Poems from Guantanamo
Page 4
him by his wrists—nearly naked, his feet barely touching the floor—and beat him if he moved. When told he would be
transferred to U.S. custody, Gharani was overjoyed, thinking that his torture would end. Under U.S. custody in Kandahar,
Afghanistan, however, he was also stripped and beaten. In
January 2002, he became one of the first “enemy combatants”
transferred to Guantánamo Bay, where he remains. As many
as twenty-nine juveniles, including Gharani, have been
detained at Guantánamo in violation of international law.
37
FIRST POEM OF MY LIFE
Move it cautiously in the land of those who speak no Arabic,¹
Even if they gave you oaths bound by oaths.
Their aim is to worship petty cash,
And for it they break all vows.
I came to their land to pursue an education,
And saw such malice among them.
They surrounded the mosque, weapons drawn,
As if they were in a field of war.
They said to us, “Come out peacefully,
And don’t utter a single word.”
Into a transport truck they lifted us,
And in shackles of injustice they bound us.
For sixteen hours we walked;
For the entire time we remained in shackles.
All of us wanted to evacuate our bowels,
But they insisted on denying us.
The soldier struck with his boot;
He said we were all equally subjects.
In the prison’s darkness they spread us out;
In the cold’s bitterness we sat.
38
M O H A M M E D E L G H A R A N I
When the red-faced infidels came to spend their money, Never had I seen such tribulation.
In a warplane they brought us up,
And after a half hour, brought us down.
We saw such insults from them;
Not even the book of God was protected.
Along with their malice, they were foolish.
Tribulations, then hitting and imbecility.
For they are a people without reasonable minds,
Due to their supply of alcoholic drinks.
The “Greasy”² arrived, in our state of need,
On the condition that we raise the card with a cross.
“If you want dignity and protection,
Then raise the cross for protection.”
All of us threw the card away,
Intent that our spirits be redeemed in sacrifice.
They carried us, afterwards, to Cuba,
Because it is an afflicted isle.³
Out of spite, they showed such impudence.
Their war is against Islam and justice.
translated by Flagg Miller
M O H A M M E D E L G H A R A N I
39
NOTES
1. The author’s first word, “Move it” ( emshi), is couched in jarring col-loquial Arabic. It is the kind of word used by non-Arabic speakers to give orders to prisoners. In initiating his verse with a vocabulary that flouts literary poetic standards, the poet suggests a kind of testimony that attempts to convey the starkness of his own experiences as a prisoner. My translation in the rest of the poem seeks to preserve the poet’s bleak testimonial voice, conveyed in plain, often vernacular Arabic.
2. At the margin of his poem, the author explains that the word for
“grease” ( salit) is a pun on the word “cross” ( salib), and specifies the International Red Cross, in particular. The word also plays upon the vernacular expression “His mind is greasy” ( ‘aqluh saliti), suggesting that one’s powers of reason are corrupted by sordid thoughts.
3. The poet’s word for “afflicted” ( mankuba) forms another pun with the word “Cuba” ( kuba) in the previous line. Along with the previous line, the poet’s choice of words evokes a discourse of resistance that has a Palestinian tenor. Redemption through sacrifice ( fida) replicates the term used for Palestinian martyrs during the mid twentieth century ( fida’iyun); acts of throwing ( rami) suggest the stone-throwing tactics of the Palestinian Intifada, and the adjective “afflicted” evokes “The Affliction” ( al-Nakba), the nickname given by Arabs to their 1948 defeat during Israel’s war of independence. Note that such poetics immediately follow reference to the Red Cross, a symbol whose stirring associations for the author may be linked with early European Crusades in the region.
40
M O H A M M E D E L G H A R A N I
SAMI AL HAJ
Sami al Haj, a Sudanese national, was a journalist covering
the conflict in Afghanistan for the television station al-Jazeera when, in 2001, he was taken into custody and stripped of
his passport and press card. Handed over to U.S. forces
in January 2002, he was tortured at both Bagram air base
and Kandahar before being transferred to Guantánamo Bay
in June 2002. The U.S. military alleges that he worked as
a financial courier for Chechen rebels and that he assisted
al Qaeda and extremist figures, but has offered the public
no evidence in support of these allegations. Haj remains at
Guantánamo.
41
HUMILIATED IN THE SHACKLES
When I heard pigeons cooing in the trees,
Hot tears covered my face.
When the lark chirped, my thoughts composed
A message for my son.
Mohammad, I am afflicted.
In my despair, I have no one but Allah for comfort.
The oppressors are playing with me,
As they move freely about the world.
They ask me to spy on my countrymen,
Claiming it would be a good deed.
