Excerpted from "It Runs in the Family: On Being Raised by Radicals and Growing into Rebellious Motherhood" (O/R Books, 2014)
In 2005, I helped to establish Witness Against Torture when 25 of us flew to Cuba with the hope of gaining access to Guantánamo Bay, the U.S. naval base where more than 700
men, called “enemy combatants” by our government, were then detained. We were only taking up an invitation that President George W. Bush made to European Union leaders in response to allegations of torture and human rights abuses there. “You’re welcome to go down yourselves ... and tak[e] a look at the conditions,” Bush said.
So we did. The naval base authorities denied our requests for entry and so we fasted and vigiled for five days before returning home to organize a movement to shut down Guantánamo and to end torture and indefinite detention. The first “unlawful enemy combatants” arrived at Guantánamo on January 11, 2002. The American people have since learned the truth—the vast majority of these men were not the “worst of the worst,” as Bush admin- istration officials claimed. They were chicken farmers, illiterate tribesmen, and well-traveled, well-meaning students: 93 percent of the men at Guantánamo were captured by bounty hunters or allied governments such as Pakistan and handed over to U.S. forces, according to a study by Mark Denbeaux, a professor at Seton Hall Law School.
Our walk began in Santiago de Cuba on December 7 and over five days we walked about 70 miles, camping on the side of the road at night. Sometimes we walked in silence, meditating on the stories of prisoners in Guantánamo. I walked, think- ing about Mohamed and Murat, two teenagers who were inside Guantánamo.
Mohamed el Gharani was 14 when he was arrested in an October 2001 raid on a religious school in Pakistan. Transferred to Guantánamo a few months later, he was subjected to routine abuse. According to his lawyer, Clive Stafford Smith, the Chad- born teenager had been singled out for mistreatment because he vocally objected to being called “nigger.” Mohamed is not the only juvenile imprisoned at Guantánamo Bay. There were 13 other young men who came to Guantánamo as teenagers. El Gharani was repatriated to Chad in 2009.
Murat Kurnaz was born to a Turkish family in Bremen, Germany. After September 11, he traveled to learn more about Islam in Pakistan, where he was arrested. He was eventually sent to Guantánamo. As the son of “guest workers,” Kurnaz does not have German citizenship, even though he was born there. For a long time, Turkish officials maintained that Kurnaz was German and therefore not their problem. Even after conceding their responsibility, Ankara did not pressure Washington to release Kurnaz. His mother begged “for a sign that my son is alive, that he is being treated justly, that he has not been tortured.” Kurnaz was released on August 24, 2006. Like other released Guantánamo captives, he was transported by plane in shackles, wearing a muzzle, opaque goggles, and sound-blocking earmuffs. He was reported to have been denied food and water during the 17-hour flight. He now lives with his parents in Germany and has a desk job, which he enjoys. He says he does not hold ordinary Americans responsible for the abuse he endured.
Inside the huge base, which straddles both sides of Guantánamo Bay, is Cuba’s only McDonald’s, state-of-the-art recreation and sports facilities for American soldiers and their families, two airstrips, and a desalinization plant, because Cuba cut off the base’s water supply. Also somewhere in the far-flung slice of stripmall Americana were Camp Delta, Camp Echo, Camp Iguana, and Camp V, where Murat, Mohammed, and 500 other men were imprisoned.
We set up our camp along the Cuba fence, five miles from the prison, closer than Mohamed’s father or Murat’s mother have been to their sons in years. The dust and scrub brush next to the fence was our home for the next five days as we prayed and fasted.
Our principal aim in going to Guantánamo was to let the pris- oners know that they were not alone. Despite the reflexive fear that Americans have toward those held in Guantánamo, cover- age of our witness in the U.S. press was positive and extensive. Our march received widespread attention in the international press, including Arabic-language outlets. A network of lawyers representing the prisoners brought news of our proximity and solidarity to the men. They knew we had tried, and are still trying.
There are so many issues, so many injustices, so many trans- gressions that tug at the heartstrings and the conscience, and there is only so much time, only so much energy. I am haunted by the families shattered by indefinite detention. I am undone by the fact that they suffer for our “security.” I do what I can because I cannot sit idly by while children are kept from their fathers.
Even before I really understood time, I always knew that my mom and dad would come home from jail. It was not forever. It was not endless. Six months, 18 months, two years, even the longest sentences had a “come-home date.” ... He was always coming home. And so was Mom.
But Faris, Johina, and Michael’s father has not come home. Shaker Aamer is originally from Saudi Arabia, but he has lived in the United Kingdom since 1996, where he is a legal resi- dent married to a British citizen. Shaker and his family were in Afghanistan in 2001, doing charity work before he was seized by Afghan bounty hunters and turned over to U.S. forces. He recalled his relief at ending up in American hands after being held and mistreated by various Afghan groups. But that relief was short-lived.
He was brought to Guantánamo in February 2002. Shaker was tortured repeatedly, singled out as a ringleader, and sub- jected to gross abuses. Shaker Aamer has been cleared for release since June 2007 and the Bush and Obama administra- tions agreed that he is not a terrorist, that he poses no threat to the United States or its interests, and yet he continues to languish at the prison....
When [my father] was in prison, my mom re- ceived a letter from him every day. Their correspon- dence was so steady that even the smallest blip was cause for alarm. After September 11, she went days without hearing from him. After being stonewalled by the prison officials, Mom appealed to Maryland Sen. Barbara Mikulski, who eventually found out that Dad was being held incommunicado in solitary confine- ment. He was placed there on September 11, right before lunch. The senator’s office was told that he was put in the hole for his own protection. He was released back into general population after ten days. ...
Without that outside pressure, that solitary confinement could have been indefinite. ...
I remember those days of uncertainty and anxiety as my mom frantically tried to figure out what happened to Dad. I remember the relief that came with knowing for sure what had happened. I remember how the relief was quickly replaced by outrage. For his own protection? He was in no danger. He was in a position to help other inmates understand and process the horror they were watching on rec room TV screens, to contextualize and explain and educate. So were Marilyn Buck, Comancho Negron, Sundiata Acoli, and oth- ers who were isolated and silenced. Maybe the prison industrial complex sought protection from an informed and motivated population.
We only had to wait ten days, but we had a U.S. senator and her office on our side. Ten days, not ten years, not 12 years, not forever.
When I stay up too late working on a press release, when the last thing I want to do is brainstorm ideas for the next action, when I am hungry and delirious on day two of a ten- or 12-day fast, when I spend the night on the hard and grubby floor of a police holding cell, when the handcuffs are too tight, when the orange jumpsuit is too unflattering or too hot or too cold or too stinky from the last person who wore it, when the last thing I want to do is go to another demonstration to close Guantánamo, I think about those ten days our family spent working to get my dad out of the hole, I think about how precious that first letter after the long silence was, I think about how happy I was to hear his voice on the phone, I think about how even when he was incommunicado, he was always coming home. And I want that for Faris and Johina and all the parents and children of Guantánamo.
