A Sliver of Light

by Shane Bauer

  President Obama stated publicly that he was “thrilled” with our release, but one former government official was less excited. Elliott Abrams, a high-level diplomat of both the Reagan and George W. Bush administrations, condemned what he called my “ingratitude.” He was referring to the statement I made after landing in Oman, calling for the release of “other political prisoners and other unjustly imprisoned people in America and Iran.” Mr. Abrams said the statement left a “bad taste” in light of the “immense diplomatic activity this country undertook” to free us. He found insulting the sympathy of someone who was wrongfully detained toward others in his position.

  He also believed the premise of the statement to be false. In his post on CNN.com the day after our release, Mr. Abrams asked, “Who exactly are the ‘unjustly imprisoned people in America’? . . . Can we have some names?” I suspect many others had the same question. There was a sad irony in the timing of Abrams’s question. On the very day Josh and I were released, a man named Troy Davis was executed in Georgia. His case rested on the testimony of seven witnesses, five of whom later recanted. Some said they’d been coerced by police to implicate Davis. President Jimmy Carter, Amnesty International, former FBI director and judge William Sessions, and many others called on the courts to grant Davis a new trial or evidentiary hearing. They refused, and executed him instead. Situations like his are not uncommon. The most conservative studies say that ten thousand people are wrongfully convicted of serious crimes every year in the United States. The majority of these are probably African American; the tiny fraction who are exonerated, sometimes decades after their conviction, are overwhelmingly black.

  Though we don’t generally admit it, we do have political prisoners in the United States. One example is Bradley Manning. Manning was imprisoned for leaking hundreds of thousands of diplomatic cables as well as army reports related to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. It is true that in doing this, he broke the law.1 When he first came across evidence that the Iraqi government was imprisoning people for criticizing the prime minister, his superior officer reportedly ordered him to keep it quiet. He quickly learned that, when it came to reporting military abuses, official channels were fruitless. He broke the law because it was the only way for him to do what he believed was right.

  Manning’s case is nothing if not political. He has been sentenced to thirty-five years in prison for leaking information that was being kept from the public. Many of those implicated by information he leaked do not face legal action. To give one small example, Manning’s leaks revealed military documents that implicated the private American military contractor Dyncorp in the crime of child trafficking. The documents show that they paid for an underage male sexual slave to dance for some of their Afghan employees. None of them have been brought to court. I struggle to find anything other than a political explanation for the disparity in the handling of these two instances of law breaking.

  Perhaps the most salient example of unjust detainment in this country is not on U.S. soil, but at Guantánamo Bay. Prisoners at Guantánamo have complained of beatings, sleep deprivation, prolonged hooding, and sexual humiliation. It has been well established that some were tortured, sometimes extensively, before being transferred to Guantánamo. As I write this, 164 people are being held there without trial. Forty-six have been officially designated for indefinite detention without charge or trial by the Obama administration. Eighty-four others have been approved for release but remain, years later, in detention.

  In Evin, we frequently challenged guards, prodding them to come to terms with the blatant injustice of the system they supported. Not a single guard ever accused us of being spies, but when pushed, most would justify our imprisonment by saying that we crossed the border illegally, that we broke the law. “Did we?” we’d ask them. “How do you know when we’ve never been tried in court?”

  The right to be brought before an impartial court in a timely manner is the very basis of a fair criminal justice system. That right does not exist in Iran. It does not exist for prisoners held in Guantánamo Bay either. That right has not existed for some immigrants in this country since at least the passage of the Patriot Act in 2001. Three months after our release, President Obama signed into law the right of the United States to hold people without trial, including U.S. citizens, who are suspected of the extremely broad classification of “involvement in terrorism.” In doing so, he essentially approved for the United States what he and Secretary Clinton implicitly condemned in Iran’s handling of our case: the authority of a government to detain people without due process. He even took it a step further. We know (because of government leaks) that our president keeps a list of people whom he has authorized our security services to kill without trial, including U.S. citizens.

