By Visar ZHITI
Part Two
Memorie.al /…It began on the morning of a nameless day, why nameless, it was May 22nd and it is called “The Day of the Revolt of the Qafë-Bar Prisoners? – yes, because the days in prison are very similar, like the prison uniforms, with stripes, the days like this, the nights like the black uniforms of the police. Inside the barbed wire it seemed as if there were exhausted saints and crazy devils. The night brigades, the third shift of prisoners, had returned from work, they had been waiting on their feet for 2-3 hours and no order had been given to go to the dormitory. Half of them were sleeping on their feet. Leaning on the wall, on their friend, on the stairs, on the barbed wire. Black marks on their faces, either from being unwashed, or from the horror they saw in that fragment of a dream.
Continues in the next issue
What about those who fought with the police? They wiped away the blood…! Other prisoners were rushing towards our food warehouse, to take what they had, to keep it in the sleeping place under guard, they could bomb the warehouses or burn them with flamethrowers. Can they do it from afar?… – Where are our officers? – Here! In Spaç the insurgents opened the dungeons through a hail of bullets. Hulusi Pashollari and Dashnor Kazazi, did not ask at all about the machine gun of the bodyguard opposite, they were freeing their fellow sufferers from the dungeon. And the second action, do you know what it was?!
The door of the prison library was torn down, all the books of Enver Hoxha and the classics of Marxism were gathered and set on fire. Next to the flames the prisoners danced and sang patriotic songs. What are we going to do with our manuscripts now? Let’s tear open the prison warehouses, take the bread, pasta, beans and rice from the kitchen. No, no, okay! – a voice shouted. And dignity. The imprisoned spies wanted to immediately hand over the keys to the warehouses where they worked, but to whom? In the meantime, they were eavesdropping. So that, if they had to testify, they would be accurate. Here, the keys, here, gather them here!…
Some of them immediately told him their pseudonyms, their secrets, and wanted to join the rebels. The library spy, pretending to be calm. Even a dog wouldn’t eat books, he said. It’s about the money, someone told him. There’s no need to burn books, a poor man shouted, whoever they were. Let’s get rid of the spies. They’re ruining our work. They’ll signal to the commanding officers, outside the encirclement. Let’s go to the gallery, let’s break some secret exit, let’s get out. Even in the Spaç revolt, they wanted to eliminate the spies. First, let’s hate those who turned our fellow sufferers into spies, they said. Leave the academies, we’re in revolt, a tall man shouted again. Horse, Nikola.
The prisoners were scattered everywhere, free, in groups, alone, without lines, for the first time like this, inside the barbed wire, carefree, on the stairs, in the dormitories, some decided to lie down in the courtyards, there was loud talking, full of concern, orders could be heard, requests about what they should do, I want some coffee, what are we waiting for, to elect leaders, they are, but secretly, to protect them with our bodies, we are, we, there is no other way, we are lost, to die, so much the better.
It was not like that. The leaders of the technical office and the re-education tried to maintain general calm, although they were not calm themselves either. To protect each other. Let the damage be as minimal as possible…! The brick color of our clothes seemed more unbearable than ever and those with zebra stripes, sharper. They took out some other clothes from the bags, a civilian shirt, all wrinkled from sitting for ages. And what light there is today! Because there are no police inside! Look at the siege, they are adding soldiers. Look, look, they are not only in the towers, but also between them.
On foot. They have taken up fighting positions. They have put helmets on their heads. They have even thrown the gas mask bag over their shoulders. How crazy they are! During the Spaç revolt, a young boy, Skënder Daja, climbed on our shoulders and spoke to the soldiers, eeeeeeee, brothers, I am also the same age as you, 21 years old, put down your weapons, don’t shoot at us, we are in prison, because we want freedom, our homeland, you, we rebelled for freedom and our homeland. Make no mistake…! They immediately removed the young soldiers from the siege and deployed police, black squads like those used in firing squads. Let’s continue Spaç’s uprising! – a call was heard from the bottom of the stairs.
Why, where are we, isn’t this Spaç? Bari’s neck, or midge, but they are the same. I’m shaking. Let’s raise the red flag with a bang, I can’t wait, the old man was grumbling. Where is Napoleon Koleci, tell Mersin Vlash to paint the Flag again? They’re not here, no. Here we are…! Ah, we didn’t have a flag, we found a white piece, a sheet, a shroud, and we cut the veins ourselves, so that we could dye it with our own blood. He drank the blood, but he didn’t hold it in for long. The blood ran out, son. On a red shirt, the prison painter, crying with joy, drew the eagle. Let’s raise the national flag on the prison terrace, we said, with solemnity. We asked our musicians to play their instruments – where can we find them? – the National Anthem.
