Lebanon: using theatre as therapy in prison

During the 2006 war between Israel and Lebanon, we were all stuck at home. It was hell. We did not know whether to stay or go. I felt like a prisoner myself. We were all prisoners.

I had spent time in an Italian prison in 1999 training under Armando Punzo. He had been conducting theatre workshops in prison for a number of years. It was amazing. It was wonderful to see how people expressed themselves. They are not merely criminals. They are more than that, and they have a lot to say.

Armando Punzo never claimed it was therapy, but it was therapeutic. At that time, having such a project in Lebanon was a pipe dream. As we say in Arabic “discard your dreams within your subconscious”.

So in 2006, I started talking about undertaking a first project in Roumieh prison. I heard that funding was available from the European Union. I did not yet have the facilities to apply for funding, but I met with Ghassan Moukheiber, an MP, activist and lawyer. He encouraged me and let me carry out this project through one of his NGOs. I met with the Minister of the Interior and the Minister of Justice. I was denied permission on three consecutive occasions on the grounds that drama and therapy were a luxury in prison and that prisoners are there to be punished, not rehabilitated. I explained clearly that it was a project based on humanity and not politics. After a year and a half, my persistence paid off, and I was granted permission.

Drama therapy is a mixture of theatrical and psychological techniques that heal, broaden horizons, and allow people to express themselves. Drama therapy is an alternative therapy, like dance therapy, art therapy or music therapy. Many people find it difficult to talk to a therapist about themselves: it takes a lot of maturity to express and feel emotions. Talking therapy is not for everyone. Drama therapy, on the other hand, concentrates on movement and role play. We create scenarios, we change them mid- scene, we delve into the subpersonalities which we play in our lives. These techniques ultimately allow people to express themselves.

The subpersonality exercise is a technique that I often use with the prisoners. We examine how we balance the roles we play in life. In doing so, we explore all the different identities of prisoners: they are not simply criminals as society might think. They are also fathers, someone’s child, an employee, a group leader, all of these. They can revisit these roles and decide what they want to do with them, which ones they need to let go of, which ones they need to develop, and how to achieve this.

Each person is free to create a life using all these roles. One exercise relates to childhood: so this requires talking about and returning to childhood. Another exercise involves an empty chair: one must pretend, for example, that someone’s father is sitting there, and you are talking to him. One exercise consists of writing a letter to one’s mother. Then everyone shares their experiences. This provokes a lot of pain but also a lot of sympathy. Participants become aware of their trauma. The play allows them to express things and to share.

We started working in prisons at the end of 2007. My first project, Twelve Angry Lebanese, was a play adapted from Twelve Angry Men by Reginald Rose. I knew little about this subject. I knew there was a moratorium on capital punishment, that prison conditions were miserable and that prisons were overcrowded. I knew it was possible to be in prison for up to seven or eight years without seeing a judge. Apart from that, I knew nothing.

When I went to Roumieh prison, I left workshop applications there for three months. Prisoners came to audition. Some applied and brought another prisoner along, some just wanted to observe. That length of time allowed them to discover theatre and to get to know me. It gave me a chance to determine who would be able to commit for the time needed to put on such a production. The project lasted 15 months. Prisoners who were serving shorter sentences benefitted from drama therapy without being able to take part in the production.

I would go to the prison five days a week. I would spend two days with those serving long sentences –death row prisoners and those with life sentences – and two days with those serving shorter sentences. On the fifth day, I would mix the groups up so they could learn from each other. I split the volunteer prisoners into several groups: solo performers, dancers, backstage, lighting, and, finally, the group of actors who would perform. Some wanted to do stand-up. One of them told a funny story about his 70-year-old mother, who was not in full possession of her mental faculties , but came to visit him often; she happily told the judge that he was selling drugs but was not using them himself. His one-year sentence was extended to five years. It was a funny story that made you laugh and cry at the same time: you can see the suffering behind it.

