In an emotional and inspiring interview at the Frontline Club on 19 February, little more than two weeks after his release from an Egyptian prison, Australian journalist Peter Greste spoke of his experience of being incarcerated for more than 400 days for nothing more than doing his job as a journalist.

Greeted by a standing ovation, Greste took to the stage, beaming to the crowded room and waving to friends and colleagues. It was Greste’s first visit to London since he was released on 2 February under a presidential decree that allowed for the deportation of foreigners accused of crimes on Egyptian soil.

Facing up to what was originally a seven-year sentence had changed him as a person, said Greste, but he felt empowered to have discovered that the limits to what he could endure were beyond what he had ever expected.

Out of the blue

Speaking to journalist Sue Turton, Greste recalled the otherwise ordinary evening in December 2013 when in the midst of his preparations to go out for dinner “about eight guys” burst into his room. They put him in handcuffs and took him to a police cell. He would not be free again for almost 14 months.

Greste, who was working for Al Jazeera English at the time, had experienced brushes with the authorities when working on controversial stories at other points in his career. But this time his arrest came completely out of the blue.

“We knew that we hadn’t done anything wrong; we hadn’t pushed any boundaries,” he said. “We’d always felt when we were working that as long as you play with a straight bat you’ll be relatively safe.”

Although Greste and his two Al Jazeera colleagues, Mohamed Fahmy and Baher Mohamed, forced themselves to consider the possibility that they would be convicted, they “never really believed it,” he said.

But on 23 June 2014, Greste was sentenced to a seven-year term on accusations of terrorism and inventing the news, based on courtroom evidence that included footage of a family holiday and stories wholly unrelated to Egypt. Fahmy was also given a seven-year sentence; Mohamed was given ten years.

Creating structure

Conditions in the Tora Mazraa prison on the outskirts of Cairo, where Greste and his fellow inmates were confined to cramped cells for 23 hours a day, were humane but basic.

In order to cope, Greste developed a daily regime that included meditation, exercise and rigid study.

“I had to make a conscious decision to stay fit: physically fit, psychologically fit, and spiritually fit,” he said.
Each day, Greste spent an hour running up and down the 30 metre corridor outside his cell, covering distances of up to 12 kilometres a day.

He began studying for a master’s degree in international relations, courtesy of Griffith University in Australia. The university delivered 13 kilograms of academic papers to the prison, where Greste studied in his cell with pencil and paper.

“I figured there was no way I’d be able to get through this without doing something with my mind,” he said. “Even when your physical integrity is at risk, what really matters is your own mind and how you cope with it.”

Setting a horizon

Even with these distractions, the mental side was the greatest challenge, said Greste.

“The biggest danger is that your own mind can run away and play all sorts of tricks on you,” he said. “There were some really black days when you sink into despair, but you have to ride it out. If you carry a grudge with you it’s only going to turn in on yourself.”

The challenge was made all the more great by the uncertainty of the situation.

“The hardest part…was the open-ended nature of it,” said Greste. “Towards the end we knew we would probably have to mentally prepare for six more years.

“The only way through is to set your horizon to something you think you can cope with. Sometimes to the end of the week, or the next visit. Sometimes to the end of the day. Sometimes I’d say I’ll get through one more hour and I’ll think about the next hour after that then. It’s not easy, but it’s a matter of biting off the amount that you think you can chew.”

Emotional release

When Greste’s release came, it was sudden. “The embassy’s coming for you in an hour,” he was told. “Get your stuff you’re going home.”

At the time Fahmy was in hospital receiving treatment for an injured shoulder and Hepatitis C, but leaving behind Mohamed was an emotional moment for Greste.

“When you spend 400 days in a box with someone you get to know each other pretty well,” he said. “It’s as close as you can come to having a brother. Walking away and leaving them behind is not easy, and I still feel anguished about it.”

Greste attributed his release to the international pressure that was brought to bear on his behalf, both in the diplomatic community and in the media.

“I was rather spoiled,” he joked. “I had two governments on my case – Australia and Latvia. And I didn’t even know that I was Latvian!”

Ongoing campaign

Not everyone was so lucky. Many are still facing charges, said Greste, including a Dutch journalist and three young students who were attached to his case. Six Al Jazeera journalists, including Turton, were convicted in absentia.

Fahmy and Mohamed were released on bail on 13 February, after spending 411 days in prison, when an Egyptian court overturned an earlier verdict that had found them guilty of supporting the Muslim Brotherhood.

A retrial was scheduled for 23 February 2015, but has now been adjourned until 8 March.

The campaign to free Fahmy, Mohamed and the numerous other journalists who have been unjustly detained in Egypt and elsewhere, is ongoing.

