Voici plus de dix ans que Mordechai Vanunu est emprisonné en Israël pour “espionnage”. Employé comme technicien au centre de recherche nucléaire israélien de Dimona, de 1977 à 1985, il a divulgué en 1986, dans la presse internationale (Sunday Times de Londres), des informations prouvant la posssession par Israël de l’arme nucléaire — ce dont, d’ailleurs, nul ne doutait plus à l’époque. Enlevé de façon rocambolesque à Rome en septembre 1986 par les services spéciaux israéliens, il fut traduit en justice dans le plus grand secret, condamné à dix-huit ans de prison, et fit l’objet d’une campagne de diffamation dans son pays — sa conversion au christianisme n’arrangeant rien à cet égard. Tenu dans le plus complet isolement jusqu’à tout récemment, sa santé mentale a montré des signes de fragilité. Rien n’a pu jusqu’à présent fléchir les autorités israéliennes et les convaincre de mettre fin à la détention de Vanunu, bien qu’il ne détienne évidemment plus aucune information susceptible de mettre en péril la sécurité de l’État d’Israël. Dans un temps où, malgré tous les obstacles, progresse la paix au Moyen-Orient, la mise en liberté de Vanunu serait une preuve de bonne volonté appréciable.

Pour toute information et protestation, on peut s’adresser à :
The Campaign to free Vanunu and for a Nuclear-Free Middle East, 88 Borough High Street, London SE1 1NL,
tel/fax : +44 171 3789324.

Voici le texte d’un poème écrit par Vanunu dans sa prison.

I am the clerk, the technician, the mechanic, the driver,
whom they told, do this or do that. Don’t look
to the right, to the left, don’t eye the page. Don’t look
at the whole machine. You are responsible for one bolt
only. You are responsible for just one rubber stamp.
Concern yourself with one matter only. Don’t bother with
things that are above you. Don’t think for us. keep going.
On. On.
The great, the wise, the futurists, thought:
There is nothing to worry about. No fear. Everything works,
clicks.
Our little clerk is a diligent worker. He’s a simple technician.
         He’s the little guy.
Like all low-ranking clerks, ears have they, but they hear not,
         eyes have they but they see not. We have a head;
not the little guys.
Answer them, he thought to himself — just between him and
himself
— the little citizen. But the man with the head
is not little. Who is the boss here, who knows
where the train is headed?
Where is their head? I’ve got a head too.
Why do I see the entire machine,
Why do I see the abyss,
Does this train have an engineer?
The clerk-driver-technician-mechanic raised
his head. He took one step back, saw a monster
Unbelieving, he rubbed his eyes and indeed —
It’s OK, I’m OK. I really do see
a monster. I am a part of the system. I
signed this form. And only now am I reading
the text. This bolt is part of a bomb.
This bolt is me. How did I not see
and how do others go on bolt-tightening.
Who else knows. Who saw, who heard.
The emperor is indeed naked. I see him.
Why me. This is not for me. It’s too big for me.
Arise and cry out. Arise and tell this people.
You can. I the bolt, the mechanic,
the technician. Yes you. You are the secret agent
of this nation. You are the eyes of the state.
Spy-agent, reveal what you’ve seen. Reveal
to us what the knowing, the wise, are hiding from us.
If not for you, the abyss awaits us.
A holocaust awaits us. You and only you sit
at the wheel and see the abyss.
I have no choice. I am a little guy, a citizen,
an ordinary fellow,
but I will do my duty. I have heard
the voice of my conscience. And there’s nowhere to run.
It’s a small world. Small against
Big Brother. Here I am at your service. Here I am
doing my job. Take it
away from me. Come and judge. Lighten my
load. Bear it with me. Carry
on my work. Stop the train. Get off
the train. The next stop is nuclear holocaust.
The next book, the next machine, no. There is no such thing.