I was constructing the whole interrogation over and over, their questions, my answers. But what if they don’t believe me? No, they would believe me, because they understand the recipe of terrorism more than the Americans, and have more experience. The cultural barrier between the Christian and the Muslim world still irritates the approach of Americans to the whole issue considerably; Americans tend to widen the circle of involvement to catch the largest possible numbers of Muslims. They always speak about the Big Conspiracy against the U.S. I personally had been interrogated about people who just practiced the basics of the religion and sympathized with Islamic movements; I was asked to provide every detail about Islamic movements, no matter how moderate. That’s amazing in a country like the U.S., where Christian terrorist organizations such as Nazis and White Supremacists have the freedom to express themselves and recruit people openly and nobody can bother them. But as a Muslim, if you sympathize with the political views of an Islamic organization you’re in big trouble. Even attending the same mosque as a suspect is big trouble. I mean this fact is clear for everybody who understands the ABCs of American policy toward so-called Islamic Terrorism.
The Arabo-American party was over, and the Arabs turned me over once more to the same U.S. Team. They dragged me out of the boat and threw me, I would say, in the same truck as the one that afternoon. We were obviously riding on a dirt road.
“Do not move!” said ■■■■■, but I didn’t recognize any words anymore. I don’t think that anybody beat me, but I was not conscious. When the truck stopped, ■■■■■ and his strong associate towed me from the truck, and dragged me over some steps. The cool air of the room hit me, and boom, they threw me face down on the metal floor of my new home.
“Do not move, I told you not to fuck with me, Motherfucker!” said ■■■■■, his voice trailing off. He was obviously tired. He left right away with a promise of more actions, and so did the Arab team.
A short time after my arrival, I felt somebody taking ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ off my head. Removing these things was both painful and relieving, painful because they had started to penetrate my skin and stick, leaving scars, and relieving because I started to breathe normally and the pressure around my head went away. When the blindfold was taken off I saw a ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. I figured he was a Doctor, but why the heck is he hiding behind a mask, and why is he U.S. Army, when the Navy is in charge of the medical care of detainees?
“If you fuckin’ move, I’m gonna hurt you!” I was wondering how could I possibly move, and what possible damage I could do. I was in chains, and every inch in my body was hurting. That is not a Doctor, that is a human butcher!
When the young man checked on me, he realized he needed more stuff. He left and soon came back with some medical gear. I glimpsed his watch: it was about 1:30 a.m., which meant about eight hours since I was kidnapped from ■■■■■■■■ Camp. The Doctor started to wash the blood off my face with a soaked bandage. After that, he put me on a mattress—the only item in the stark cell—with the help of the guards.
“Do not move,” said the guard who was standing over me. The Doctor wrapped many elastic belts around my chest and ribs. After that, they made me sit. “If you try to bite me, I’m gonna fuckin’ hurt you!” said the Doctor while stuffing me with a whole bunch of tablets. I didn’t respond; they were moving me around like an object. Sometime later they took off the chains, and later still one of the guards threw a thin, small, worn-out blanket onto me through the bin hole, and that was everything I would have in the room. No soap, no toothbrush, no iso mat, no Koran, nothing.
I tried to sleep, but I was kidding myself; my body was conspiring against me. It took some time until the medications started to work, then I trailed off, and only woke up when one of the guards hit my cell violently with his boot.
“Get up, piece of shit!” The Doctor once more gave me a bunch of medication and checked on my ribs. “Done with the motherfucker,” he said, showing me his back as he headed toward the door. I was so shocked seeing a Doctor act like that, because I knew that at least fifty percent of medical treatment is psychological. I was like, This is an evil place, since my only solace is this bastard Doctor.*
I soon was knocked out. To be honest I can report very little about the next couple of weeks because I was not in the right state of mind. I was lying on my bed the whole time, and I was not able to realize my surroundings. I tried to find out the Kibla, the direction of Mecca, but there was no clue.
SIX
GTMO
September 2003–December 2003
First Visit in the Secret Place… My Conversation with My Interrogators, and How I Found a Way to Squinsh Their Thirst… Chain Reaction of Confessions… Goodness Comes Gradually… The Big Confession… A Big Milestone
Back in ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ the Kibla was indicated with an arrow in every cell. Even the call to prayer could be heard five times a day in ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■.* The U.S. has always repeated that the war is not against the Islamic religion—which is very prudent because it is strategically impossible to fight against a religion as big as Islam—and back there the U.S. was showing the rest of the world how religious freedom ought to be maintained.
