“We couldn’t take you during the day because the camp was locked down,” said ■■■■■■■■■. “We had to take you now, because ■■■■■■■■■■■■ is leaving tomorrow.”
I didn’t open my mouth. ■■■■■■■■■ sent his friends out. “What’s wrong with you?” he said. “Are you OK? Did anything happen to you?” But no matter how he tried, there was no making me talk.
The team decided to take me back to the cold room. Maybe it wasn’t so cold for somebody wearing regular shoes, underwear, and a jacket like the interrogators, but it was definitely cold for a detainee with flip-flops and no underwear whatsoever.
“Talk to us!” ■■■■■■■■■ said. “Since you refuse to talk, ■■■■■■■■■■■■ is going to talk to you anyway.”
■■■■■■■■■■■■ started his lecture, “We have been giving you an opportunity, but you don’t seem to want to take advantage of it. Now it’s too late, because I am going to share some information with you.”
■■■■■■■■■■■■ put down three big pictures of four individuals who are believed to be involved in the September 11 attack. “This guy is ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. He was captured ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ and since then I’ve been interrogating him.* I know more about him than he knows about himself. He was forthcoming and truthful with me. What he told me goes along with what we know about him. He said that he came to your house on advice of a guy named ■■■■■■■■■■■■■, whom he met on a train. ■■■■■■■■■■■ wanted somebody to help him getting to Chechnya.”
“That was around Oct 1999,” he continued. “He showed up at your house with these two guys,” he said, pointing at ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ and ■■■■■■■■■■■■■. “The other guy,” he said, pointing at Atta, “was not able to see you because he had a test. You advised them to travel through Afghanistan instead of Georgia, because their Arab faces would give them away and they probably would have been turned back. Furthermore, you gave them a phone contact in Quetta of a guy named ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. These guys traveled shortly after that meeting with you to Afghanistan, met Usama Bin Laden, and swore a pledge to him. Bin Laden assigned them to the attack of September 11, and sent them back to Germany.”
He went on. “When I asked ■■■■■■■ what he thinks about you, he replied that he believes you to be a senior recruiter for Usama Bin Laden. That’s his personal opinion. However, he said that without you, he would never have joined al Qaeda. In fact, I’d say without you September 11 would never have happened. These guys would have gone to Chechnya and died.”
■■■■■■■■■■■■ excused himself and left. I was kept the rest of the night with ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. I was so scared. The guy made me believe I was the one behind September 11. How could that possibly have happened? I was like, Maybe he’s right. And yet anybody who knew the basics about the attack, which were published and updated through time, can easily see what a swiss cheese ■■■■■■■■■■ was trying to sell me. The guys he mentioned were reportedly trained in 1998, and joined al Qaeda and were assigned to the attack then. How could I possibly have sent them in October 1999 to join al Qaeda, when they not only already were al Qaeda, but had already been assigned to the attack for more than a year?
I was kept up the rest of the night and forced to see pictures of dead body parts which were taken at the site of the Pentagon after the attack. It was a nasty sight. I almost broke down, but I managed to keep myself silent and together.
“See the result of the attack?” ■■■■■■■■■ asked.
“I don’t think he foresaw what these were going to do,” said ■■■■■■■■■■. They were talking to each other, asking and answering each other. I kept myself as the present-absent. They kept sliding those nasty pictures in front of me the whole night. At the break of dawn, they sent me back to a cell in a new block, ■■■■■■■■■■■■. I prayed and tried to sleep, but I was kidding myself. I could not get the human body parts out of my head. My new neighbors, especially ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ tried to help me.
“Don’t worry! Just talk to them and everything is gonna be alright,” he encouraged me. Maybe his advice was prudent, and anyway I felt that things were going to get nastier. So I decided to cooperate.
■■■■■■■■■ pulled me to interrogation the next day. I was so worn out. I had no sleep last night, nor during the day.*
“I am ready to cooperate unconditionally,” I told him. “I don’t need any proof whatsoever. You just ask me questions and I’m gonna answer you.” And so our relationship seemed to enter a new era.
During his time with me, ■■■■■■■■■ made a couple of trips, one to ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ and one to ■■■■■■■■■■■, in order to investigate my case and gather evidence against me. In February 2003, while he was on his trip to ■■■■■■■■■■■ an agent from the ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ pulled me to interrogation.
