“A few days before the declaration of the National Security state, a huge media scheme had been put in action to justify the pre-planned military attack on Salmaniya Hospital. Nightly episodes of Al-Rassed (The Observer) programme had been aired live on (Bahrain TV) BTV. In one of the episodes, Dr. Al-Ekri and I, in addition to a number of doctors, were labelled as saboteurs and terrorists who occupied the Salmaniya hospital and took a group of Sunni doctors as hostages. They told the public that the Sunni Sect was then endangered by our actions. Lies and false accusations continued to be broadcast; that we had weapons with which we took control over hospital departments, and so on and so forth. Those lies were repeatedly propagandised to the public every night and in every possible way.”
Ghassan continues. “That was when I became sure that some scheme was in the making to avenge us for treating those casualties. That same night I called Assistant Undersecretary, Dr. Amin Sa’aty, requesting him, as my boss, to intervene, and call BTV to let them know that every procedure we made was he was aware of and by his consent. He didn’t seem concerned, and coldly responded, ‘Don’t care about them. They won’t do anything, as they have no case’. Then he gave the phone to Dr. Adel Buchiri, head of paediatrics in Salmaniya, who also tried to assure me, and said he would call BTV to tell them that the hospital was safe and whatever was being told about the medics was not true. I don’t know what happened next, but I heard that Dr. Adel did actually try to call BTV.”

In view of all this, Ghassan asked for a 3-day leave, from Tuesday, 15th, till Thursday, 17th. After the arrest of

 Al-Ekri, he became imminently sure he would be next. “I also knew that Dr. Mahmood Asghar had been arrested from the Salmaniya Medical Complex. While I was in detention, the informants and torturers kept telling me they had wanted to arrest me while I was in hospital, to install the accusation of hospital occupation, just as they did with Al-Ekri. However, my absence during those days confused their plans.”

“On Friday, I was told that they attacked the Operations Department. Dr. Aref Rajab was performing a surgery, and they thought him to be me. They burst into the operating room and threatened him with weapons. They wanted to know where I was hiding in Salmaniya. They ran to the pharmacy and smashed the doors of many rooms thinking I was there hiding.

“So, we decided to leave.” Ghassan continues. “That night I bade farewell to my brother Bassem. He was the only one to know about our decision. It was a very painful moment. It carried with it a great sense of loss. We left the house, pausing at a number of check-points. We were not stopped, just the usual questions. Getting into the airport was the most difficult: the search at the entrance, the checking of documents and passports, but, in the end, we got through. We checked-in, and took our boarding passes. At Immigration, I gave my son’s passport first. ‘Where are you going?’ the officer asked. ‘To London, via Abu Dhabi’ I replied. He stamped the passport. Mine was next. He compared the name in the passport to the name on his computer. ‘Are you Ghassan?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Please, come one side’ He said. I wasn’t afraid. I composed myself trying not to look tense or uneasy.”

“A number of men in civilian clothes came and took me into a room nearby the immigration office. Once we were inside, they covered my head with a black bag and hand-cuffed me from the back and the beating began. For about one hour, there was nothing other than beating on every part of my body: my face, head, legs, abdomen, everywhere; beating with everything: with plastic pipes, batons, and the hands. One group left, another came in; they were all beating.”

“The thing that affected me most was the black bag covering my head. I’m claustrophobic, and that suffocating

 bag terrified me. I said to them, ‘Take this bag off my head.’ One of them replied, ‘We’ll kill you before we do. You will die inside this black bag.’ I asked, ‘Why are you doing this to me? I’m a doctor, not a fugitive criminal. I just left home, and haven’t done anything to deserve any of this beating.’ They beat me even harder.”

Ghassan continues. “They dragged me out of the airport. The stifling black bag was still around my head and neck. I felt like I walked for a long distance before I was pushed into a car. They pushed my head down and drove a long way before the car stopped somewhere. The moment I got out, I was attacked once again: beating, smacking, kicking, everywhere in my body. The beating came from every direction. Within a few minutes I fell to the ground. I passed out.”

