The Red Army Faction, a Documentary History, Volume 1 (45 page)

Horst Mahler has consciously chosen to collaborate with the BKA and the Berlin justice system, and to act as a puppet for the political police in Wiesbaden and Bonn. He remains what he has always been:
a cynic, a chauvinist and a mandarin, now acting openly on behalf of state security—a politically inconsequential and essentially ridiculous figure.

Monika Berberich for the RAF Prisoners
September 27, 1974

Since September 30 (12 days) force-feeding has been occurring here daily. It takes place in the sickbay (in a one-storey building in B wing—a sort of annex—I am celled in A wing, in the middle of the first floor). I am escorted by 5-6 of the greens.
¹

During the first week, I attempted different forms of
active resistance
every day. Selective and timely.

5-6 greens, 2-3 medics, 1 doctor. The greens grab, push, and drag me to an operating chair. Really it’s an operating table with all the bells and whistles: it can be swiveled in any direction, etc., and can be folded into an armchair with a headrest and foot- and armrests.

Strapped down: two pairs of handcuffs and foot shackles, a 30 cm wide strap around the waist, two leather straps with 4 belts from the elbow to the wrist on the left arm, on the right arm another two at the wrist and elbow, and one across the chest. Behind me a green or a medic who holds my head firmly against the headrest with both hands on my forehead. (In the case of active resistance at head level, two others, one on the left, one on the right, hold on to my hair, my beard, and my neck. In this way, my entire body is immobilized, and if it’s necessary another holds my knees or shoulders. The only possible motion is muscular movement “inside” the body. This week they tied the belts and straps very tightly, so that blood accumulated in my hands, which turned bluish, etc.).

The mouth: On the right the doctor on a stool with a small crowbar about 20 cm long, one end a curved needle, the other a curved spatula wrapped with adhesive tape. This goes between the lips, which are pulled apart with fingers at the same time, and then between the teeth (that’s pretty easy in my case, given that I’m missing three teeth) forcing them apart, either by applying pressure or by pushing the spatula against the gums.

(Biting the teeth together is still relatively difficult—a strong point of resistance—and leads to minor injury to the teeth or gums. Against the strength of the jaw they use three different grips: forcing them apart with fingers under the lips while simultaneously pulling on the beard both above and below the mouth; applying heavy pressure below the ears and the jaw joint, which really hurts; sharply pressing a stiffened
finger against the muscles that run forward from under the ears, while using a stiffened finger to push the carotid artery, the windpipe, and the vagus nerve against the muscle and kneading and squeezing them against each other, which, in fact, was not the most painful method, but took more than a day to heal.)

When the jaws are pulled far enough apart, the medic on the left sticks—shoves—the clamp between the teeth. It is a shear tongue-like rubber-coated object, 2 fingers thick with a wingnut at its joint, with which the jaws are pried open. The tongue is pulled forward and forced down with forceps, or the doctor uses a finger with a steel sheath on the fingertip.

Force-feeing: A red stomach pipe (not a tube) is used, about the thickness of a middle finger (in my case between the joints). It is greased, but doesn’t manage to go down without causing me to gag, because it is only between 1 and 3 mm narrower than the digestive tract (this can only be avoided if one makes a swallowing motion and remains completely still). The slightest irritation when the pipe is introduced causes gagging and nausea and the cramping of the chest and stomach muscles, setting off a chain reaction of extremely intense convulsions throughout the body, causing one to buck against the pipe. The more extreme and the longer this lasts, the worse it is. A single gag or vomiting reflex is accompanied by waves of cramps. They only abate or decrease if one is very focused and remains very still, forcing oneself to breathe deeply and normally. Under the circumstances, resistance makes this completely impossible. It is only possible through quiet concentration and self-control, which in these conditions of direct compulsion always means self-repression and self-discipline. This is the reason for the restraints used in this form of force-feeding, because the body “naturally” reacts.

When the pipe is in the stomach, a wider funnel is attached to it and a normal cup (about a quarter-litre capacity) is used to gradually force down small amounts of the sludge. It is some type of meat slop, murky, slimy, and fatty—in any event, it contains vitamins, glucose, eggs, and finely chopped stuff—with a thick, brownish, greasy residue (about 1 or 2 tablespoons). The intake lasts about 1½ to 3 minutes. A full cup is always poured in, even when the gagging is extreme, causing the entire body to cramp for at least 5 to 6 minutes each time without any relief. The funnelling is only possible with “relative calm.” During heavy gagging and/or cramping, the slop pours out of the funnel at the top. When the pipe bucks up in the throat—and in the digestive tract as
a result—it can lead to choking fits, which have occurred twice so far (but didn’t pose a serious health risk). The gagging, the cramping, and the swallowing are of course painful, particularly to the larynx, which is pressed against the pipe with every swallow and gag. The iron lever has led to small injuries to the gums, the inside of the lip looks as if it has been bitten in one place and has a whitish inflammation as a result of the clamp, and the back of the throat is “irritated.” The larynx constantly hurts a little bit, and I have a sore throat.

It is about 3 to 5 minutes before the pipe is taken back out, all depending. (With extreme resistance, I can make it last as long as 20 to 30 minutes, but I am not strong enough to prevent the force-feeding altogether.)