They offer me money and land,
And freedom to go where I please.
Their temptations seize my attention
Like lightning in the sky.
But their gift is an evil snake,
Carrying hypocrisy in its mouth like venom.
They have monuments to liberty
And freedom of opinion, which is well and good.
But I explained to them that
Architecture is not justice.
42
S A M I A L H A J
America, you ride on the backs of orphans,
And terrorize them daily.
Bush, beware.
The world recognizes an arrogant liar.
To Allah I direct my grievance and my tears.
I am homesick and oppressed.
Mohammad, do not forget me.
Support the cause of your father, a God-fearing man.
I was humiliated in the shackles.
How can I now compose verses? How can I now write?
After the shackles and the nights and the suffering and the
tears,
How can I write poetry?
My soul is like a roiling sea, stirred by anguish,
Violent with passion.
I am a captive, but the crimes are my captors’.
I am overwhelmed with apprehension.
Lord, unite me with my son M0hammad.
Lord, grant success to the righteous.
S A M I A L H A J
43
EMAD ABDULLAH HASSAN
Emad Abdullah Hassan is twenty-eight years old and from the
port city of Aden, in Yemen. A prolific poet, he was taken into custody in Pakistan while studying at a university. He remains in Guantánamo, although the U.S. military does not allege
that he has participated in any violence whatsoever.
44
THE TRUTH
Inscribe your letters in laurel trees,
From the cave all the way to the city of the chosen.
It was here that Destiny stood wondering.
Oh Night, are these lights that I see real?
> * * *
I have observed the youths of Mohammed,
What splendid, righteous young men they are!
They have been scrubbed by events for years,
But that has only increased their keenness for the Lord.
They have been melted by events for years,
But that has only purified the gold from the dust.
Here, minds mature faster.
A day here is as two months at home.
* * *
Oh History, reflect. I will now
Disclose the secret of secrets.
My song will expose the damned oppression,
And bring the system to collapse.
The tyrants, full-equipped and numbered,
Stand unmoved in the face of the Light.
E M A D A B D U L L A H H A S S A N
45
They proceed in the Dark, led by
The Devil, in pride and arrogance.
They have turned their land of peace
Into a home for hypocrites.
They have exchanged piety
For cheap commodity.
* * *
You, get up and question events.
Will you stand up to evil and oppression?
No, you will never settle for mere talk.
You believe the sword is the only arbiter.
* * *
Brothers, bear the weight of the heavy shackles,
Do not be confused by their wicked schemes.
Illusions soar all around this din,
Ropes are tied tightly to the wall,
And every evening, in lieu of a bride, they bring you
Distress and depression.
You have no companion but Night
To complain about bitter destiny.
You have no comrade but Night
To share in your sadness.
46
E M A D A B D U L L A H H A S S A N
* * *
My Brother’s yearning covers all the world,
His thoughts crowd the universe.
He sneaks away from slumber: Is anyone else awake?
No. His eyes tear without warning.
A noise rattles beneath his eyelids,
A hurricane echoes in his chest.
* * *
Behold, the face of the universe is dark,
As if its lights were covered by a curtain.
“Be patient and persevere!” These are Allah’s words.
The fruit of patience is a running river.
For the sake of Allah, be patient and persevere.
Await God’s promise to the righteous.
* * *
When the cloud departs from the East,
The face of the Earth cheers.
The sadness that suffocates him is lifted,
His thoughts turn to the Almighty.
He raises his hand to Heaven and cries,
“Oh God, you are the best of neighbors.”
And when the Darkness threatens, he shouts,
“Away! Sleep not near me.”
E M A D A B D U L L A H H A S S A N
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* * *
I am the Companion of the Night.
I am the one who refused humiliation in his own land,
Who found no repose.
I am the one who carried the burden on his neck,
Who refused to settle.
Oh Night, I am a bright light
That you will not obscure.
Oh Night, my song will restore the sweetness of Life:
The birds will again chirp in the trees,
The well of sadness will empty,
The spring of happiness will overflow,
And Islam will prevail in all corners of the Earth.
“Allahu Akbar, allahu Akbar.” God is great.
They do not comprehend
That all we need is Allah, our comfort.
48
E M A D A B D U L L A H H A S S A N
OSAMA ABU KABIR
Osama Abu Kabir is a Jordanian water truck driver who
worked for the municipality of Greater Amman. After joining
an Islamic missionary organization called Jama’at al-Tablighi, he traveled to Afghanistan, where he was detained by anti-Taliban forces and handed over to the U.S. military. One
of the justifications offered for his continued detention is that he was captured wearing a Casio digital watch, a brand
supposedly favored by members of al Qaeda because some
models may be used as bomb detonators. Kabir remains at
Guantánamo.