  We are fortunate that we had so much support. Most people coming out of prison do not. When I look back over the past year and a half since our release, I see the glances of recognition from strangers on the streets and innumerable instances of people I didn’t know welcoming me home. I see months full of firsts—my first run outside, first home-cooked meal, first time hiking, first ice cream cone, first time getting rained on. I see the slow process of relief my family experienced. I feel the deep comfort of my mom’s fireplace. I see my wedding with Sarah, nestled amidst redwood trees on the California coast. I see our beautiful apartment and our cat resting in one of its many patches of sun.

  I also see a long period when I carried a tension inside, one that pushed out against my skin and strangled my lungs at the same time. Some nights, I dreamed of returning to prison. Other nights, I dreamed of escaping it. I dreamed of Dumb Guy over and over again. I screamed at him. I punched him. I spewed out something deep and pent-up at him. Outside of those nightmares, in my daily routine, I became unable to sit still. I often felt trapped. I got nervous in crowded buildings. I got depressed when I was alone. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I felt like it was impossible to get enough air. Sometimes I wished I had a prison guard to fight. Sometimes I yelled at Sarah as though she were a guard. I was out of prison—I knew that—but I couldn’t convince my whole body it was true. Fortunately, that period also slowly faded away.

  When I look back, I see one moment in which my awareness was probably the clearest it has ever been in all my life: coming off that plane in Oman. I knew precisely what was most important to me then: the people I love, my freedom, and the freedom of others. There were no second thoughts or judgments. There was no fear of retribution.

  It is strange to have cameras present at such a moment, to have the world bear witness to such a profound personal experience, but I am glad they were there. I am glad that people could share the power of a moment of freedom. And I am grateful that in the midst of all this, I was able to say the one thing that made the most sense to say: that everyone deserves justice. Everyone.

  Acknowledgments

  Dozens of people dedicated the better part of two years of their lives to getting us out of prison, and tens of thousands stood behind them. It’s impossible here to name even a fraction of them, but our gratitude to each of them is deep. We thank everyone who offered their support, in all of the forms it took.

  First, the three of us are lucky to have three devoted, selfless, and resourceful families. Every one of our family members poured their lives into obtaining our freedom, as well as helping us heal and adjust when we came back home. We can never repay what they have given to us. Our deepest gratitude goes to Josh’s parents Laura and Jacob Fattal, his brother Alex Fattal, his grandparents Muriel and Carroll Felleman, and his uncle Fred Felleman; Sarah’s mother Nora Shourd, her sister Martha Webster, her brother Chris Rapp, her father Louis Shourd, her aunts Karen and Suzy Sandys and uncle Mike Sandys; Shane’s mother Cindy Hickey and father Al Bauer, his stepfather Jim Hickey, his sisters Nicole Lindstrom and Shannon Bauer, their spouses Nate and Natalie, his grandparents Mary and Alfred Schmidthuber and Lila Bauer, and his aunt Cathy Theis. We would also like to thank all the rest of our aunts
and uncles, our nieces, nephews, and cousins. Every one of you made a difference, each in your own unique way.

  Second, we’d like to thank our incredible lawyer Masoud Shafii and his loving, supportive family for their unparalleled sacrifice. Special thanks to Sultan Qaboos bin Said of Oman, his devoted envoy Salem al-Ismaily, and Ambassador Hunaina al-Mughairy—without your brilliant diplomacy we might still be in prison today. Others who played crucial roles in negotiating our release include the Swiss ambassador Livia Leu Agosti and her staff, the Iraqi president Jalal Talabani and his son Qubad, Sean Penn, the late president Hugo Chávez of Venezuela and the current president Nicolas Maduro, Fernando Sulichan, and Temir Porras Ponceleon. Brazil, Turkey, Greece, and other nations weighed in for our case to be resolved. It is a rare, beautiful thing when powerful people use their positions and resources so selflessly, and for that we owe you our admiration.