Last year, 120 journalists were victims of targeted killings worldwide, the most dangerous countries including Pakistan, Syria, Ukraine, Honduras and Mexico, said Andy Smith, joint president of the UK’s National Union of Journalists, who joined the Frontline Club discussion for the latter stages.

The number of journalists imprisoned worldwide for doing their job has increased from roughly 100 at the turn of the century to about 200 today, said Smith.

Greste underlined the importance of not letting the pressure for media freedom ease up following his release.

“The [journalism] community across the globe pulled together in a way that was absolutely unprecedented,” he said.” “If we lose this unity of purpose we lose something of enormous value. It is incumbent on everyone to use this not just in our case but in the case of every journalist.”

There is a natural reticence among the journalism community to write about other journalists, said Greste, but this is something that must be overcome.

“Journalists covering journalists gets us in some sort of existential angst, but we need to recognise that it’s an essential part of society, we are the fourth estate. We’ve got to appreciate that an attack on journalism, on the freedom of speech, is an attack on wider society. We need to learn to be a little less self-conscious about covering the plight of journalists…because it tends to be a symptom of much deeper problems.”

Empowering

The other significant legacy of Greste’s ordeal was the discovery that his limits went far beyond his imagination.

“It has changed me as a person,” he said. “I’ve been tested and I’ve discovered that my limits are a lot further than I thought they were, and it’s a very empowering thing.

“I think most people are vastly more capable of dealing with difficult situations than you imagine.”

Watch and listen back below:

In his first trip to London after 400 days in jail, Al Jazeera journalist Peter Greste will discuss his relief at being released as well as calling for the unconditional dismissal of the case against colleagues Baher Mohamed and Mohamed Fahmy. Peter will also talk about how he managed to get through the ordeal and the wider press freedom campaign.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Tonight is, I know, a moment to celebrate the very best of our craft, to honour those whose work represent the standards and values that draw the admiration and respect not just of our peers but also the public, and that we can all point to in arguments about why our industry really is essential to a proper functioning democracy.

But this evening’s gathering also comes soon after the horrific executions of James Foley and Steven Sotloff by the Islamic State in Syria, and so before I talk about the awards, I’d like to take the opportunity to pay my respects to them and reflect on the state of journalism more broadly.

Both James and Steven paid the ultimate price for working in an industry increasingly reliant on brave, committed freelancers. They occupied a space where risk-averse news organisations are increasingly outsourcing coverage itself.

Of course the extremists who murdered them weren’t concerned about who they worked for. What mattered was that they were journalists, and that they were westerners. And in those respects, they represent a shocking example of a broader state of affairs faced by thousands of journalists around the world.

Rarely have so many of us been imprisoned, beaten up, intimidated or murdered in the course of our duties. In my cell in Masraa prison in Cairo, I don’t have access to the latest figures, but an editorial in The Times that I saw quotes the sums that Freedom House put together for last year. In 2013, 71 journalists were killed on the job. Eight hundred and twenty six were arrested, 2,160 were physically attacked and 87 were kidnapped. And those numbers don’t include the fixers who are often more exposed than us reporters who hire them, or the citizen journalists who are often the only sources of information in a place like Syria.

Heaven only knows what the numbers are like this year, with Syria, Iraq, Gaza and Ukraine helping to drive them north. As of May (2014? PG does not state the year) more than 60 reporters had died in Syria alone and more than 30 had been kidnapped. And that’s before the killing of James and Steven.

Globally, Freedom House says that press freedom is the worst it’s been in a decade. It reckons that 44 percent of the world’s population lives in places where the media is ranked as ‘not free’, while 42 percent are in regions where the media is said to be only ‘partly free’.

A few years ago Barrack Obama addressed a special joint sitting of Australia’s parliament, and in his typically grand, sweeping style, he declared that the ‘currents of history ebb and flow, but over time they move decisively in a single direction’ . History, he said, ‘is on the side of the free – free societies, free governments, free economies, free people’.

But if that is true, why are times so tough for those of us working at the sharp end of the fourth estate? After all, our industry is supposed to underpin that inexorable march towards liberty and democracy. I don’t know of any politician who openly declares that the world would be better off with a meek and compliant press, and yet the disturbing figures tell a very different story.

I may not have an academically researched hypothesis, but as you’ll appreciate, I’ve had a bit of free time to think about this. It seems to me that at least part of the problem is the changing nature of conflict itself, and it’s driven in particular by that atrociously named ‘war on terror’. And the name itself I think goes a long way towards explaining why we are in this situation.

Throughout most of the past four decades, wars have been dominated by struggles over tangible things like territory or resources or ethnicity. Even some of the conflicts over competing political ideologies such as Colombia’s civil war between leftist rebels and a right-wing government were, in truth, struggles for control of land.