49
IS IT TRUE?
Is it true that the grass grows again after rain?
Is it true that the flowers will rise up in the Spring?
It is true that birds will migrate home again?
Is it true that the salmon swim back up their stream?
It is true. This is true. These are all miracles.
But is it true that one day we’ll leave Guantánamo Bay?
Is it true that one day we’ll go back to our homes?
I sail in my dreams, I am dreaming of home.
To be with my children, each one part of me;
To be with my wife and the ones that I love;
To be with my parents, my world’s tenderest hearts.
I dream to be home, to be free from this cage.
But do you hear me, oh Judge, do you hear me at all?
We are innocent, here, we’ve committed no crime.
Set me free, set us free, if anywhere still
Justice and compassion remain in this world!
50
O S A M A A B U K A B I R
ADNAN FARHAN ABDUL LATIF
Adnan Farhan Abdul Latif is a twenty-seven-year old Yemeni
from a family of modest means. The victim of a 1994 accident that resulted in serious head injuries, Latif spent much of
the rest of the decade seeking affordable medical treatment
in Jordan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. Following the 9/11
attacks on the United States, he was taken into custody by
Pakistani forces and turned over to the United States for a
$5,000 bounty. He was eventually flown to Guantánamo
and kept for a time in an open-air kennel exposed to the
elements, causing further deterioration of his health. Latif has periodically joined other detainees in hunger strikes.
51
HUNGER STRIKE POEM
They are criminals, increasing their crimes.
They are criminals, claiming to be peace-loving.
They are criminals, torturing the hunger strikers.
They are artists of torture,
They are artists of pain and fatigue,
They are artists of insults and humiliation.
They are faithless—traitors and cowards—
They have surpassed devils with their criminal acts.
They do not respect the law,
They do not respect men,
They do not spare the elderly,
They do not spare the baby-toothed child.
They leave us in prison for years, uncharged,
Because we are Muslims.
Where is the world to save us from torture?
Where is the world to save us from the fire and sadness?
Where is the world to save the hunger strikers?
But we are content, on the side of justice and right,
Worshipping the Almighty.
And our motto on this island is, salaam.
52
A D N A N F A R H A N A B D U L L A T I F
OTHMAN ABDULRAHEEM MOHAMMAD
Othman Abdulraheem Mohammad is a twenty-six-year-old
Yemeni who, before being taken into custody by Pakistani
security forces at the Afghan border in late 2001, studied
law and taught the Qur’an in Afghanistan. While detained
by American forces in Kandahar
, Mohammad witnessed
a Qur’an being thrown into a barrel of human waste. At
Guantánamo he has experienced a host of other affronts
to his religion, including the call to prayer being stopped
entirely. He has participated in camp-wide hunger strikes and been subjected to force-feeding, in clear violation of both the Geneva Conventions and World Medical Association protocols
for addressing prisoners who decline nourishment.
53
I AM SORRY, MY BROTHER
I am sorry, my brother.
The shackles bind my hands
And iron is circling the place where I sleep.
I am sorry, my brother,
That I cannot help the elderly or the widow or the little child.
Do not weigh the death of a man as a sign of defeat.
The only shame is in betraying your ideals
And failing to stand by your beliefs.
54
O T H M A N A B D U L R A H E E M M O H A M M A D
MARTIN MUBANGA
Martin Mubanga is a citizen of both the United Kingdom and
Zambia. He was arrested in Zambia, where he and his sister
were visiting relatives, and then transferred to Guantánamo
without any legal process. While imprisoned there, Mubanga
managed to inform his family about his mistreatment at
Guantánamo by sending them letters, via the International
Committee of the Red Cross, in the form of rap poetry. An
athletic kickboxer, Mubanga was a frequent target of guard
brutality. Released in early 2005, he lives in England, where he continues to campaign on behalf of the British residents
who remain imprisoned at Guantánamo.
55
TERRORIST 2003
America sucks, America chills,
While d’ blood of d’ Muslims is forever getting spilled,
In d’ streets of Nablus, in d’ streets of Jenin,
Yeahhhhhhh! You know what I mean.
American gangstas, American lies,
In downtown LA, they was burning rubber tyres.
After Rodney King they woz burning ’nough fires.
Yeahhhhhhh! Them mother sumthing liars.
American justice, American pigs,
American soldiers, American wigs.
Yes I’m feeling angry, yes I’m feeling pissed,
An’ it’s about time that the JIF¹ got dissed.
Now them ask me, what will ya do if ya leave the prison?
Will ya be able to slip back into d’ system?
What ya gonna do with ya new-found fame?