https://t.me/kurdistanbooks About No Friend but the Mountains Where have I come from? From the land of rivers, the land of waterfalls, the land of ancient chants, the land of mountains . In 2013, Kurdish journalist Behrouz Boochani was illegally detained on Manus Island. He has been there ever since. People would run to the mountains to escape the warplanes and found asylum within their chestnut forests . This book is the result. Laboriously tapped out on a mobile phone and translated from the Farsi. It is a voice of witness, an act of survival. A lyric first-hand account. A cry of resistance. A vivid portrait through five years of incarceration and exile. Do Kurds have any friends other than the mountains? ‘A chant, a cry from the heart, a lament, fuelled by a fierce urgency, written with the lyricism of a poet, the literary skills of a novelist, and the profound insights of an astute observer of human behaviours and the ruthless politics of a cruel and unjust imprisonment.’ ARNOLD BLAZE ‘Our government jailed his body, but his soul remained that of a free man.’ RICHARD FLANAGAN https://t.me/kurdistanbooks Contents Cover About No Friend but the Mountains Dedication Foreword Translator’s Tale: A Window to the Mountains Disclaimer Chapter 1: Under Moonlight / The Colour of Anxiety Chapter 2: Mountains and Waves / Chestnuts and Death / That River . This Sea Chapter 3: The Raft of Purgatory / Moons Will Tell Terrible Truths Chapter 4: The Warship Meditations / Our Golshifteh Is Truly Beautiful Chapter 5: A Christmas (Island) Tale / A Stateless Rohingya Boy Sent Away to Follow the Star of Exile Chapter 6: The Wandering Kowlis Perform / The Barn Owls Watch Chapter 7: The Oldman Generator / The Prime Minister and His Daughters Chapter 8: Queuing as Torture: Manus Prison Logic / The Happy Cow Chapter 9: Father’s Day / The Magnificent Mango Tree and The Gentle Giant Chapter 10: Chanting of Crickets, Ceremonies of Cruelty / A Mythic Topography of Manus Prison Chapter 11: The Flowers Resembling Chamomile / Infection: Manus Prison Syndrome Chapter 12: In Twilight / The Colours of War No Friend but the Mountains: Translator’s Reflections About Behrouz Boochani About Omid Tofighian Copyright page For Janet Galbraith Who is a bird Foreword No Friend but the Mountains is a book that can rightly take its place on the shelf of world prison literature, alongside such diverse works as Oscar Wilde’s De Profundis, Antonio Gramsci’s Prison Notebooks, Ray Parkin’s Into The Smother, Wole Soyinka’s The Man Died, and Martin Luther King Jr’s Letter from Birmingham Jail. Written in Farsi by a young Kurdish poet, Behrouz Boochani, in situations of prolonged duress, torment, and suffering, the very existence of this book is a miracle of courage and creative tenacity. It was written not on paper or a computer, but thumbed on a phone and smuggled out of Manus Island in the form of thousands of text messages. We should recognise the extent of Behrouz Boochani’s achievement by first acknowledging the difficulty of its creation, the near impossibility of its existence. Everything has been done by our government to dehumanise asylum seekers. Their names and their stories are kept from us. On Nauru and Manus Island, they live in a zoo of cruelty. Their lives are stripped of meaning. These prisoners were all people who had been imprisoned without charge, without conviction, and without sentence. It is a particularly Kafkaesque fate that frequently has the cruellest effect – and one fully intended by their Australian jailers – of destroying hope. Thus the cry for freedom was transmuted into charring flesh as 23-year-old Omid Masoumali burnt his body in protest. The screams of 21-year-old Hodan Yasin as she too set herself alight. This is what we, Australia, have become. The ignored begging of a woman on Nauru being raped. A girl who sewed her lips together. A child refugee who stitched a heart into their hand and didn’t know why. Behrouz Boochani’s revolt took a different form. For the one thing that his jailers could not destroy in Behrouz Boochani was his belief in words: their beauty, their necessity, their possibility, their liberating power. And so over the course of his imprisonment Behrouz Boochani began one of the more remarkable careers in Australian journalism: reporting about what was happening on Manus Island in the form of tweets, texts, phone videos, calls, and emails. In so doing he defied the Australian government which went to extreme lengths to prevent refugees’ stories being told, constantly seeking to deny journalists access to Manus Island and Nauru; going so far, for a time, as to legislate the draconian section 42 of the Australian Border Force Act, which allowed for the jailing for two