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WHEREVER THEY MAY BE
© 1972, The
Beate Klarsfeld Foundation
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"Did you expect to be harassed after that?"
I
expected I'd have visitors. And indeed, toward 4 o'clock a Palestinian press
correspondent for an American press agency arrived. His Beirut office had
appraised him of my "mission." You must remember that there are no Western
journalists in Damascus. The rare correspondents of Western agencies are all
local people, and thus answerable to Syrian authorities. This correspondent
interviewed me in his office, with a second correspondent, a Syrian woman. Of
course, they were not carried away with enthusiasm for my action. Back at my
hotel I found local correspondents of AFP and Reuters. They were not moderate
in their criticism. Later, one of the first correspondents called to tell me
that the authorities had censured him for seeing me without their clearance.
They had learned of the telegrams sent to Beirut and had issued an order to
"kill" all news concerning me. Thus no further news about me went out from
Damascus. The censorship had acted effectively.
"How did you spend the
night?"
Sobbing into my blanket. I had expected to find sunshine in
Damascus when I left Paris. All this time, Serge and our LICA friends were
trying to reach me by phone. But I had been effectively isolated. After
censoring the press, they cut off my phone. At midnight the hotel operator was
telling Paris that I was not expected to return that night. This must have
worried my family and friends. I had also tried to phone Paris, but the hotel
kept telling me they couldn't get the call through. Early in the morning Serge
managed to get an alert through to the French Embassy in Damascus. They
immediately called the hotel and asked for me. As if by a miracle I found
myself in the lobby where a phone was handed to me. It was a friend, Elisabeth
Hajdenberg; I reassured her that I was all right. Apparently the Syrians had
reached a decision about their stance toward me during the night. After a visit
from the French consul, M. Besson, who had very courteously gone out of his way
to come and see me and then telephone Serge in Paris, the Syrian authorities
made contact with me.
"Whom did you see first?"
A Syrian woman
phoned me as though nothing had happened. The conversation went as follows: "My
name is Colette Khoury. I am a poet. I understand you are a journalist passing
through Damascus."
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WHEREVER THEY MAY BE
© 1972, The
Beate Klarsfeld Foundation |
|
Back |
Page 293 |
Forward |
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