“I didn’t know what happened next. I think they feared I was dead. When I regained my consciousness, they were splashing water on my face. Out of the many voices around me, I recognised the voice of a woman. Later on, I learnt that she was Sheikha Noora Al Khalifa. She talked to me in a contemptuous manner, ‘You, Ghassano (changing the pronunciation of my name as an emphasis of contempt), you think you can topple Khalifa bin Salman over? You, incompetent?’ And, started beating and punching.”

“Later, I was taken to the office of Mubarak bin Hwail, who received me with his loathsome, and vulgar rhetoric. He greeted me with curses, swearing, damning, and ridicule of everything: my family, my people, my sect, clergy, even the family of the Holy Prophet. His questions were mainly about Ali Al-Ekri: that Ali was the mastermind; that I got my orders to talk to Aljazeera Channel from him; that whatever I said to the media was directed by him; that Ali and I let the media into Salmaniya Hospital; that we were the ones who enlarged the fracture in Adbul Redh bu Hmaid’s skull and caused his death.” Ghassan adds, “The first interrogation went for no more than one hour. I was taken out of Bin Hwail’s office and on the way I heard my brother Bassem screaming under torture, ‘Don’t beat me, don’t torture me!” he screamed. His voice hit me like a thunderbolt. Why did they arrest my brother? And when?”

Ghassan had not experienced arrest before. He had no experience of the techniques and tricks used by torturers to manipulate the psychology and feelings of detainees and to play on their nerves. He did not know what to say, and what not to say during interrogations. “That was my first encounter. They asked me and I answered truthfully.

However, they beat me even harder, while they wrote down what they wanted me to say. They purposefully made me hear the screams of my brother. That shook me deeply from the inside. It broke me.” Ghassan continues. “I was coerced to sign a bunch of confessions, of which I had no knowledge. I asked for a lawyer. They said, ‘The lawyer will come to you when you are taken to your grave.’ We spent the whole night standing. I didn’t know where I was, but I knew there were other people with me. Every time an officer entered the room, he beat us all and I could hear the screams of those who were tortured with me. I knew that my brother Bassem was among those who were with me in the same room. We remained like that for a whole day: no food, no going to the toilet, and no permission to sleep.”

“After that I was transferred to solitary confinement. My cell was a very tiny space, 1x1½ meters. Bassem was in the juxtaposing cell, I could tell from the closeness of his voice. We remained there for two weeks, suffering from cruel, merciless torture. That same night, at a very late hour, a group of torturers came to my cell. I could tell from their accents that they were of non-Bahraini origin. They asked me about my work and salary, and the beating, cursing and insults started.

 One Jordanian policeman pulled me outside while still beating me. I fell on the ground several times because of his heavy beating. He took me to an unknown place and removed my handcuffs. I knew he was going to take my fingerprints. He beat me every time he failed to take my fingerprints correctly, ‘You don’t want me to take your fingerprints correctly,’ he said. I had no idea how fingerprints were taken in the first place. He was the one holding and placing my hand. After that they took a photograph of me and he took me to the washroom to wash my hand. There was no soap, but there was a broken mirror. When he removed my blindfold for me to wash my hand I became horrified to see myself in the broken mirror. I saw how bruised and swollen my face was. Was that really me?”

“I was not allowed to use the toilet, only quickly washed my hands, and then they took me back to my cell. I spent seven nights, blindfolded, and everyone who came into my cell would beat me before they left. I was forbidden from sitting down or leaning against the wall. If anyone came in and saw you leaning against a wall, you would have to pay a heavy price for it. I often collapsed and fell down, but every time I felt someone was coming in I struggled to stand up. However, I got even heavier beating. We were not allowed to sleep or use the toilet. If we needed, we relieved nature on ourselves. Luckily, we were not having any food; otherwise we would have been in a much messier state.