But in the secret camps, the war against the Islamic religion was more than obvious. Not only was there no sign to Mecca, but the ritual prayers were also forbidden. Reciting the Koran was forbidden. Possessing the Koran was forbidden. Fasting was forbidden. Practically any Islamic-related ritual was strictly forbidden. I am not talking here about hearsay; I am talking about something I experienced myself. I don’t believe that the average American is paying taxes to wage war against Islam, but I do believe that there are people in the government who have a big problem with the Islamic religion.
For the first couple of weeks after my “Birthday Party” I had no clue about time, whether it was day or night, let alone the time of day. I could only pray in my heart lying down, because I could not stand straight or bend. When I woke up from my semi-coma, I tried to make out the difference between day and night. In fact it was a relatively easy job: I used to look down the toilet, and when the drain was very bright to lightish dark, that was the daytime in my life. I succeeded in illegally stealing some prayers, but ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ busted me.
“He’s praying!” ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. “Come on!” They put on their masks. “Stop praying.” I don’t recall whether I finished my prayer sitting, or if I finished at all. As a punishment ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ forbade me to use the bathroom for some time.
As soon as the assessing doctor reported that I was relieved from my pain, it was time to hit again before the injuries healed, following the motto “Strike While the Iron’s Hot.” When I heard the melee behind the door, and recognized the voices of both ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ and his Egyptian colleague, I drowned in sweat, got dizzy, and my feet failed to carry me.* My heart pounded so hard that I thought it was going to choke me and fly off through my mouth. Indistinct conversations involving ■■■■■■■■■■■ and the guards took place.
“■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■, let mee geet him,” said the Egyptian guy in his stretched-out English to ■■■■■■■■■■■. “I wish ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ let me in to have a little conversation with you,” said the Egyptian in Arabic, addressing me.
“Stand back now; let me see him alone,” ■■■■■■■■■■■ said. I was shaking, listening to the bargaining between the Americans and the Egyptians about who was going to get me. I looked like
somebody who was going through an autopsy while still alive and helpless.
“You are going to cooperate, whether you choose to or not. You can choose between the civilized way, which I personally prefer, or the other way,” said ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ when the guards dragged me out of my cell to him. In the background the Egyptian guy was barking and threatening me with all kinds of painful revenge.
“I am cooperating,” I said in a weak voice. It had been a while since I had talked the last time, and my mouth was not used to talking anymore. My muscles were very sore. I was scared beyond belief. The Halloween-masked ■■■■■■■■■■ was literally stuck on me, moving around and ready to strike at an eye’s wink.
“No, quit denying. We are not interested in your denials. Don’t fuck with me,” ■■■■■■■■■■■ said.
“I’m not.”
“I am going to appoint some interrogators to question you. You know some of them, and some you don’t.”
“OK!” I said. The conversation was closed. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ ordered the guards to put me back in my cell, and he disappeared.
Then nothing short of a “miracle” happened: ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ made it to the “far faraway secret place.”
“You’ve been causing me so much trouble—nah, well, in Paris it wasn’t that bad but in Mauritania the weather was terrible. I sat at the table across from ■■■■■■■, and when I asked him, ‘Who recruited you for al Qaeda?’ His answer was you. And the same with ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. ■■■■■■■■■ are working with us now. You know, you are a part of an organization which the free world wants to wipe out of the face of the earth,” said ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■.
I was listening carefully, and wondering, Free world? I was saying to myself, Do I really have to listen to this crap? ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ was accompanied by the same ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ had brought about two months ago to molest me sexually.*
“You know, in jail the one who talks first wins. You lost and ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ won. He said everything about you,” ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. “The good thing is, we don’t have to dirty our hands with you; we have Israelis and Egyptians doing the job for us,” ■■■ continued, while taunting me sexually by touching me everywhere. I neither talked nor showed any resistance. I was sitting there like a stone.†
“Why is he shaking so much?” asked the ■■■■■■■.
“I don’t know,” ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ answered.
“But his hands are sweating like crazy!”
“If I were him, the same would be happening to me,” said ■■■■■■■■. “You think this place is like ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■, where you survived every attempt ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■, but you won’t survive here if you keep playing games with us,” he said.
“Like what?” I wondered.
“Like your trip to Slovenia. You only told me about it because you knew I knew about it. Now: are you going to cooperate with us?” he asked.
“I was cooperating,” I said.
“No, you weren’t, and guess what? I am going to write in my report that you’re full of shit, and other people are going to take care of you. The Egyptian is very interested in you!”