Who is afraid? Rightly so. We did not blame them. We gathered, speeches were made in front of the National Anthem. Where were all those brilliant orators! Meanwhile, beyond the barbed wire, surrounded by soldiers and policemen armed to the teeth, the officers were looking through binoculars, taking photographs, filming with cameras. We sang the anthem ourselves with our hoarse voices, the brothers Çoku, Luan Burimi, Dervish Bejko, Pavllo Popa, Jorgo Papa, Gëzim Medolli, Ylber Merdani, Naim Pashaj, Murat Gjonzeneli gathered there… and through tears, we raised the flag above the prison.
The government was alarmed, lower the flag, the command was sending messages. All those prisoners volunteered to be an honor guard near the Flag, day and night, taking turns with each other. Tell me, we are in Spaç, aren’t we? Aren’t Qafë-Bari, Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Prishtina all the same? Yes, yes, go away, I don’t care. Here we are. Priests, soldiers? What soldiers? Ours, the prisoners. What are we going to do, guys? How about we wait quietly for them to eat us? Let’s attack. Let’s see the strategic possibilities. Let’s get killed.
As soon as we take the first automatic rifle from the soldiers. Then I know what I’ll do with an automatic rifle in my hand. They are cowards, they haven’t seen war. We want freedom. Li-riiii! Long live freedom! – emotional voices were heard. With the brave ones that I will choose, and we will arrive in Tirana. Let’s free it from the communist invaders. We were drunk with ourselves, with that freedom of slavery between barbed wire, under the muzzles of guns…! Come what may. Let us die like this. Because we are dead.
CONTINUATION OF THE FIGHT
A large unit of police tried to enter the camp again. Of course, only with rubber batons, because there was a fear that the prisoners would seize their weapons, if they came with revolvers and automatic rifles. Because, you can’t kill them all at once. They didn’t let them in. The bravest ones came forward. By force. Chest to chest. They pushed them back to the gate. Panic arose lest the prisoners attack the gate, break it down, come out, flood in.
Except when the terrifying battery of bullets was heard. All the soldiers of the siege were emptying their automatic rifles at once, in bursts, short flashes, straight as fast knives, their successive bursts, flashing with deafening crackles everywhere, smoke in the muzzles of the guns, firing without interruption from all the watchtowers.
A military hand at the great gate, we saw it again, giving a signal, shaking with each new shot and the barrels of the guns were lowering more and more, from the air, towards the camp, over the heads of the prisoners. We froze in place. There were those who lay flat on the ground. The order must have come to kill us all. Torn pieces were falling on us, heavy, dark, peeling walls, the sky. The hand gave the signal to stop. Silence like a deafening pit opened in the air. A burning wind came, which consumed the universe.
They kill us all, the dictatorship has nothing to do with it. The prison is a common pit. They cover us here and no one notices.
Pu-pu what did they do to us, they muttered in a group aside under the stairs. We’re done. Where are they going with these people? They’re ruthless. Further on, in another group, at the unemployment dormitory, the “maunia”, they were saying that they, the state, the Party, wanted this revolt, they had a thirst for blood, and here they were, they achieved their goal, they took advantage of our quixoticism, our hatred. No, our rights, our suffering.
But it’s not like that! But how? And the Spaç revolt was organized by the State Security, so they say. Slander from those in the IV Directorate, they spread it on purpose, to say that we have everything under control, not even a fly swatted, it’s not a revolt anymore. But here, every day there is a revolt. Run with them, if you don’t keep it, die! We are political prisoners and our every action, our deeds, our attitudes are political. You have a responsibility to yourself and others. To time. What time, to hell with your wisdom!
In another group, in the courtyard above, they continued to enjoy the camp without police. What a miracle! Let it last as long as God has commanded. Let’s take a dance, we have nothing else to do. At each guard tower there was now not one soldier, but a group of soldiers with automatic rifles and machine guns facing us. And the soldiers from one tower to the other behind the barbed wire, in that former desolation, were increasing like living trees in a moving forest. The Brinjë Forest is moving.
On the command terrace, the prison commander with other senior officers, that’s what they looked like, were looking through binoculars at the camp and the movements of the groups of prisoners, pointing with their fingers, saying what they said aloud, bending over a map, while others around them were taking notes. They were making plans, of course, the strategy of defeating the unarmed enemy, a thousand hungry men between barbed wire. What are those horns on his forehead, that officer?!
No, no, they’re binoculars, he pointed them at them again, look, look, he passed them to another, apparently they don’t have enough for everyone, look, look, he took a bomb out of his bag, he’s going to throw it here. What do you mean? No, no, it’s a camera, a camera, they’re giving some orders, so thick: you over there, you over there, you have zone C, you could hear them all the way here. They’re scared too, said one of us, who was watching them. I thought maybe they were doing it in vain, you bastards, one of us got angry, because they like war games, imaginary liberations of cities, even though they punish you for your imagination!
They will attack us, they will kill us. We will stay. Listen, there are many who are occupying the mattresses. They have entered the dormitories. Some have covered their heads with pillows. They don’t want to see the mess, it has become too political, open, they are suffocating, and we will be punished badly. Just like dictatorships punish. But aren’t they political prisoners, have they forgotten? And the dictatorship, when it punishes, doesn’t look away, it takes turns. Let them do what they want. It’s good that they do what they have to. Let’s break down the interior doors, all of them, 100, how many there are! Let’s open the metal windows too. This is where freedom begins!