“My name is ■■■■■■■■■■■■■, from ■■■■■■. I came here to ask you some questions about your time in ■■■■■■■■■■,” said ■■■■■■■■■■■ while flashing his badge. He was accompanied with one female and one male who were just taking notes.*
“Welcome! I’m glad that you have come because I want to clarify some reports you produced about me which are very inaccurate.” I continued, “Especially since my case with the U.S. is spinning around my time in ■■■■■■■■■, and every time I argue with the Americans they refer to you. Now I want you guys to sit with the Americans and answer one question: Why are you arresting me? What crime have I done?”
“You have done nothing,” ■■■■■■■■■■■ said.
“So I don’t belong here, do I?”
“We didn’t arrest you, the U.S. did.”
“That’s correct, but the U.S. claims that you pitted them on me.”
“We just have some questions about some bad people, and we need your help.”
“I’m not helping you unless you tell the Americans in front of me that one or the other of you lied.”
The agents went out and brought ■■■■■■■■■■ in, who was probably watching the session through the ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■.
“You are not honest, since you refuse to answer the ■■■■■ questions. This is your opportunity to get help from them,” ■■■■■■■■■■ said.
“■■■■■■■■■■, I know this game better than you do. Stop trying to talk nonsense to me,” I said. “Look, you keep telling me the ■■■■■■■■■■■■ say such and such. Now it’s you guys’ opportunity to face me with my charges,” I said.
“We don’t accuse you of any crime,” said ■■■■■■■■■■.
“Then release me!”
“That’s not in my hands.” ■■■■■■■■■■ tried to convince me but there was no convincing me. I was sent back to my cell and taken again the next day, but I just sat there like a stone. I didn’t waste a word because I had told them clearly the conditions of my cooperation. The ■■■■■■■■■■■■ also interrogated a teenager ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ called ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ and made the Army take all his belongings. We detainees felt bad for him: he was just too young for this whole campaign.*
When ■■■■■■■■■ came back, he was pissed off because the ■■■■■ had ignored him and were exposing me to whomever they wanted
. Now I knew the ■■■■■■ had no control over my fate; they didn’t have the ability to deal with me, and henceforth I could not really trust them. I don’t like to deal with somebody who cannot keep his word. I knew then for a fact that the ■■■■■■■ was nothing but a step, and the real interrogation was going to be led by ■■■■■■■■■■. If you look at the situation, it makes sense: most of the detainees were captured by ■■■■■■■■■ in a military operation, and they wanted to maintain the upper hand. ■■■■■■ are only guests in GTMO, no more, no less; the facility is run by ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■.
It happened again. When ■■■■■■■■■ went to ■■■■■■■■■■■■ in May 2003, the ■■■■■■■■■ reserved me for interrogation, and they were no luckier than their fellow citizens from ■■■■■■■■; ■■■■■ was completely overawed by his colleagues from the ■■■■■■■ command.
■■■■■■■■■ came back from ■■■■■■■■■■■■. “I was ordered to quit your case and go back to the U.S. My boss believes that I’m only wasting my time. The MI will take your case,” ■■■■■■■■■ told me. I wasn’t happy that ■■■■■■■■■ was leaving, but I wasn’t really that upset. ■■■■■■■■■ was the guy who understood the most about my case, but he had neither power nor people who backed him up.
The next day the team organized a pretty lunch party. They bought good food as a good-bye. “You should know that your next sessions will not be as friendly as these have been,” ■■■■■■■■■ said, smiling wryly. “You will not be brought food or drinks anymore.” I understood the hint as rough treatment, but I still never thought that I was going to be tortured. Furthermore, I believed that ■■■■■■■■■ and his associate ■■■■■■■■ would inform the proper authorities to stop a crime if they knew one was going to happen.
“I wish you good luck, and all I can tell you is to tell the truth,” ■■■■■■■■■ said. We hugged, and bid each other good-bye.*
When I entered the room a desk was prepared with several chairs on the other side of the table. As soon as the guards locked me up to the floor ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ entered the room ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. You could tell they had a head start I didn’t. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ brought heavy binders with them, and were talking to each other.*
“When is the guy supposed to come?”
“Nine o’clock.” Against interrogation customs, ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. It was a technique used to scare and irritate the detainee.
The door opened. “I am sorry, I was thinking diplomatic time,” the new arrival said. “You know, those of us from ■■■■■■■■■■■■ are on another time.” The ■■■■■■■■■■■ looking gentleman was dying to impress. I wasn’t sure how much he succeeded. He was a ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. He even brought his McDonald’s with him, but offered nothing to anybody.