Meanwhile the ■■■■■■■ stopped molesting me since I showed no resistance. “What’s wrong with him?” ■■■■ wondered once more.
“I don’t know. But maybe he is too relaxed in this place. We should maybe take away some of his sleep,” said ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. I’ve never seen a human being as emotionless as he was. He spoke about keeping me from sleeping without a single change in his voice, face, or composure. I mean, regardless of our religion or race, we human beings always feel more or less bad for somebody who is suffering. I personally can never help breaking into tears when I read a sad story or watch a sad movie. I have no problem admitting this. Some people may say that I am a weak person; well, then, let me be!
“You should ask ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ to forgive you the lies, and start everything over,” said the ■■■■■■■. I didn’t say anything. “Start small. Give us a piece of information you never said before!” ■■■■ continued. I had no response to that malicious, nonsense suggestion either.
“Your mom is an old lady. I don’t know how long she can withstand the conditions in the detention facility,” ■■■■■■■■■ said. I knew that he was talking out of his tail. But I also knew that the government was ready to take any measures to pry information out of me, even if it would take injury to my family members, especially when you know that the ■■■■■■■■■■■■■ government is cooperating blindly with the U.S. I mean the U.S. government has more power over ■■■■■■■■■■■■ than over U.S. nationals, that’s how far the cooperation goes. A U.S. citizen cannot be arrested without due process of law, but ■■■■■■■■■■■■ can—and by the U.S. government!* I always said to my interrogators, “Let’s say I am criminal. Is an American criminal holier than a non-American?” And most of them had no answer. But I am sure that Americans are not much luckier. I’ve heard of many of them getting persecuted and wrongly arrested, especially Muslims and Arabs, in the name of the War Against Terror. Americans, non-Americans: it is as the German proverb puts it, Heute die! Morgen du! Today Them, Tomorrow You!
It was very hard to start a conversation with ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■; even the guards hated him. Today I couldn’t get anywhere with him; I just couldn’t find a handrail in the train of his speech. And as to the other ■■■■■■■■■■ was only sent to harass me sexually, but I was at a stage where I had no feeling ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. Thus, ■■■ mission was dead before it was born.
“You know how it looks when you feel our wrath,” ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ said, and left me with many other threats including sleep deprivation and starvation, which I believed to be true and serious. The guards put me roughly back in my cell.
Over the next several days, I almost lost my mind. Their recipe for me went like this: I must be kidnapped from ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ and put in a secret place. I must be made to believe I was on a far, faraway island. I must be informed by ■■■■■■■■■■■■■ that my mom was captured and put in a special facility.
In the secret place, the physical and psychological suffering must be at their highest extremes. I must not know the difference between day and night. I couldn’t tell a thing about days going by or time passing; my time consisted of a crazy darkness all the time. My diet times were deliberately messed up. I was starved for long periods and then given food but not given time to eat.
“You have three minutes: Eat!” a guard would yell at me, and then after about half a minute he would grab the plate. “You’re done!” And then it was the opposite extreme: I was given too much food and a guard came into my cell and forced me to eat all of it. When I said “I need water” because the food got stuck in my throat, he punished me by making me drink two 25-ounce water bottles.
“I can’t drink,” I said when my abdomen felt as if it was going to explode. But ■■■■■■■■■■ screamed and threatened me, pushing me against the wall and raising his hand to hit me. I figured drinking would be better, and drank until I vomited.
All the guards were masked with Halloween-like masks, and so were the Medics, and the g
uards were briefed that I was a high-level, smart-beyond-belief terrorist.
“You know who you are?” said ■■■■■■■■■■■ friend. “You’re a terrorist who helped kill 3,000 people!”
“Indeed I am!” I answered. I realized it was futile to discuss my case with a guard, especially when he knew nothing about me. The guards were all very hostile. They cursed, shouted, and constantly put me through rough Military-like basic training. “Get up,” “Walk to the bin hole.” “Stop!” “Grab the shit!” “Eat.” “You got two minutes!” “You’re done!” “Give the shit back!” “Drink!” “You better drink the whole water bottle!” “Hurry up!” “Sit down!” “Don’t sit down unless I say it!” “Search the piece of shit!” Most of the guards rarely attacked me physically, but ■■■■■■■■ hit me once until I fell face-down on the floor, and whenever he and his associate grabbed me they held me very tight and made me run in the heavy chains: “Move!”
Guantánamo Diary Page 28