Oufkir speaks of life as princess, imprisonment
By ALLY JAY
News Writer
Malika Oufkir described her experience the daughter of a high ranking Moroccan general and the changes in her life after her father's failed coup in a lecture Wednesday.
"My life is an upside down fairy tale," said author Malika Oufkir last night to a packed Hesburgh Center Auditorium. "I started out as a princess and from age 5 to 17 I lived in a palace. I can say it was an exceptional life."
As a child Oufkir, was a playmate of the King Hassan II's half sister and at the age of 5 was unofficially adopted by Morocco's royal family.
In her book "Stolen Lives: Twenty Years in a Desert Jail" she writes, "The only contact I had with my family was in the palace. A few times my mother was invited to parties and [I saw] my father when he came to work with the King, For me it was terrible because I looked at them like my parents, but I couldn't go and have contact with them because living in the palace means that first you have to renounce your identity. You can have no past and no future."
Despite her surroundings, Oufkir felt isolated. "I can say a child doesn't need to be in luxury [to be happy]. They only need love, protection, and parents," said Oufkir.
Feeling the need to reestablish her familial connections, she asked the King to allow her to return home.
"At 17 I decided to change everything. I told the King I have an identity and a family, and I don't know them," she said. "So at 17, I went back and discovered my life. For the first two years I was happy. My first dream was to be an actress and I traveled all over the world."
However Oufkir's fairy tale existence was overturned in 1972 when her biological father, a general in charge of Moroccan King Hassan II's security services, led a failed coup against the regime and was subsequently executed.
"After the coup my father was arrested and my family spent about 20 years in prison. After 15 years we decided to dig a tunnel to allow four of us to escape. My mother and sister were too sick to escape," she said. "For five days we tried to find help. After five days we got in touch with the French but unfortunately the police caught up with us again. So we went back to prison for four and a half more years. I can't tell you the whole story, maybe it's better you read the book."
According to Susan Slyomovics, Chair of Anthropology, who spoke on the social and political context of Oufkir's work, books written by political prisoners such as Oufkir are necessary to enable the people of Morocco to "Turn the page definitively on their past."
"To describe their past they use the terms les annees noir — the black years — and les annes sombres. It was a time of mass political trials and torture was applied to elicit confessions," said Slyomovics of Morocco's political past.
Slyomovics stressed writing is a form of deliverance and can help Moroccans deal with their pasts. Slyomovics read excerpts of Moroccan authors and poets whose work focused on Morocco's tumultuous past. The audience also had the opportunity to hear Miriam Oufkir, Malika Oufkir's sister, read poetry based on her experiences in prison.
After discussing her experiences, Oufkir took questions from the audience. During the question and answer session, three women in the audience became engaged in a heated controversy regarding the role Oufkir's biological father played in political executions. After a five-minute debate, Perry ended the controversy and allowed Oufkir to continue fielding questions.
When she was asked about the conditions she dealt with on a daily basis while in prison she said
"A day is like a year for us in silence, without light, without a book, without anything," she said. "We would spend all the days dreaming about food because we had no food.
"So I started telling my family a story every night. The story lasted for 11 years and through the story was a way to escape from prison."
When asked how she would punish her torturers she said, "I don't believe in justice. Nothing can give us back our life. Even money. Perhaps prison for those who tortured us. I realized all this when King Hassan died and people came up and asked if I was happy. It was true. I wasn't happy.
"There is no justice for me. That's why the only thing I can say is be vigilant for countries like mine. I don't know if you realize how lucky you are to live in a democracy. People like me and prisoners like us can maybe help move our country towards democracy."
All News Stories for Thursday, April 12, 2001