I conducted the psychological tests longitudinally, meaning over the 15-month long project. As time went on, the prisoners became more disciplined, and communicated better with their fellow prisoners and their families. Dark thoughts made way for hope. They ate and slept better. Their interactions with guards improved.

It took a lot of hard work to be able to present this play to the public. We had to convince the authorities and government members not only to authorise it but also to attend. There was the question of security. We finally received permission to put the play on for two months. However, authorisation procedures to attend it took a long time.. In Twelve Angry Lebanese, the prisoners mentioned Law No. 463/2002 regarding the reduction of sentences which had never been applied. They performed not only in front of regular spectators, but also in front of ministers, judges, and authority figures. Two months later, the sentence reduction law was applied!

In 2011, I oversaw the Scheherazade Diary project in Baabda Women’s Prison in Beirut. Throughout the project, the women would tell us about the domestic violence they had endured. At that time, there were no laws to protect women from this type of violence. The prisoners asked to work on this. So, with other women’s groups, we advocated for the adoption of the law presented to parliament by the Kafa Association. Examples of the violence endured, and the proposed law were depicted in some of the scenes. The play was performed in front of parliamentarians and policy makers: it was a revelation to them. They realised the impact of this type of violence. The law was finally adopted in 2014.

I produced two documentaries about these two plays. I always had a camera with me just to keep a record. I wanted to show how these people changed from the beginning to the end of the project, how they evolved, how they talked. These movies won ten international prizes each in several film festivals. The films are now shown in universities, clubs, schools and online. They have become tools for creating awareness.

I continued drama therapy at Roumieh prison as I was interested in prisoners with mental illnesses. Some are placed in the “Blue Building” and some are mixed with other prisoners. They are waiting for God or the Universe to cure them. According to Articles 231, 232 and 234 of the 1943 Penal Code, the “possessed”, “insane”, and “lunatics” who commit crimes must remain in prison until they are cured.

I formed two groups. The first consisted of prisoners with mental illnesses or who had been incarcerated as mentally ill; the second was a group of prisoners with no such illnesses. This second group played the role of the first prisoners as these could not perform on stage. The play was called “Johar… Up in the air” and was shown in 2016. It was a chance to learn about these forgotten prisoners.

Then I drafted a bill with judges, lawyers, and the Ministry of Justice specifying the need to change the terms we use to refer to these prisoners. Terms such as “possessed”, “insane” and “lunatic” were to be replaced with “a person suffering from a mental illness.” They should not be held in prison until they are better, but until their mental health is stable. We reinstated a 1992 law which had never been applied. It states that a psychiatrist from the Ministry of Health should carry out regular visits and decide, with the input of a judge, if the prisoners still present a risk.

The film was released in October 2021. It was meant to draw the attention of authorities to the government bill that has yet to pass. Between the pandemic and the socio-economic crisis hitting Lebanon, prisons are no longer a priority for the government.

One advantage of Roumieh prison is that it is large. Even if it is overcrowded, one can still breathe. There are theatre and arts and crafts workshops. Baabda is small and was never meant to be a prison. The atmosphere in all Lebanese prisons is oppressive and stifling. Guards are poorly equipped and lack support: it is the NGOs that provide them with paper and pens.

I think prisons are microcosms of society. Poverty on the outside is the same as inside prisons. Inflation exists in prison. The Ministry of the Interior is now asking NGOs to provide clothing for the prisoners, as relatives could no longer provide them as they cannot afford to visit because of the price of fuel. Some prisoners wear the same clothes for a month, which results in skin problems.

COVID-19 restrictions prevent us from entering prisons. We provide support over the phone, and help them to contact family, lawyers, and judges. We send packages on behalf of the families who can no longer visit. Beside drama and therapy work, we also provide social assistance. Our projects will start again when the pandemic is over. The fate of Lebanon is uncertain. Yes, we will be allowed in prison but who will listen? We can contact the decision makers, but what happens if there are no more decision makers? It is important to see what is going on inside prisons, to make things more human: it is time to open ourselves up to the other world that exists within ours.