Guantánamo Diary

by Mohamedou Ould Slahi

  “Pillow, I am telling you, I really don’t know. But I am Christian and my parents celebrate Christmas every year,” he told me, adding, “My girlfriend wants to convert to Islam but I said no.”

  “Come on, ■■■■■■■■■■■, you should let her choose. Don’t you guys believe in freedom of religion?” I replied. ■■■■■■■■■■■ had all the qualities of a human being; I liked conversing with him because he always had something to say. He liked to impress the females on the island. And he especially resented ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■; I really can’t blame him!

  Everyone resented him.* He was lazy and on the slower side. Nobody wanted to work with him, and they talked ill about him all the time. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ didn’t have any initiative or personality of his own, and he used to copy every other guard. When he started working on the team he was quiet; he just served me my food and dutifully made me drink water every hour. And that was cool. But he quickly learned that I could be yelled at, have food taken from, and made to do harsh PTs I didn’t want to do. He couldn’t believe that he was entitled to so much power. He almost went wild making me stand up for hours during the night, even though he knew I suffered from sciatic nerve. He made me clean my cell over and over. He made me clean the shower over and over.

  “I wish you’d make a mistake, any mistake, so I can strike,” he used to say while performing some corny fake martial arts he must have learned for purposes of his mission. Even after ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ ordered the guards to be nice to me, he became worse, as if trying to catch up on something he missed.

  “You call me Master, OK?” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” I answered, thinking, Who the heck does he think he is? When he saw the other guards playing chess with me, he wanted to play, too, but I soon discovered how weak a person can be in chess. Moreover, he had his own rules, which he always enforced, him being the Master, and me the detainee. In his chess world the king belonged to his own color, breaking the basic rule in chess that states that the king sits on the opposite color when the game begins. I knew he was wrong, but there was no correcting him, so with him I had to play his version of chess.

  Around March ■■ ■■■■■■■■■■■■■ gave me a TV with an integrated VCR to watch the movies they would give me. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ himself gave me the movie Gladiator from his personal collection. I like that movie because it vividly depicts how the forces of evil get defeated at the end, no matter how strong they seem. On advice and approval, ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ and ■■■ colleague got me many interesting movies.*

  In my real life I was not a big fan of movies; I don’t remember watching a single movie all the way through since I turned eighteen. I do like documentaries and movies based on true stories, but I have a problem giving up my mind and going with the flow of the acting when I know that everything that happens in the movie is fake. But in prison, I’m different: I appreciate everything that shows regular human beings wearing casual clothes and talking about something besides terrorism and interrogation. I just want to see some mammals I can relate to.

  The Americans I met watch movies a lot. In America it’s like, “Tell me how many movies you’ve seen, and I’ll tell you who you are.” But if Americans can be proud of something, they have the right to be proud of their motion picture industry.

  Of course, the TV had no receiver, because I was not allowed to watch TV or know anything that happened outside my cell; all I was allowed to watch were the movies that had been approved ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. It is so evidently unjust to cut off a person from the rest of the world and forbid him to know what’s going on in the outside world, regardless of whether or not he is involved in criminal activities. I noticed that the TV/VCR combo had an FM Radio receiver that could receive local broadcasts, but I never touched it: although it is my basic right to listen to whatever radio I wish, I find it so dishonest to stab the hand that reaches out to help you. And regardless of what ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ have done to me, I found it positive that they offered me this entertainment tool, and I would not use it against them. Moreover, ■■■■■■■■■■■■■ got me a laptop, which I mightily enjoyed. Of course one of the main reasons for the laptop was to make me type my answers during interrogations to save both time and manpower ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. But I had no problem with that idea; after all, I wanted to deliver my words and not their interpretation thereof.

  “Look, I got some Arabic Music,” said ■■■■■■■■■■■■■ handing me an Audio CD.

  “Oh, fine!” But the CD was not even close to the Arabic language: it was Bosnian. I laughed wholeheartedly. “Close enough. It’s Bosnian music,” I said when the CD started to play.

  “Is it not the same, Bosnian and Arabic?” asked ■■■■■■■■■■■■■. That is just one example of how little Americans know about Arabs and Islam. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■ is a member of ■■■■■ and not just anybody; ■■■■■■■ is supposedly armed with basic knowledge about Arabs and Islam. But ■■■■■■■■ and the other interrogators always addressed me, “You guys from the middle east…,” which is so completely wrong. For many Americans, the world comprises three places: The U.S., Europe, and the rest of the world, the Middle East. Unfortunately, the world, geographically speaking, is a little bit more than that. In my job in my country, I had to make some calls to the U.S. for professional purposes. I remember the following conversation:

  “Hello, we are dealing with office materials. We are interested in representing your company.”

  “Where are you calling from?” asked the lady at the other end.

  “Mauritania.”

  “What state?” asked the lady, seeking more precise information. I was negatively surprised at how small her world was.

  The confusion ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ was as obvious as his ignorance about the whole terrorism issue. The man was completely terrified, as if he were drowning and looking for any straw to grasp. I guess I was one of the straws he bumped into in his flailing, and he grasped me really hard.