“On the fourth day, another policeman came in. He sounded merciful and tactful. He spoke Arabic with an Asian accent. He said, ‘I know how you feel. I’m a human being just as you are a human being. Now sit down and I’ll bring you food.’ I thought: if I had any food, how would I relieve my bowels? He said, ‘I’ll let you use the toilet.’ In his Asian Arabic, he said, ‘Two minutes, I close the door, remove blindfold and handcuffs. You eat. Two minutes and I come inside.’”

Ghassan goes on. “I didn’t eat anything, just had some water. He came in after two minutes, ‘Why you’re not eating?’ I told him, ‘I want my wife and children. I didn’t do anything.’ He said, ‘You don’t be afraid. A few days and you go home.’ The moment he said that, I got emotionally moved and I cried. He took me to the washroom, and said, ‘Wash your face.’ He brought me some soap, let me pass may waters, and took me back to the cell. He told me, ‘Now eat something.’ I ate a little.”

After one week they took us from solitary confinement to a hall. I felt that my brother Bassem was with us. They told us, ‘We’ll let you call your families. Thirty seconds only. Just tell them you’re fine. Don’t tell them about any beating or anything, or you’ll see the worst.’ They took us to a dark room. We were accompanied by a policeman, who took from us the contact numbers. All the numbers didn’t answer because the phone sets had already been taken away. At last one phone rang. Zahraa answered. I assured them and heard the sounds of those who were around her. I had a sense of relief.”

“We were not allowed to make any other calls during the twenty-one days we spent in the CID building. The weather was cold, but they turned on the air-conditioning and adjusted the fans to blow in our direction. That was pernicious. After a week, we were allowed to sit down for the three meals, to drink water, and to use the toilet. The washrooms were utterly filthy. However, we got beaten by anyone whom we coincided on our way to the washrooms. They would beat us with anything within reach: batons, boots, hands, anything. For us, going to the washroom was a dangerous adventure.”

“As a result of their continuous beating on my back and abdomen, I felt so much pain and saw blood in my urine and faeces,” Ghassan says continuing his story. “One night, the pain was so severe that they had to take me to the clinic at the Fort. There, the treatment I received from the doctors and nurses was so bad. For me, going a second time to the Fort clinic would be like going to hell.”

“We had to go through interrogation sessions which usually lasted between 3-4 hours. During interrogation, I was made to stand all the time, and communication was only one-way: questioning and dictating the statements they wanted me to say. In the process, I had episodes of beatings: thick sticks, plastic pipes, boots, electric shocks, and threats to rape my female relatives: wife, sister, daughter, mother, and so on and so forth. I was forced to keep quiet. They knew everything about my bank accounts and they were telling me about them. Later, I knew from Zahraa that they stole all my papers and documents from my private safe at home.” Ghassan continues. “The only idea they were insisting on was to get me to confess that I took part in the occupation of Salmaniya Hospital; that I had and used weapons; that I held patients as hostages; that I discriminated between patients in treatment; and that I stole blood bags form the blood bank.”

Ghassan adds, “The most absurd accusation I heard was when they asked me, ‘What did you do with the kidney you excised from the Sunni patient? Where did you take it?’ I kept saying, ‘I’m a dentist and not a surgeon.’ Nevertheless, the interrogator kept saying, ‘They confessed on you. Your wife confessed. You opened the abdomen of the Sunni patient and took away her kidney. Where did you take it? What did you do with it? Confess immediately.”

“The thing that broke my heart and shattered me the most was the screams of my brother Bassem under

 torture,” Ghassan says with a sigh and in a broken voice. “They deliberately let me hear his screams as they tortured him. I felt shattered, and wished the ground would open wide to swallow me. They kept beating him on his legs and specifically on the knees. Was it because they knew he was a knee surgeon? I wasn’t able to see him but I could hear him saying loudly to them, ‘If you didn’t take me to hospital now, my legs would be amputated.’ I knew that meant his condition became very serious. He’s specialised in knees and he knew what he was talking about. Indeed, he meant it when he said ‘it would be amputated’. He must have felt it bursting as a result of swelling. I couldn’t reach out to help him. My helplessness was killing me. It was killing me.”

