today I understood that I was placed at the detox unit – I’ve indeed wondered how come everyone, without exception, is addicted to drugs?!) and now it’s quiet.
Since the Queen has such an important birthday to celebrate, we are not getting any letters. The phone numbers I submitted for confirmation a while ago came back as they went – unsigned. Prisoners are like air in the eyes of the system. I will not be able to call Yuval, my friend, and the silence increases my inner frustration. This is, in fact, the first time that prison has caused me true discomfort. I deal with it by embracing it and laughing about it – this is the punishment I got. Not to be able to speak to my friends and lovers, not to be able to joke around with them, so I say to myself: You are being punished. It makes me laugh and makes the pain fade away. If that is what in the state’s power to do to me, if that is its punitive power, then I’m not very impressed nor threatened by it. The state can also remove my head from the body if it wishes, and I shall still remain indifferent. I’ve never claimed it cannot be removed, as Epictetus says. I can always speak with Yuval and Abir, for they are with me. I see them with the eyes of my mind. Even without calling them, I could know what shall we talk and laugh about. I don’t need them physically to be speaking with them. With Abir, I would have laughed about the beans and toast that the British eat and said, “What’s wrong about eating beans all day?” and he would have answered: “What’s wrong with that?”. We would laugh and say that the world is essentially not more than garbage. And here I laugh from my cell only by thinking of the conversation we could have had if the respectable officer had approved the phone numbers before the pathetic queen’s Jubilee began. For the subjects of this kingdom, this is a day of celebrations and a festive weekend. For the prisoners, it is a punishment on top the one they’ve already got. A punishment is an irrational thing, deprived of any reason. How can damaging a person, whether by imprisoning, beating, or humiliation, achieve anything? Damage is irrational, according to Plato in the Politea. And how did Athens succeed in punishing Socrates? He was laughing when drinking the hemlock.
~ Stav