  The Free the Hikers campaign was held together by a close-knit pool of individuals who worked wonders on our behalf. We would like to give special thanks to our dear friend Shon Meckfessel, who fortunately did not hike with us on that fateful day. You sprung into action immediately, letting the world know what happened to us, and remained devoted until the end of the ordeal. Along with Shon, we’d like to thank the campaign’s central organizers: Jennifer Miller, Liam O’Donoghue, Tegra Fisk, Laura Brechheimer, and Ben Rosenfeld. Thanks also to all the tireless fundraisers and donors, artists and performers, photographers and graphic designers, letter writers and book senders, protesters and organizers, in particular Joey Boxman, David Martinez, Moriah Oxnard, Leigh Goldenberg, Bessa Kautz, Margaret Roberts, Brian Gralnick, Darryl Wong, David Brazil, Sara Larson, David Keenan, Sami Feld, Deanna Tibbs, Rebecca Fischer, Jennie Hienlien, Lia Rose, Emily Churchill, Rachel Clearwater, Pauline Bartolone, Scott Rabinowitz, Emily Sudd, Meredith Walters, Ethan Rafal, Sarah Hobstetter, Cait Quinlivan, James Tracy, Marcus Kryshka, Will Kabat-Zinn, Michelle Borok, Andrea De Moral, Dave Petrelli, Qilo Matzen, Kristina Lim, David Marcus, Salina Abji, Moxie Marlispike, Ryan Harvey, Vassia Alaykova, Bob Stein, May Abdalla, Kristof Cantor, Dina Solomon, Laura Allen, Peter Ralph, Ian MacKenzie, Jafar and Chris Saidi, Matthew McNaught, Elizabeth Sy, Eric and Riba Lendle, Marilena LoVerde, June McIntyre, Michele Bloomberg, Sage Warren, Patty Wrightson, Mia Nakano, Melanie Pickrell, Hilary Klein, Heyward, James Sadri, Scott Campbell, Tristan Anderson and his parents, Gabrielle Silverman, Cindy and Craig Corrie, David Rhode, Bonnie Abaunza, Anna Baltzer, Sarah and Josh’s former students, and many, many more. Your tremendous support sustained the campaign for our freedom. Many of you gave critical emotional support to our families during our detention and to each of us during our often difficult readjustments to free life.

  Our unending gratitude goes to our communications specialist Paul Holmes and his family. Also to our brilliant, devoted social media and website experts Farah Marwani and Alita Holly. Thanks to our translators: Pari (pseudonym), Shirin (pseudonym), Pouria Montazeri, and Sadeq Rahimi. Thanks to our advisors Gary Sick, Ambassador Pierre Prosper, Karim Sadjampour, Stephen Zunes, Ambassador Bill Miller, Trita Parsi, Dr. Akbar Ahmed, Aleen Stein, and others. Thanks to the publicist of the Free the Hikers campaign, Samantha Topping, and our videographers and filmmakers Jeff Kaufman, Bobby Field, and Natalie Avital. Thanks to Roxana Saberi, Haleh and Shaul Esfandiari, Terry Waite, and Eric Volz for extending their experience, understanding, and compassion about how to deal with wrongful detention. We’d like to thank the U.S. State Department’s Jake Sullivan, Undersecretary of State Bill Burns, and the late Philo Dibble for their special attention. Our appreciation also goes to consular services for faithfully passing on our books and letters. Thanks to Ambassador Richard Schmierer and his wife Sandy for their work on our behalf and their wonderful hospitality during our two trips to Oman.