“My last interrogation session lasted for 7 hours.” Ghassan continues. “They took me to one place I couldn’t recognise. For the first time the interrogator met me with calm, asked and listened to me. He wanted to know what had happened at Salmaniya. I began telling the story from the moment I got that brief morning call from the doctor on duty. I talked at great length. I talked in elaboration for a few minutes before the door suddenly opened and someone came in and started smacking me in the face with his hands and kicking me with his boots. I fell on the floor. He was shouting at me, ‘Ghassano, you son of a ….; son of a …..’ The interrogator told him, ‘Leave him alone and stay away from him. It’s me who’s interrogating him here.’ The interrogation continued. I was required to confirm the same charges brought against Ali Al-Ekri: that he was against the government and called for the fall of the regime; that he did what he did because he wanted to become Minister of Health; and so on and so forth. At the end of the interrogation they brought to me 40 or 50 pages and ordered me to sign each and every page without reading anything. And, so I did.”

“At the Dry Dock Prison, all the medics were in the cells of Ward No. 5. Gradually, the number of detainees in our cell increased until there were 14 of them. As the number increased, the cell got narrower and smaller. The treatment also got worse. I leave you to imagine the state we were in. A large number of detainees in one prison cell; we had been wearing the same filthy clothes for three weeks; our bodies and clothes had so much stink and dirt on them because we were not allowed to use the bathroom during the first week in the CID building. In addition, we were not allowed to shower or clean ourselves.”

Zahraa had taken clean clothes for Ghassan when he was at the CID building. They were not given to him and so he remained in the same clothes for more than six weeks. Ghassan continues, “In the Dry Dock Prison, we were not given any soap for two weeks. We used the toilets but with the doors open. The detainees in every cell had

only three minutes to shower. All 14 prisoners had to sort out their turns to shower during those three minutes. 

Ghassan hadn’t yet heard of Zahraa’s arrest until Dr. Aref Rajab joined them in the same cell. Ghassan was thunderstruck. “I collapsed when I heard the news of my wife’s arrest and cried bitterly. I never expected that Zahraa would be arrested. I became very worried about her. I couldn’t imagine how she would endure being in a situation similar to the one we were living. I knew Zahraa, and knew her habits. And every time I heard how women were treated and tortured, I felt even more worried. I stayed worried and anxious about Zahraa all the time. O, Zahraa! O, my heart!”

At the Dry Dock Prison, detainees were not tortured. There was another place, where torture was practised with uniqueness and high skill. That was the CID building at Adliya. Instead, it should be labelled the Torture Building. Ghassan tells more. “We were usually taken to the CID building at Adliya for a session of beating and torture. Every 4 or 5 of the medical staff were taken seemingly for interrogation, but in reality, it was their turn for torture. There, we got beaten, cursed and profanely insulted. Air-conditions were turned on and the fans adjusted in our direction, then we would be left to spend a night or two there without sleep or blankets.”

Ghassan continues. “One time they took us: Bassem, Ebrahim Al-Demistani and I, along with two more paramedics, to the CID building. We thought we were going to one of the torture sessions, as usual. They blindfolded and handcuffed us, got us into an elevator and then into one room. One of the policemen asked me, ‘Ghassan, if you’re released, how we can reach you?’ He was mocking at me, but I usually took every word in a positive meaning, so I gave him my phone number. There, they brought us a new pack of papers and ordered us to sign them without reading. Then they took us back to the Dry Dock Prison.”