But why have they tied their foreheads with scarves? Two like living streams came from the two courtyards, one going up, the other coming down, clashing, their shouts echoing down the stairs, foaming in the back hallways and in the hallways of the second floor, gurgling like camp taps, running out of water. Blockade. What no one has done to them, they are doing to us. People came and came with bags in their arms. They took things, left them, hid them better or disappeared forever.
The cats were huddled where they could, at the foot of the stairs, with their eyes flashing like hidden embers, while the dogs were all alone in the greatest chaos, free and playful. A mouse ran into the courtyard and two smaller ones after it. There will be an earthquake, who warned. Next?
– Have you secured the writings? – asked Max, not without concern.
– Until today, yes, – I replied, equally worried.
– You have to be careful.
– How?
– Having them close.
– Maybe that makes my situation more dangerous.
– You’re not alone…!
It seemed to me as if the thread of barbed wire was wrapping around my heart. I went down to the upper courtyard, everyone was doing something, and even not doing anything was a doing, a testimony and a non-testimony. Why are they preparing like this, as if for a flight to nowhere, even more difficult? And we shouldn’t have fallen. Someone was putting on a second pair of clothes over the ones they were wearing. Change our guard at the water tanks, said another.
They snatched the newspaper “Voice of the People” from the stand and were tearing it up. They also tore the doors of the dungeons, no, no, they opened them with tricks, they had moved the keys and chains and brought the condemned out of there. They were paler than ever, weaker than us.
The canteen was destroyed. There was chaos and noise as at a threatened celebration.
THE BLACK HELICOPTER OF THE RED RULERS
Beyond the barbed wire, other movements were seen, and in a hurry. The road was filled with the noise of trucks that arrived. Armed soldiers were descending. Then behind the mountains, from the southwest, in the direction where Tirana was supposed to be, a black helicopter suddenly appeared. As it approached and landed, its unusual thud increased in the air that was being cut apart by its propellers, the air howled, it was not used to such an event, the thin and imprisoned sky.
The helicopter also took off and began to circle over the camp. What a prehistoric bird! Modernity overshadows the primitive. Stop musing, you see, look. We raised our heads and noticed, or pretended to notice, in addition to the pilot, a civilian and two military men. One was taking pictures from above. The minister, the prisoners said. The propeller continued to make large circles, fluting, in the turbulent space and as if warning cruel grinding with deafening roars like war. We will grind you all, you have nowhere to run. Not even the sky can save you, how little it is, and the propellers seemed to be scratching the slopes of the mountains. The eagle of Zeus came, a roar was heard.
Everyone to the doctor, another roar continued, let’s see our spleens, are they doing for the state. The helicopter came around once again, threatening and shaking, gave up even more and landed near the command building, right in the middle of the road. Flying Trojan Horse, eeejjjj…! When the speed of rotation of the propellers dropped and their air vortices dissolved, officers approached and stood in front of the helicopter door “get ready”, saluting with their fists. After an officer, a healthy civilian emerged seriously.
Because the deputy minister, some of the prisoners recognized him and were not moving, but were just watching what was happening beyond, in the future. This one is worse, said two or three voices. He is a professional criminal and takes part in torture himself. Even in firing squads. The military-civilian group rushed to the command. There they were locked up for some time. The guards were added to the gate. Then we saw that another fence was attached to the barbed wire fence. Where do they get these fences from, from hell?
Again the fence, full of soldiers, lying, standing, on bare ground, on pits, ravines, ravines, one boot happened to be stuck on a pile, another in a pond, one in the air. It is not a boot, but a raven. Look at the edges. The soldiers’ weapons and gazes were turned towards us. Equally savage. “How many days have you been like this for us?” – asked a prisoner, without addressing anyone. “How many days, are you crazy, or are you out of your mind?” – they answered. “Why, are you out of your mind? All these hardships…”, – a groan was heard.
“Yes, why not”! “I’ll confirm it, tell me: Enver Hoxha is alive?” “Dead commander”! Then he left to ask others whether the dictator was alive or not. “Yes, but they open it as if he were dead, so that people can hope for changes, so that they don’t revolt”! “Enough, stop”, – voices were heard one above the other.
On the command terrace, at the first building on the side of the large, iron gate, among a kennel of civilians and soldiers returned from prison, a fat man, with a loudspeaker stuck in his mouth, began to shout: Listen, listen. Minister of the Interior. No, no, the deputy. Is it a double? – the prisoners were shouting among themselves, as if they couldn’t figure out what kind of animal it was. The roar of the metal loudspeaker became more and more piercing, harsh to the point of threats… Surrender, because… the force of the dictatorship of the proletariat… will crush you… kill you… surrender! Memorie.al
Continues next issue