Afterwards, I remain strapped in with my head pressed down for at least 10 minutes (sometimes it is longer), “to calm me down.”

The doctor has up to this point refused to give his name (his name is Freitag). A green (he’s named Vollmann) generally holds my head and presses it with all his strength against the leather headrest (until his hands start to tremble from the effort)—yeah, a real sadist— this takes place inside a 190 cm cubicle. Another one—he’s named Gomes or Komes—tightens the straps so much that they cut into
my ankles and leave marks on my wrists that are still visible over an hour later. As I have, from the first day, offered occasional and partial resistance, I have a few bruises on my legs, arms, etc. The whole thing is always conducted rigorously so as to be over in 10 minutes.

As of this week (since Tuesday, October 8) I have offered almost no further active resistance, only passive resistance—no voluntary movement.

In this way it is more bearable. I can control myself so there is no gagging, etc., like today, for example, but that depends on me, not on the style of force-feeding. The pipe is, REGARDLES OF CIRCUMSTANCES, TORTURE.

As they are now generally conducting force-feeding with a tube through the nose, I favor a public statement against the doctor (P. should do this, as he has already prepared a motion for a ban on the pipe, which can serve as an ultimatum: “If you don’t … by … then …” It should also definitely be raised at the press conference, but only briefly, and only against the doctor, nothing against the greens.)

Shit: Today, after the force-feeding I had a brief short circuit, nothing extreme, only 5 minutes, total flickering, but fully conscious, only the eyes and ears.

Holger Meins
October 11, 1974

In a July 2008 interview with the Berlin left-wing daily, taz, Manfred Grashof acknowledged that he was the RAF prisoner referred to in this letter. In the interview, he explained that he had decided to break off the hunger strike because he felt that it was the result of a decision taken by a small number of prisoners who had not adequately discussed it with the others. (M. & S.)

You stupid idiot.

Start again immediately and carry on—if you haven’t already done so. That and nothing else. Today is the day for it.

It must be clear what it means for the pigs and against us—in the fray. If you were fully conscious when you gobbled that up—as a step away from this—then bon appetit. Then this is the end.

If it was a flip-out, a breakdown, disorientation—enough said.

Did you make a mistake—correct it.

Have you spun out—come back.

Although. That is naturally of a somewhat different order—because it’s honest. That must be clear to you—by now. If so, you must
clearly
say so, and immediately. “Simply couldn’t think,” etc. says nothing about you.

There is no guilt in the guerilla and no punishment in the collective. Only decisions and consequences, and I say it yet
again
.

The only thing that matters is the struggle— now, today, tomorrow; whether you eat or not, what matters is that you make a leap forward. Do better. Learn from your experience. That is what must be done. All the rest is shit. THE STRUGGLE CONTINUES. Each new fight, each action, each battle brings new and unprecedented experiences, and that is how the struggle develops. That is the only way it develops. The subjective side of the dialectic of revolution and counterrevolution: what makes the difference is knowing how to learn.

Through the struggle, for the struggle. As a result of the victories, but even more as a result of the errors, the reversals, the defeats.

That is one of the laws of Marxism.

Struggle, defeat, struggle anew, again defeat, again take up the struggle, and so on until the final victory. That is the logic of the people. So said the Old One.
¹

In any event, matter. The human being is nothing but matter, like everything else. The human being in his totality. The body and consciousness are “material,” and that which makes the human what he is, his freedom—is consciousness dominating matter—THE SELF and external nature, and, above all: being oneself. One of the pages of Engels: completely clear. The guerilla materializes in struggle—in revolutionary action, that is to say: without end—precisely: the struggle until death, and, of course: the collective.

It isn’t a question of matter, but of politics. Of PRAXIS. As you said: before as after, it’s all the same. Today, tomorrow, and so forth. Yesterday is past. A criterion doubtless, but above all a FACT. What is—now—depends primarily on you. The hunger strike is far from over.

And the struggle never ends.

But

There is obviously only one point: if you know that with each of the PIG’S VICTORIES the concrete objective of killing gets more concrete—and that you no longer want to take part, thereby protecting yourself—then that is a victory for the PIGS, meaning you hand us over to them, and it is you who is the pig that divides and encircles us for your personal survival, so shut your mouth, “As has been said: praxis. Long live the RAF. Death to the pig system.”

Because—if you don’t want to continue the hunger strike with us—it would be better to be more honorable (if indeed you still know what that means: honor): “In short, I am alive. Down with the RAF. Victory to the pig system.”

Either a human or pig
Either to survive at any price or
to struggle until death
Either part of the problem or part of the solution
Between the two there is nothing

Victory or death—the people everywhere say that and that is the language of the guerilla—even given our tiny size here. Live or die, it is all the same:

“The people (meaning: us), who refuse to stop struggling—either they win or they die, instead of losing and dying.”

It’s very sad to have to write you again about this sort of thing. Of course, I don’t know either what it is like when a person dies or when they kill you. How would I know? In a moment of truth, the other morning, for the first time it crossed my mind: this is it (obviously I still don’t know)—and afterwards (facing the gun aimed between the eyes), it’s all the same, that’s it. In any case, on the right side.