The last visit they made to the CID building was different. Ghassan tells how different it was. “They blindfolded and handcuffed us from the back then took us to the CID building: Bassem, Ali Al-Ekri, Nader Diwani, Mahmood Asghar, Sayed Marhoon, Ebrahim Al-Demistani, Abdul Khaliq Al-Oraibi, and myself. It was Friday Afternoon. Surprisingly, we were treated in a totally different manner. They gave every three or four of us one blanket to share among them. I remember sharing a blanket with Bassem and Nader Diwani. They also gave us a meal and allowed us to pray and sleep. We marvelled at such unprecedented treatment.”

“They also gave us two minutes each to call our families. I was so worried about Zahraa. I didn’t know whether she was released or was still in detention. That was my second call after two months. I asked them to let us, Bassem and I, make our call at the same time to talk to our parents together. They agreed. They took us to the office of the torturer, Salah Al Muqahwi. He didn’t bother about us recognising him and said, ‘Remove their blindfolds.’ I called my wife’s number, but the number could not be accessed. I called Fatima, my daughter, and talked to her and her brothers Yousuf and Mohammad. My mother was with them, and they put the phone on loudspeaker. Immediately, my mother said that Zahraa was out doing some shopping. I understood that Zahraa was still in detention and my mother didn’t want me to know so as not to get worried. The children talked to me in high morale and strength. They kept assuring me, ‘Dad, we’re fine and well looked after. We go to school. We have everything we need.’ Their persevering voices and words were to some extent assuring.”

“More surprising generosity was yet in store for us. The next morning we were given breakfast. I got emotional and cried. They took me to a bathroom and gave me soap and shampoo. They allowed me to take a bath! Oh, God, What was going on? Could that be true? After two months, at last we get soap and shampoo? The weather was still cold and the water was cold, too. We had no towels, and no clean clothes. We had to put back our dirty clothes on. However, I felt human again; that my body belonged to a human being. Most surprisingly, they gave each one of us a glass of milk, and let us out for a short while outside to warm up in the sun. Wow! The Sun? The Sun? Was there still a sun shining in Bahrain? We couldn’t believe what was happening that day. It felt like we had just got out from a cave of rot, in which we had stayed for a hundred years!”

What was behind that suddenly generous treatment? Ghassan continues. “One officer came to us and said, ‘Look.

 What have you done? You are medics, and didn’t do anything at all. All you have to say now is, ‘We have made a mistake’. His Majesty the King will grant you pardon. Look, the Sitra people, who actually burned and killed Pakistanis, yet His Majesty pardoned them. You are more deserving of a Royal Pardon. All you have to do, when you go inside, is to repeat the same confessions you made during interrogation. If you say anything different, you won’t be pardoned.’”

“We felt immensely happy. We thought that was a sign of a breakthrough. We didn’t know what was going on until we were taken to a large hall. For the first time we heard the names of our female colleagues being called: Jalila Al A’ali, Nada Dhaif, Rula Al-Saffar. Were they in detention, too? It looked like it, for they were with us in the same hall. For the first time we heard the names of some of our colleagues being called: Ahmad Al-Omran and Sadiq Abdulla.

 We never knew they were also in detention. They took us one by one to voice our confessions before the camera of the Bahrain TV. More than 12 masked men sat in front of us. However, we were able to identify some of them very clearly. I memorised the features of the photographer who filmed my confessions. Despite of his mask, I could identify him very well. I shall never forget each and every detail of his facial features. I stayed facing him for 45 minutes, and will never forget him. The director kept coming to us trying to comfort us so as not to look confused during filming and, thus, would expose their act.”

Ghassan adds, “Torturer Bin Hwail, also, kept coming and going, threatening us not to say anything other than what they wanted us to say. Of course, Ali Al-Ekri had the lion’s share of the confessions.”

“The filming of confessions lasted 12 hours, from 11 a.m. until 11 p.m. We thought that, after this long and tiring day, we would be left to rest or to have a meal at the CID building. However, they put us all again in the cars and took us back directly to the Dry Dock Prison. Of course, we heard no news of a Royal Pardon, nor was there any news of our release. The play ended there. They wanted to film an act, and so, the play was over.”