Those of us who’ve covered that messy, complex conflict, or other local wars like the battle for resources in Eastern Congo or political and ethnic power in South Sudan will know that the biggest risk comes from random bits of flying metal or a drunk soldier at a checkpoint, rather than an attack aimed specifically at journalists. It’s risky of course. But the dangers are usually incidental, from working in an inherently violent environment rather than in a place particularly hostile to journalists.

Even in the early days of the Arab Spring, when I’d argue that the fighting was over one of the most valuable resources of all – political power – journalists were rarely directly attacked. And plenty of news organizations were able to place teams on both sides of the lines and cover the crises with a degree of balance and neutrality.

Of course propaganda is as old as war itself, and warring factions have always sought to control the narrative of a conflict. But in these wars over stuff, the target has generally been the message rather than the messenger.

But this brings me back to the War on Terror – a conflict that by its very nature is indefinable, with no clear physical or ideological boundaries; and with a title that means everything and nothing. Or rather, it means whatever any of the groups involved want it to mean.

This is, in a way that we’ve rarely seen in the past, a struggle over ideas and ideologies. It’s a battle between competing world views much more than a fight for land or minerals. And in this struggle, the message is as much a weapon as any gun. Witness the way Islamic State has used YouTube to recruit its supporters and terrify its opponents.

The trouble for us journalists is that there is no neutral turf, no safe ground from which to report. As much as we abhore and condemn the executions of James and Steven, it was George Bush who set the ground rules in the wake of 9/11 when he declared that you’re either with us or with the terrorists. That single statement made it impossible for reporters to hold to the principles of balance and fairness without being accused of acting as an agent for the enemy.

Al Jazeera learned that to its cost when the US hit its offices in Baghdad during the invasion to oust Saddam. And in Afghanistan one of its camermen, Sami al Haj, was arrested. He spent seven years in Guantanamo Bay before being released without charge.

Since the War on Terror began, all manner of abuse of journalists and attacks on human rights and press freedoms have been excused as necessary evils, and by governments across the globe. It almost feels like a kind of globalised McCarthyism, where simply invoking terrorism is enough, in some cases, to get away with murder.

I do not mean to minimize the risks of terrorism, or blame governments alone. The Islamic State’s executions are simply the latest and most shocking examples of the problem on the other side of the ledger.

The roll call of victims is sobering indeed. From my old friend Maria Gracia Cutuli, an Italian magazine writer and the group of freelance and agency journalists she was travelling with, who were among the first to be murdered by the Taliban in Afghanistan after 9/11, to the Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl; to the BBC’s Simon Cumbers gunned down in Saudi Arabia and Frank Gardiner who survived the attack, to another BBC friend and colleague Kate Peyton killed in a drive-by shooting in Mogadishu; and the Channel 4 News cameraman Martin Adler who died there the following year; and on to the latest victims. These are just some of the more high profile casualties of the conflict, and in this relatively small community I’m willing to bet that only a handful of people here tonight have more than one or two degrees of separation between themselves and someone who’s been killed, wounded or imprisoned. We all know someone, or know someone who knew one of them.

My point is that in all of these battlegrounds, whether hot or cold, journalists are no longer on the front lines. We are the front lines. In this wider conflict, there is no such thing as a neutral, independent reporter. In the view of both sides, if you cross the lines in pursuit of our most fundamental principles of balance, fairness and accuracy, you effectively join the enemy.

The compelling world views seem so widely divergent that to even try to understand the other side is to commit what many governments now consider to be treason.

So, where does this leave the future? Well, I don’t think it’s hopeless. At a personal level, our incarceration in Egypt – myself and my two Al Jazera colleagues Mohammed Fahmy and Baher Mohamed – and more crucially the Foley and Sotloff murders have dramatically reminded people why a free and untramelled press is so important. People might not always like everything they see in the media, but they recognize the intrinsic value of ethical, professional reporting and instinctively balk at anything that limits it.

I’ve been staggered by the incredible number of people who’ve supported our cause, not so much because they see an injustice, but because they see an attack on press freedom.

In one of the letters that made it through the prison gates, one woman wrote to gleefully remind me of those surveys we see often that rank journalists somewhere between used car salesmen and abattoir workers in terms of social status. But then she went on to write ‘I also know that fearless and frank journalism as practised by true professionals is what keeps our treasured democracy so strong’.

The key phrase here is ‘true professionals’. People recognize shabby, partisan journalism when they see it, but at times of crisis, they still turn on the news or go to the websites of their most trusted news organization.

The hunger for reliable news and the recognition of the role it plays in a healthy, functioning democracy is still there, but we can’t take public support for granted. Thats why I’m convinced that our best strategy as an industry starts with a rock solid commitment to our core ethical and professional standards. The more sloppy we get, the more we degrade public support for our business, the more excuses we give to governments to limit and control what we do.

This is far more than an abstract idea. This is very much about our own security as individual journalists.

