by Traneem Al Ajmi

Since the dawn of history, human societies have been calling for principles of justice and have struggled to achieve them. This has been mentioned by philosophers and legislators of law. As a result of the absence of freedom and equality the world has suffered from ethnic and sectarian wars that have led to huge losses of life. In February 2011, the Arab world gave birth to what is called the “Arab Spring,” in which citizens made demands for basic foundations of democracy and freedom of expression.

I come from a small island that’s located near the Western shores of the Arabian Gulf, with a population of 600,000. The Kingdom of Bahrain is a land of peace which has embraced some of the ancient civilizations. But in one night, everything changed, and peace was executed in the land of tranquility.

On the 14th of February, 2011, the citizens of Bahrain started a protest against the government and its policies, demanding justice and reform. But soon these marches turned into a funeral; one person was killed by police bullets that very evening. It was the fire that started it all. People increased their demands and rose up, demanding to topple the government. In the blink of an eye, chaos was everywhere, and those against the governmental policies were expelled, arrested, or fired from their jobs, educational positions, and homes. The majority of the victims belonged to a particular religious community, the Shai, who make up about 80% of the population.

Everything was dead . . .

The streets were blocked as the regime loyalist militia supported by the police forces set up checkpoints to arrest protesters. Families were dispersed between those killed, arrested, tortured, and injured, and gunshots could be heard from everywhere. Breezes of freedom turned into tear gas, the sounds of birds were drowned out by gunshots and noises. Men were standing in the streets with black masks on and heavy weapons shooting whoever they felt had dreams about being free; it was dark even in the daylight. Days went by and nothing changed, democracy was still being demanded by the protesters. The death toll rose to 130, people from every age group, all of them belonging to the same religious community. But the feelings of being discriminated and targeted were what made them stand stronger and fight for their rights. At least, that is what motivated me to break the barrier of fear and become a part of the protests.

March 17th 2012 is a day engraved in my memory. That morning the opposition called for a peaceful sit-in in the capital; something inside of me pushed me to go, a voice was calling, “Those people are fighting for your rights.” So, I got my pink and black striped shoes on, tied my country’s flag around my neck, and drove with my mom to the city of Manama. Everything moved quickly; my eyes were focused on the car window the whole time, hoping to see something that would put a smile back on my face. However, I was despondent. Tanks, policemen loaded with weapons, and dead roses on the sidewalk were all I could see. As we came closer to the city of Manama we got stopped by a checkpoint. My heart was pounding; I felt like the blood circulation had stopped. While I was trying to prepare myself for any question, a dark-skinned man with a blue uniform on and black mask pointed his finger on the glass requesting it down. With a hard tone he asked “Where are you going?”

My hands were shaking and I could not speak; the words were not coming out. I was just looking at him while trying to spit my words out. Suddenly a voice from beside me responded: “To visit our family in Manama.” My mom saved my life at that moment! Silence took over for 10 seconds. It felt like 10 years, his eyes were rolling everywhere. It looked like he was searching for something but he couldn’t find it. Finally, after bringing terror to our hearts, he set us free.

As we reached the capital, the streets were empty; there was nothing but heat taking over. A few seconds later my phone rang. It was my uncle asking us if we had reached the city yet and where we were supposed to go. As we were heading forward to meet him, I heard sounds echoing from the streets, “Free, free prisoners!” I looked back, left and right, but I couldn’t see anything. The voices got louder by the second; they were coming closer.

I found myself surrounded by angry protesters holding panels and photos, walking and screaming their lungs out, “Peacefully peacefully we protest peacefully!” I inhaled freedom in that moment for the first time in my life. I expressed my legitimate request, fighting the faction of fear and breaking the wall of silence.

Boom!

