A Message from a Low-Rank Police Officer

Was published in Arabic in December 20, 2015

Translated by Ahmed Fathy

 We have recently received this email message; it might be true; it might be a raw material of a screenplay. Yet, the reality in Egypt is not very different from the content of this message. We ourselves believe this message and hold it to be true. Anyway, we publish this message here after omitting some improper phrases, followed by our reply.

  Here's the message:

 (…This is the first time I write a message to anyone, so please correct my phrases and words if you are going to publish my message to you. I have begun reading your articles on your website a month ago. I am in a terribly bad mood; I have to narrate everything to you. I was brought up in a modest family; my mother died in my childhood. My father readily remarried; I have now half a dozen step-sisters and step-brothers. I was marginalized after being the only pampered offspring. Sometimes I used to feign illness to get the attention of my father, to no avail. His wife and children got all his undivided attention, and I felt left behind. I created a life of my own outside home with worst type of friends. I hardly got modest education, with no university degree, because I had been a slow-learner dunce. Eventually, I got a job as a low-rank police officer. I have lived motherless and fatherless. I felt at the time that I hate all people. I loved my job that enabled me to harm and control others. I made a point to be subservient and flattering to my bosses, so as to win them on my side to protect myself and do whatever I like with impunity. My first boss used to sadistically enjoy harming people. He was my step to a higher-rank big boss. This man was kind-hearted and a moody bon viveur. Yet, he loved to harm people as a sadistic expert. He taught me that even if one dislikes torturing others, one has to do it to intimidate civilians, make use of them, and control them as much as one likes. This big boss used to keep a prayer rug at office; yet, at work, he was merciless and relentless with all people. So many high-rank policemen pray and perform pilgrimage, but have to be like this to maintain their livelihood, reputation, and intimidation of others. I myself used to be a dutiful, secretive disciple at service of the big boss. He used to order me to torture anyone, and I would obey willingly and eagerly. Some of my victims used to be transferred to the hospitals, and sometimes to the morgue as corpses. I became an expert in torture, receiving the same sadistic pleasure. I felt in supreme power and authority and control. Some men used to kiss my shoes, crying for mercy, but I would curse his ancestors. Some court cases involved my name; I had to be removed from one police station to the other several times, with my notoriety ahead of me. I used to take up a female lover and live in a big flat. Life went on smoothly. I used to rape girls while taking photographs and videotaping the act to manipulate and threaten them. They used to be at my service all the time after that, fearing that I might scandalize them. Once I came across a pretty woman of a rich family; she entered my office crying and imploring me to check where her father was taken by the policemen. Her father was detained for political reasons. I tortured him severely to wring the needed confessions to incarcerate him. I liked his daughter sexually and I fancied her in bed. I pretended to be her hero; I made her visit her father. Later on, I knew that her father died in prison. I went to condole with her by paying her a visit at home, after making a phone call to her. She was devastated; she used to live alone, away from her family. She embraced me, crying and weeping. For the very first time in my life, I felt sympathized with her. She wrongly saw in me a gallant hero. In short, I made use of the situation, and we got married. She was an educated woman with a university degree, of good family, with sense, reason, and polite manners. I felt that I am nothing compared to her. I felt a void inside me. I never enjoyed her in bed; sexually I mean. She would have liked to marry an educated romantic person like herself. This is against my character type. I was addicted to violent sadistic sex. I felt that I no longer desire her; I beat her during foreplay so as to enjoy her in bed. This episode has proven to be the end of our marriage. She was so shocked; she left home. She demanded divorce, and I agreed. We separated and she left town. She gave bear to a son; my son bears the name of her late father. I got transferred to another workplace due to more complaints against me. I was to be transferred to a town in Upper Egypt. I implored my big boss to intervene. He told me to comply and then he would do his best to transfer me to Cairo, as he needed my expertise. This has been done. In Cairo, I once again have become the right arm of the big boss. I used to prepare his secretly rented flat for nights of revelry; whores, belly-dancers, wine, and hash. I used to live in this apartment, whose contract has my name, so as not to arouse suspicions about the big boss. One day, the big boss was overdrunk, and he got a heart attack. My direct boss and I moved him to a hospital, keeping the matter secret from his wife and children. He died two days later. I have become the legal owner of a big luxurious flat that contains large sums of money and some