  We’d like to thank all the religious leaders around the world who advocated for our release, in particular Cardinal Theodore Edgar McCarrick, Imam Hassan al-Qazwini, Reverend Nora Smith, Imam Magid, Bishop Chane, Reverend Anne Hansen, and the late archbishop Pietro Sambi. We appreciate those who relentlessly pushed our cause in Congress, including several senators and representatives and their staffers. Many thanks to countless embassy officials and organizations such as Amnesty International, Safe World for Women, Human Rights Watch, Community to Protect Journalists, International Honors Program, Friends of the Earth, Search for a Common Ground, Innocence Project, National Iranian-American Council, Islamic Society of North America, Council on American-Islamic Relations, Care2, Intent.com, Witness, and the United Nations. We’d also like to thank all the bloggers and journalists who accurately and faithfully covered our story, in particular Amy Goodman and her colleagues at Democracy Now! Thanks to Shane’s editors Monika Bauerlein and Clara Jeffery at Mother Jones, Sandy Close at New America Media, Richard Kim at the Nation, and Esther Kaplan at the Nation Institute for standing by us and supporting our families. We deeply appreciate the public advocacy from Muhammad and Lonnie Ali, Noam Chomsky, Desmond Tutu, Yusuf Islam, Tom Morello, Mairede McGuire, Deepak Chopra and his family, President José Ramos-Horta, and Ban Ki-moon.

  Last, we’d like to give a shout-out to our amazing friends in numerous cities around the world: Athens, Atlanta, Baltimore, Bangalore, Berkeley, Boston, Boulder, Burlington, Cape Town, Changsha, Cottage Grove, Damascus, Duluth, Elk Grove, Houston, Hultsfred, Irvington, Johannesburg, Laguna Beach, London, Los Angeles, Lunenburg, Medellín, Minneapolis, New York, Norwich, Oakland, Ottawa, Paris, Philadelphia, Pine City, St. Paul, San Francisco, Sarasota, Seattle, Shakopee, Shanghai, Tehran, Toronto, Vancouver, Washington, DC, Williamstown, Worcester, and many more.

  Our book could not have been written without the dedication of our agent Bill Clegg of WME Entertainment, the support of our lawyer Eric Rayman, and the clear vision of our brilliant, patient editor Eamon Dolan of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. We also want to thank a handful of friends and colleagues who helped us with the fact-checking and translations needed to complete the manuscript: Roya Boroumand, Amir Soltani, Firuzeh Mahmoudi, Sadeq Rahimi, Trita Parsi, Sima Alizadeh, and Abbas Hakimzadeh.

  Special thanks to Rafaella Cohn, Jenny Bohrman, Mary Helen Spetch, Ben Christopher, and Maraya Karena for looking over Josh’s scenes and providing invaluable feedback. Josh wants to especially thank Jenny for tirelessly supporting him through seemingly endless deadlines and his rollercoaster emotions. Fred Felleman, Beth Miller, Cici McLay, George McKinley, Maria Kelly, Devon Bonady, and the Aprovecho family provided generous hospitality and beautiful settings in which to write.

  Though many lives were shaken and forever changed by the events recounted in these pages, the purview of this memoir is limited to the experiences of its three authors. The story of the Free the Hikers campaign, especially in the first year, could be a separate book. Three names in this book—the prisoner “Hamid,” the guard “Ehsan,” and the translator “Pari”—have been changed to protect the safety of those individuals. The names used for other guards and interrogators are either the names they used for themselves or names we assigned to them in prison because they kept their names secret.

  Every time a person is imprisoned, the ripple effects are enormous. When people join together to fight injustice, the results are equally enormous. Thank you all for giving us our lives back.

  About the Authors

  A graduate of Berkeley’s program in environmental economics and policy, JOSHUA FATTAL (left) has been an activist and organizer focusing on sustainable development. He is currently pursuing an advanced degree at New York University and lives in Brooklyn.

  SARAH SHOURD is a writer, educator, and contributing editor at Solitary Watch currently based in Oakland, California. After her wrongful imprisonment in Iran, she has focused her human rights advocacy work on combating the widespread use of prolonged solitary confinement in U.S. prisons and jails.

  SHANE BAUER is an award-winning investigative journalist and photographer whose work has appeared in Mother Jones, the Nation, Salon, the L
os Angeles Times, and many other publications. He lives in Oakland.

  Footnotes

  1. Manning has since changed his gender to female and is now known as Chelsea. I use the pronoun “he” here since it is how she referred to herself at the time these events took place.

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