An explosion came from the back followed by the sound of tear gas shots hitting the ground. I felt like I was in a war zone, clouds of glass executed my vision; I couldn’t breathe, the sound of shooting was terrifying. I felt that my heart stopped with every shot, I could hear their footsteps bumping into the ground. I was running like a horse, I didn’t know where I was heading; the only idea that went through my mind was the idea of reaching safety. The area was covered with gas; I stepped into one of the narrow streets trying to catch my breath from all that running. I felt that I was safe, but not for so long. A voice from the background yelled, “GO GO GO RUN RUN RUN DON’T STOP DON’T STOP!”

It felt like I was in a race with my breath. Sweat was running over my forehead and my heart was beating like a drum. While I was running I allowed myself to look back, riot police were after us, pointing their guns and shooting while yelling at the same time.

Everything was dark after that. In the blink of an eye I found myself lying on the ground, not feeling anything but unbearable pain; I could not move. My life flashed by at that moment. I had gotten shot by rubber bullets that came across my foot causing me to twist my ankle all the way to the back. I was badly injured, but I refused to give up. Despite my injury, I pulled myself up trying to escape. I was running on what felt like a broken ankle. Later that night my tears were my only spoken words. I was suffering, asking for mercy. “Take me to the hospital,” I was begging. But deep inside I feared going there, because I knew that I would not be treated or taken care of just because I belonged to a certain group and demanded my rights as a citizen. At that very time I understood the meaning of discrimination and inequality. I felt utterly discriminated and marginalized.

The next day I was paralyzed, hopeless, and worried. It was then when I finally decided to go to Al Salmnya Medical Center, facing the consequences. This hospital was like a military base; there were two gray tanks with heavy guns pointing out of them, guarded by more than six armed soldiers. As we walked in, I leaned on the wall, waiting for my mom to get me a wheelchair. While I was leaning, I lifted my eyes from the ground and took a look around me.

I was sad; what had happened to the land of peace? People in handcuffs, checkpoints in the entrance of the hospital, regime royalist civilians stopping everyone and playing the policeman part. In every corner there was a soldier standing and scanning the place with his eyes. Everyone was zoned out in their own bubble, hiding secrets and sadness in their eyes. Finally, my mom arrived with the wheelchair. She sat me down and whispered in my ear,” Don’t tell them what happened, if they ask, you tell them you slipped and fell.”

After taking an X-ray of my feet I was sent to the waiting room again and I had to wait for two hours for my name to be called, and finally they called me in. I felt tension, fear, and confusion; I kept my hands on the wheels and headed to the unknown. “Enter,” he said. As I did, I was shocked to see a policeman standing in the corner. Fear took over at that time, my brain started to collect the worst ideas about what was going to happen in the next few minutes. I was sitting there, waiting for him to speak a word; his eyes were glued to the paper in his hand, his fingers tapping on the table, and suddenly he looked at me and said, “What caused your injury, Traneem? Did you participate in any illegal sit-ins or events regarding the current status? Police will handle it from here if you did.” It was like I had been shot all over again but this time with words. I looked at him for a second and answered with a voice full of fear; “No, I didn’t. I fell down the stairs.” My hands were sweating. I tried to avoid eye contact with both of them, until he hit me with the news and said, “Well Traneem, your ligaments are torn and you have a crack in your ankle bone.”

I had to lie to save myself. While I was lying down and being treated I looked up and without sensing, a tear ran down my cheek causing me to ask myself a lot of questions. “What if they know what really happened? What if they find out that I belong to this specific religious group? How will I be treated?” All these questions were running through my head. I was sad about what happened to my leg but mostly I despaired over the feelings of discrimination and sectarian violence that I experienced.

Now, when I look back and remember what happened, the idea of fighting for my rights has only grown further, despite the loss that affected many aspects of my life and my future. After arriving in the United States and having the chance to inhale freedom again and sensing democracy and transparency, the desire to demand my rights as a human first and a citizen second is still firmly embedded within me.

The feeling of being discriminated against is a feeling that I will never forget. If I had not gotten injured, I would not understand it whatsoever. But now instilled in me are many principles, like every human deserves to be free, to be treated equally regardless of their religious beliefs or race. Freedom comes only with sacrifice, but as they say, the sun always rises after a stormy day.