“I just arrived from Washington,” he commenced. “Do you know how important you are to the U.S. government?”
“I know how important I am to my dear mom, but I’m not sure when it comes to the U.S. government.” ■■■■■■■■■ couldn’t help smiling, although ■■■■ tried hard to keep ■■■■ frown. I was supposed to be shown harshness.
“Are you ready to work with us? Otherwise your situation is gonna be very bad,” the man continued.
“You know that I know that you know that I have done nothing,” I said. “You’re holding me because your country is strong enough to be unjust. And it’s not the first time you have kidnapped Africans and enslaved them.”
“African tribes sold their people to us,” he replied.
“I wouldn’t defend slavery, if I were in your shoes.” I said. I could tell ■■■■■■■■■■■■ was the one with the most power, even though the government let other agencies try their chances with detainees. It’s very much like a dead camel in the desert, when all kinds of bugs start to eat it.
“If you don’t cooperate with us we’re gonna send you to a tribunal and you’re gonna spend the rest of your life in prison,” ■■■■ said.
“Just do it!”
“You must admit to what you have done,” ■■■■■■■■■■■■ said, gesturing to a big binder in front of ■■■■.
“What have I done?”
“You know what you’ve done.”
“You know what, I am not impressed, but if you have questions I can answer you,” I said.
“I have been working along with ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ on your case. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ are gone. But I’m still here to give you an opportunity.”
“Keep the opportunity for yourself, I need none.” The purpose of this session was to scare the hell out of me, but it takes more than that to scare me. The ■■■■■■■■■■■■■ disappeared for good, and I never saw him again; ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ kept interrogating me for some time, but there was nothing new. Both ■■■■■■■■■ were using dead-traditional methods and techniques I probably mastered better than they had.
“What is the name of your current wife?” ■■■■■■■■■ favorite question. When I arrived in Cuba on August ■■■, 2002 I was so hurt physically and mentally that I literally forgot the name of my wife and provided a wrong one. ■■■■■■■■■■ wanted to prove that I am a liar.
“Look, you won’t provide us information we don’t already know. But if you keep denying and lying, we’ll assume the worst,” said ■■■■■■■■■■■■. “I have interrogated some other detainees and found them innocent. I really have a problem sleeping in a comfortable room while they suffer in the block. But you’re different. You’re unique. There’s nothing really incriminating, but there are a lot of things that make it impossible not to be involved.”
“And what is the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
“I don’t know!” ■■■■■■■■■■■■ answered. ■■■■ was a respectable ■■■■■■■ and I very much respected ■■■■ honesty. ■■■■ was appointed to torture me but ■■■■ ultimately failed, which led to ■■■■ separation from my case. To me ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ was an evil person. ■■■ always laughed sardonically.
“You’re very rude,” ■■■ once said.
“So are you!” I replied. Our sessions were not fruitful. Both ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ wanted to reach a breakthrough, but there was no breakthrough to be reached.
Both wanted me to admit to being part of the Millennium Plot, which I wasn’t. The only possible way to make me admit to something I haven’t done is to torture me beyond my limit of pain.
“You’re saying that I am lying about that? Well guess what, I have no reason not to keep lying. You don’t seem any more impressive than the hundred interrogators I have had lately,” I said. ■■■■■■■■■ was playing the smart interrogator–bad guy.
“You’re funny, you know that?”
“Whatever that means!”
“We’re here to give you an opportunity. I’ve been in the block for a while, and I am leaving soon, so if you don’t cooperate…” ■■■■■■ continued.
“Bon Voyage!” I said. I felt good that ■■■■■■ was leaving because I didn’t like ■■■.
“You speak with a French accent.”
“Oh, God, I thought I speak like Shakespeare,” I said wryly.
“No you speak pretty well, I only mean the accent.” ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ was a polite and honest person. “Look, we have so many reports linking you to all kinds of stuff. There is nothing incriminating, really. But there are too many little things. We will not ignore anything and just release you.”
“I’m not interested in your mercy. I only want to be released if my case is completely cleared. I really am tired of being released and captured in an endless Catch-22.”
“You need your freedom, and we need information. You give us what we need and in return, you get what you need,” ■■■■■■■■■■ said. The three of us argued this way for days without any success.
And then the guy I call “I-AM-THE-MAN” came into play. It was around noon when ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ joined ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ while they were interrogating me. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ said, gesturing to ■■■■■■■■■■■■.
Guantánamo Diary Page 23