years of any doctors or social workers who bore public witness to children beaten or sexually abused, to acts of rape or cruelty. His words came to be read around the world, to be heard across the oceans and over the shrill cries of the legions of paid propagandists. With only the truth on his side and a phone in his hand, one imprisoned refugee alerted the world to Australia’s great crime. Behrouz Boochani has now written a strange and terrible book chronicling his fate as a young man who has spent five years on Manus Island as a prisoner of the Australian government’s refugee policies – policies in which both our major parties have publicly competed in cruelty. Reading this book is difficult for any Australian. We pride ourselves on decency, kindness, generosity, and a fair go. None of these qualities are evident in Boochani’s account of hunger, squalor, beatings, suicide and murder. I was painfully reminded in his descriptions of the Australian officials’ behaviour on Manus of my father’s descriptions of the Japanese commanders’ behaviour in the POW camps where he and fellow Australian POWs suffered so much. What has become of us when it is we who now commit such crimes? This account demands a reckoning. Someone must answer for these crimes. Because if they don’t, the one certainty that history teaches us is that the injustice of Manus Island and Nauru will one day be repeated on a larger, grander, and infinitely more tragic scale in Australia. Someone is responsible, and it is they, and not the innocent, to whose great suffering this book bears such disturbing witness, who should be in jail. This book, though, is something greater than just a J’accuse. It is a profound victory for a young poet who showed us all how much words can still matter. Australia imprisoned his body, but his soul remained that of a free man. His words have now irrevocably become our words, and our history must henceforth account for his story. I hope one day to welcome Behrouz Boochani to Australia as what I believe he has shown himself to be in these pages. A writer. A great Australian writer. Richard Flanagan, 2018 Translator’s Tale: A Window to the Mountains Omid: ‘I read your recent article . I really admire your work.’ Behrouz: ‘That’s very kind . I just hope I wake up from this nightmare soon.’ The experience of translating Behrouz’s book is itself rich with multiple narratives; some reaching back before our initial communication, even before the construction of Manus Prison. Over the last few years, especially after meeting Behrouz, I’ve come to realise how integral narratives are to living life well, and the translation process for this book has confirmed and expanded my insights and experiences with storytelling. This translator’s tale provides some insight into the many experiences and conversations that have shaped the book and characterise our shared vision of narrative and life. — I had only been on Manus Island for a few hours when I rushed over to the central bus stop in Lorengau town. We met in person there for the first time. Behrouz hadn’t eaten a thing all day – he’d consumed nothing but smokes for breakfast and lunch. He was still on his mobile phone when I got out of the vehicle to greet him. Earlier that day I learned that the body of refugee Hamed Shamshiripour had just been discovered within a cluster of trees near a school, beaten and with a noose around his neck; in fact, I had passed by the crowd of Manusian locals and police on my way in from the airport*. The circumstances were extremely suspicious and many refugees still claim he was killed. Behrouz is the first point of contact for many Australian and international journalists and at that point he had been engaged in interviews for the entire day. My first trip to Manus Island was supposed to be dedicated to working on the translation of the book – but on Manus only torture is allowed to proceed according to schedule. At the time of publication, at least fifteen people are known to have lost their lives in offshore detention on Manus Island, Nauru and Christmas Island. Mohammed Sarwar (Nauru, 2002) Fatima Irfani (Christmas Island, 2003) Saeed Qasem Abdalla (Christmas Island, 2013) Reza Barati (Manus, 2014) Hamid Khazaei (Manus, 2014) Fazal Chegani (Christmas Island, 2015) Omid Masoumali (Nauru, 2016) Rakib Khan (Nauru, 2016) Kamil Hussain (Manus, 2016) Faysal Ishak Ahmed (Manus, 2016) Hamed Shamshiripour (Manus, 2017) Rajeev Rajendran (Manus, 2017) Sayed Ibrahim Hussein (Nauru, 2017) Salim Kyawning (Manus, 2018) Fariborz Karami (Nauru, 2018) — My familiarity with Behrouz’s approach to writing began before I first came across his work – before I had even heard about this prolific writer incarcerated in Manus Prison.