jewelry, owned by the big boss and confiscated by me. By the way, my father died and I did not give a damn. But I decided to attend the funeral service to show my stature and rank and wealth to my stepmother and her children. I went there accompanied with six cars full of my men, associates, and colleagues. I showed off to the utmost degree. I never cared to come close or even to shake hands with my stepmother and her six offspring. Later on, the widow of the dead big boss came to my office. She demanded her share in the money, jewelry, and flat of her late husband. I threatened her to expose and scandalize him; I had CDs with videos of him with whores, rent boys, and women of ill repute. She felt afraid and left me while invoking God against me with worst curses. My direct boss knew about this. He demanded 50% of the money and jewelry; otherwise, he would expose me and take revenge from me. I threatened to expose him with other CDs containing all videos of his sexual scandals. I told him that if I got harmed by him in any way, there are others who would show all these CDs to the public. We made a deal. I was transferred to an airport office post, at a desk, away from police stations. I received measly stipends instead of the huge sums I used to earn illegally in my police job. Yet, I enjoyed a quiet life for the very first time for ten years. One day, after 20 years of divorce and separation, my ex-wife knocked at my door. She grew old and seemed devastated; she told me that our son, whom I never seen, got arrested for no apparent reason. She showed me his photo. He was a spitting image of me . I found myself weeping; I kissed her hand in apology, promising to do my best to save our son. I went to my former boss, who has become in his turn a big boss calling the shots, and I kissed his hand, imploring humbly for the sake of my son. I requested his help, but he shouted at me and kicked me out. I knew from him that they arrested my son to humiliate and insult me. He wanted to take revenge from me. I looked for my son everywhere along with my ex, and I found out that he got arrested under the accusation of being a member in the MB terrorist group. I found myself among thousands of the impoverished weak who were looking for their dear missed ones in hospitals, police stations, and prisons. Later on, I found my son at a certain police station cell, being tortured and beaten, and screaming in pain. I told no one in place that this was my son; I felt tormented to hear his screams while I could not help him. He died before my eyes. When I buried him, I felt as if I have buried part of myself. I resigned from work, and kept to my house. My devastated ex-wife shouted at me that I was the cause of our son's death; this was divine punishment for my having tortured countless youth and my grave injustices all my life. My son died of torture 15 months ago. I rarely get some sleep. Sometimes I feel like killing myself. Sometimes, I feel like becoming a suicide bomber to kill myself and my former bosses at the police. But eventually, I decided to repent and learn how to pray.  I have read recently what you have written about the repentant high-rank State Security Apparatus official who used to torture others and wanted to repent in his old age. What shall I do now? I am still living in the flat that I have mentioned before that belonged to the dead big boss. I still have ill-gotten money in bank accounts, another flat I rent to others, as well as investment bank certificates. But I have no other source of living since I left work. I have no objection at all to forsake all this money so as to make God have mercy on me and accept my repentance. I can live in any modest rented flat like any retired poor man in his fifties. What shall I do, Dr. Mansour? Please tell me…)

Our reply:

1- We hope that everyone abusing his authority and power would remember that God never forgets but gives one time to repent from his sins. God punishes all the unjust sooner or later in this life and in the Afterlife. Such people should remember the Quranic verses that mention the punishment of the unjust. They should remember how power, authority and possessions are transient temporary things. When a weak person flunks the test of being powerful and rich, by acting unjustly, he or she will pay a heavy price in this life during old age and weakness stage mostly. If such a person dies without repentance, eternal Hell is the fate in the Afterlife.

2- You are in your fifties. This is the last chance for you to repent before it is too late. We advise you to donate all your money and possessions to the poor, the ill, and the orphanages. You should offer them the donation money yourself in order to see and feel their suffering yourself. This will certainly add to your piety and urge you to do more good deeds for the rest of your life. Try to remain in contact with your ex-wife. Both of you need each other for moral support. We do believe that she tried to raise your son properly by making him a pious religious person, but unfortunately, due to the dominant corrupt cultural, intellectual, and religious atmosphere, he fell into the trap of fanaticism. She tried, we think, to save him from being a profligate rake like you, but she pushed him into extremism. We hope both she and you get reunited in marriage. If she accepts you, this might be beneficial for both of you.

3- May God guide you and us to the righteous path.