Boualem Sansal, a free man
"I am neither the first nor the last to suffer the arbitrary power of the Algerian regime," he said in his letter, which made headlines on social media. "His Russian predecessors demonstrated that the more the Gulag extended its grip on the people, the weaker the regime became. History and literature are rich in evidence that demonstrates that freedom is strengthened by coercion. Didn't the creative power of the two dissidents I just mentioned reach its peak when they were deprived of their freedom? Boualem Sansal's letter is in line with these precedents.
By his free decision to go to Algeria, his country of origin, Boualem Sansal told Le Monde that his jailers cannot confiscate his freedom.
Today, from his cell, where the air is thin, where light enters only to remind prisoners that they are still alive, but never free, he confesses that his body is betraying him and that illness is eroding his strength.
It is well known that he is not the first Algerian arbitrarily arrested for acts of conscience. Among the many who preceded him, I have a moral and ethical obligation to once again cite Ahmed El Khalil, whose family has entrusted me with his defense. A Polisario leader living in Algeria, he denounced the regime's financial misappropriation of aid to his community. Although of Moroccan nationality, arrested in 2009, never tried, he remains detained. No member of his family, nor his lawyer, has been allowed to meet him.
By emphasizing the exemplary strength of Boualem Sansal's character, I may have overshadowed his victimhood and his fragility as an elderly and sick man. This is because he does not bend, like the great Russian writers of the last century. He stands up like a conqueror: I am suffering, yes. My body is betraying me, the illness is eroding my strength, and the regime hopes I will leave in silence.
He then immediately confronts them: But how wrong they are! My voice, even in chains, does not belong to them. If it can still reach outsiders, it is to say this: do not believe their facade of respectability. This power is not a state; it is a crushing machine.
He emerges stronger from the humiliating trials he is subjected to. By opposing them with his human dignity, he teaches that the forces of the heart cannot be chained. He wants to be unshakeable, resilient, solid, while at the same time feeling that his body is betraying him. Extreme modesty of words!
This is the hallmark of the great writer. The novel of words opens, I have often said and written, onto the absolute of freedom.
Let us meditate on those who follow:
Fear is a prison larger than the one I find myself in, and it is harder to break through. But I know that one day, the wall will fall.
(…) I will continue to write (…) because writing is the only freedom they cannot confiscate, and it is through it that we will survive.
• Thus, I voluntarily excluded myself. Alexander Zinoviev, Notes of a Night Watchman, ed. The Age of Man, 1979, p. 11
Hubert Seillan. Lawyer at the Paris Bar
Letter from Boualem Sansal
My friends,
If this letter reaches you, it is because despite the walls, the locks, and the fear, there are still cracks through which the truth can slip. I am writing to you from a cell where air is scarce and light enters only to remind prisoners that they are still alive, but never free.
I am neither the first nor the last to suffer the arbitrariness of the Algerian regime. Here, prison is not an exceptional place reserved for criminals, but a common tool of governance. The dictatorship imprisons as easily as one breathes: effortlessly, without shame. Journalists, activists, writers are imprisoned... and sometimes even those who have said nothing, just to set an example.
My fault? For persisting in believing that words could save this country from its own demons. For writing that Algeria is not just a flag and an anthem, but first and foremost a people who deserve dignity and justice. For refusing to let history repeat itself, to let corruption and violence continue to reign supreme.
I am suffering, yes. My body is betraying me, illness is sapping my strength, and the regime hopes that I will leave in silence. But they are mistaken! My voice, even if chained, does not belong to them. If it can still reach the outside world, it is to say this: do not believe their facade of respectability. This power is not a state, it is a machine designed to crush people.
I address France directly. You have been my second homeland, my intellectual refuge. You who proclaim yourselves the homeland of human rights, remember that these rights do not stop at the shores of the Mediterranean. Governments come and go, diplomats calculate, but principles must stand firm. Do not give up, do not sacrifice your values on the altar of economic interests or alliances of convenience.
I am not asking for my freedom out of charity, but in the name of what underpins all human society: justice. If you give in today to a regime that believes itself untouchable, tomorrow other prisons will fill up and other voices will be silenced.
To the Algerian people, my brothers and sisters, I say: hold on. Fear is a prison larger than the one I am in, and it is more difficult to break. But I know that one day, the wall will come down. Dictators always fall in the end.
As for me, I will continue to write, even if my pages remain hidden under this prison mattress. For writing is the only freedom they cannot take away from us, and it is through writing that we will survive."
Boualem Sansal. El-Harrach Prison, Algiers