Take our case as an example. I am incredibly proud and humbled by the extraordinary wave of support that we’ve been getting from around the world – from human rights groups, from politicans and diplomats but also, crucially, from a huge chunk of the public as well.

As I said, much of that has been in response to the principles they’ve seen violated, but I am also convinced that if any of us had stained professional reputations, our accusers would have hailed it from the roof tops, and our support would have crumbled to dust. Our political champions would have walked away and we’d be seen as victims of our own shabby standards.

We are still in prison of course, but I am still certain that if and when we are finally released, that gloal support, will be what ultimately saves us.

There is also one other source of backing that I want to spend a few moments on, that has been both crucial and I suspect somewhat unprecedented.

Even at the very best of times, we journalists are a fractious lot. We are argumentative, skeptical and fiercely competitive. I suppose those are the qualities that drew most of us into this business in the first place but they are also traits that make us notoriously hard to organise. And yet . . . it feels as though our entire community has set aside its instincts and swung behind us in a solid, unified block.

We’ve seen letters co-signed by fierce rivals, the zip-lips campaign which has seen our colleagues from around the world post selfies with their mouths taped shut including, I’m sure, more than a few people in this room. There have been persistent questions in news conferences, notes of support to us in prison and of protests to the authorities. In short, there has been a unity of purpose that not only inspires and strengthens us, but I believe sends a powerful message to any politican considering a clamp down on the press.

Taken together this outpouring of political and public support has helped reignite a crucial debate about the relationship between governments and the media; or more correctly, between a free press and a free society.

Whether people are aware of it or not, I’d like to think that most would agree with Albert Camus who said that, “A free press can, of course, be good or bad, but, most certainly without freedom, the press will never be anything but bad.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve not had an opportunity to see any of the entries for tonight’s awards, but I know that to have made the short list, the work you will see will, by any definition, be amongst the best independent journalists can deliver. I know without seeing it, that it will be courageous, revealing and inspired. I also know that it will be the kind of work that reminds our readers and audiences why a free press really does matter.

Thank you.

This speech was put together by Peter Greste’s family after speaking with him over a number of fortnightly prison visits.

But the pair were double crossed by their body guards and what followed was a nightmare 40 days in captivity. They were forced to march into the desolate hills they were held in a succession of caves by a gang of armed men, all paranoically high on the amphetamine-like local plant, khat. The gang’s hideout was attacked by rival pirates, Freeman was subjected to a mock execution by one of his captors, and was haunted by the constant lingering fear of being handed over to Islamists who would undoubtedly execute him.

On 5 July, Frontline Club will host a discussion with Freeman, who is now chief foreign correspondent for the Sunday Telegraph. He will be discussing his experiences in Somalia, and talking about his new book Kidnapped: Life as a Somali pirate hostage with award winning journalist and filmmaker Inigo Gilmore.

Here we publish a short extract from Freeman’s book — a compelling account of one of his many days held captive in a dark cave somewhere on a mountain range of northern Somalia…

******

My stomach is feeling queasy. Probably the result of last night’s goat stew, or possibly our drinking water, which comes out of an old diesel can. Caveman’s Belly is one of the drawbacks of modern Stone Age life, not something they ever mentioned in The Flintstones. I can’t understand how they could have left it out: with so little else to do, answering the call of nature is one of the big events of the day around here.

So, the drill: first I grab my shoes, checking for spiders, scorpions or other poisonous vermin that might have climbed in. Then, stand up, with care. Lying on a thin mattress all day, you often get dizzy when you first get to your feet. Now, off to the bathroom, or at least the spot at the back of the cave that is reserved for that kind of thing. Thankfully, we still have a few tissues. The gang has told us that we will soon have to start using sticks and rocks.

On the way back, I pause halfway down the tunnel, where a section of the rock wall runs flat and smooth. If I were a caveman living here thousands of years ago, this is where I’d paint a picture of my clan out hunting an antelope. I pick up a shard of rock. I too am going to leave my mark here, something more permanent than a few cigarette butts. What shall I draw? A matchstick-men version of the kidnappers, with José and me as the quarry? Sadly, that will take a while, and if I linger here, the gang will think I have tried to flee down the pothole. Instead, I settle for some bog-standard graffiti: “CF was here, 18/12/2008”.

I stagger back to the mattress, and tell José what I have done.

A good move: we manage to squeeze at least 10 minutes’ worth of conversation out of it. This is the longest we’ve talked for a while.

Perhaps some archaeologist will discover my scrawl here in thousands of years’ time, I say. Or perhaps some other poor hostages will be dragged up here in years to come, and add their name to mine. Or, maybe, in 10 or 20 years’ time, if Somalia becomes a safe place to visit again, I will be able to come back, hire someone to help me find this cave, and see it for myself.

If I ever get free, that is.

Reproduced by kind permission of Colin Freeman and Monday Books.