The Hostages

 

A paean to the Stockholm Syndrome 

 

 

 

 

 

They came one hour before the dawn,

Each to himself complete;

Fanatic’s face and stealthy pace

On canvas roughshod feet,

And each one knew what each must do,

His destiny to meet.

 

And some wore masks upon their heads

And on some heads were none;

And some held blades, and some grenades,

And in some hands a gun;

But, common to each one, upon

Their lips an orison.

 

It was not fear induced their prayer

(They were not so devout),

It was but pious callousness

That brought their prayer about;

The arrant beat of their conceit

Permitted of no doubt.

 

That they should seize, with perfect ease,

This symbol of the might

Of that great power in one short hour

Without the need to fight,

Naively and sufficient was

To fill them with delight.

  

But no one had considered that

There was a need to guard

The sanctuary of the house;

Tradition had assured

It would remain inviolate,

Thus were they ill-prepared.

 

And even less could they then guess

Their capture by default

In that bleak hour before the dawn

To dreams would call a halt,

Uncertain whether fear or smiles

Should greet this weird assault.

    

---

But never did they speak a word

  Or pause to give a thought

To those whose confined air they shared

 And whose respect they sought

 Yet unaware of how much fear

 Their nervous rage had brought.

 

The constant weight of dreaded hate,

Much heavier than gold

Held in the throes of daily woes

Lacked shelter from the cold

And bitter blame that hid their shame

Scant comfort for that fold.

 

“If it were in our power alone,

You know we’d set you free,

But we must on that greater power

Bestow our loyalty.

Our faith demands the principle

Of reciprocity.

 

“And you must know our charity

Is running out of time,

And all we ask – a simple task –

That you admit your crime

Against our great and noble State.

Confession is sublime.

 

---

 

But bit by bit and day by day

Anxiety increased.

The captives could not comprehend

Remaining unreleased.

And lacked the empathy that veiled

The hostile Middle East.

 

They disagreed between themselves

On what their captors sought.

There were a few who took the view

That they must lend support

To something that exemplified

How steadfastly they fought.

 

And for their part the captors too

Debated fervently.

Our fathers too believed as you

And lived lives decently

But we have learned by pain and strife

That these things cannot be.

 

But bit by bit their feelings changed

Quite subtly to and fro.

And what at first they would not face,

Became a need to know

The details of from whence they came

And where they hoped to go.

 

Is this the land your fathers loved

And toiled so hard to win?

Is this the freedom that they sought,

Those noble fellahin?

Do you not think these deeds disturb

The graves that they sleep in?

 

Do they not miss their families?

What holds them in such thrall?

Eternal and infinite bliss;

Is that the mighty pill?

Deliverance from worldly sin

And quick release from ill.

 

Our lives depend on your goodwill

And gaining your acclaim;

To guarantee survival must

Be our final aim.

Though it reflects so grievously

Our everlasting shame.

 

To find ourselves in bonding mode

Emotion'lly with those

Who seemed to pose the greatest threat

And had the most to lose

Seemed but the test of all the best

That we could then propose

 

Avoiding trauma and distress,

We need to change our course

As rivers often cannot help

Identify their source

We still believe we can relieve

The brutal use of force

 

Their cruelty from weakness sprang.

(They thought themselves humane:

Considerate to animals

And sparing children pain.)

But each one knew what each must do

Ere he saw home again.

 

---

 

“Justice for each is what we preach

Though it may terror breed;

That we may own what we have sown:

The produce of our seed.”

(The prejudice of ignorance

May yet fulfil their need.)

 

What irony their actions bear

As to achieve, they sought

Their violent needs with violent deeds,

And claimed for freedom fought,

Who were themselves to violence slaves.

How dear is freedom bought?

 

“The words we use indeed abuse,

But we have no regrets;

Corruption is the rotting fruit

That decadence  begets,

And those who yet will of it eat

Deserve these epithets.”

 

Our motivation and our aims

Weigh much more heavily

Than simple arguments against

Abuse of family.

And we, with utmost trust, will still

Pursue it mightily.

 

To find relief in that belief

Their pleading did increase;

That that concern in turn might bring

Enlightenment and peace.

Yet still each knew what each must do

Before there came release.

 

The moral that this story bears 

Will evermore abide . . . 

That death did not discriminate

One from the other side;

When each one knew what each must do

And each one did . . . and died.

 

 

---

 

The poem was begun at the time of the hostage situation in Tehran.  It was based very loosely on the events that lasted from 1979 to 1981 - a total of 444 days.  It was subsequently completed as a fictional combination of the actual Tehran events and the bonding experience of the Stockholm bank robbery that had occurred almost a decade earlier.  Ostensibly complete, it is in fact a work in progress.