  “I don’t understand why people hate us. We help everybody in the world!” he stated once, seeking my opinion.

  “Neither do I,” I replied. I knew it was futile to enlighten him about the historical and objective reasons that led to where we’re at, and so I opted to ignore his comment; besides, it was not exactly easy to change the opinion of a man as old as he was.

  Many young men and women join the U.S. forces under the misleading propaganda of the U.S. government, which makes people believe that the Armed Forces are nothing but a big Battle of Honor: if you join the Army, you are a living martyr; you’re defending not only your family, your country, and American democracy but also freedom and oppressed people all around the world. Great, there is nothing wrong with that; it may even be the dream of every young man or woman. But the reality of the U.S. forces is a little tiny bit different. To go directly to the bottom line: the rest of the world thinks of Americans as a bunch of revengeful barbarians. That may be harsh, and I don’t believe the dead average American is a revengeful barbarian. But the U.S. government bets its last penny on violence as the magic solution for every problem, and so the country is losing friends every day and doesn’t seem to give a damn about it.

  “Look, ■■■■■■■■■, everybody hates you guys, even your traditional friends. The Germans hate you, the French hate you,” I said once to ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■.*

  “Fuck all of them. We would rather have them hate us, and we’ll whup their asses,” ■■■■■ replied. I just smiled at how easy a solution can be made.

  “That’s one way to look at it,” I answered.

  �
��Fuck them Terrorists.”

  “OK,” I would say. “But you should find the terrorists first. You can’t just go wild and hurt everybody in the name of terrorism.” He believed that every Arab is a terrorist until proven innocent.

  “We need you to help us lock up ■■■■■■■■■ for the rest of his life,” he said.

  “I am. I’ve been providing enough Intels to convict him.”

  “But he keeps denying. He is dealing with other agencies that have different rules than we do. I wish I could get my hands on him: things would be different then!”

  I was like, “I hope you never get your hands on anybody.”

  “All he says is that he did the operation on his own, and that’s it,” ■■■■■■ said.

  “Oh, that’s very convenient!” I said wryly. Lately I had started to copy ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■, using the exact same phrases as ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. He used to tell me “All you can say is I don’t know, I don’t remember. That’s very convenient! You think you are going to impress an American jury with your charisma?” He always liked to quote the U.S. President, saying “We will not send you guys to court and let you use our justice system, since you’re planning to destroy it.”

  “Is that part of the Big Conspiracy?” I wryly wondered.

  “Al Qaeda is using our liberal justice system,” he continued. I really don’t know what liberal justice system he was talking about: the U.S. broke the world record for the number of people it has in prison. Its prison population is over two million, more than any other country in the world, and its rehabilitation programs are a complete failure. The United States is the “democratic” country with the most draconian punishment system; in fact, it is a good example of how draconian punishments do not help in stopping crimes. Europe is by far more just and humane, and the rehab programs there work, so the crime rate in Europe is decisively lower than the U.S. But the American proverb has it, “When the going gets rough, the rough get going.” Violence naturally produces violence; the only loan you can make with a guarantee of payback is violence. It might take some time, but you will always get your loan back.

  As things improved, I asked ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ to transfer me to another place because I wanted to forget the bad memories I experienced where I was. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ tried to meet my request; he promised me the transfer many times, but he failed to keep his promises. I don’t doubt his seriousness, but I could tell there was some kind of power struggle in the small island of GTMO. Everybody wanted the biggest portion of the pie, and the most credit for the work of ■■■■■■■■■■. He genuinely promised me many other things, but couldn’t hold those promises either.

  One amazing thing about ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ was that he never brought up the story of my torture. I always expected him to open the topic, but nothing like that happened: Taboo! Personally I was scared to talk about it; I didn’t feel secure enough. Even if he had brought the topic up, I would have dodged talking about it.

  But at least he finally told me where I was.

  “I have to inform you, against the will of many members in our team, that you are in GTMO,” he said. “You’ve been honest with us and we owe you the same.” Although the rest of the world didn’t have a clue as to where the U.S. government was incarcerating me, I had known since day one thanks to God and the clumsiness of the ■■■■■■■■■. But I acted as if this was new information, and I was happy because it meant many things to me to be told where I am. As I write these lines, I am still sitting in that same cell, but at least now I don’t have to act ignorant about where I am, and that is a good thing.

  ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ the U.S. Army released the first letter from my family.* It was sent through the International Committee of the Red Cross. My family wrote it months before, in July 2003. It had been 815 days since I was kidnapped from my house and had all contacts with my family forcibly broken. I had been sending many letters to my family since I arrived in Cuba, but to no avail. In Jordan I was forbidden even to send a letter.

  ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ was the one who handed me that historical piece of paper, which read:

  Nouakchott, ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

  In the Name of God the most Merciful.

  Peace be with you and God’s mercy.

  From your mom ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

  After my greeting I inform you of my wellbeing and that of the rest of your family. We hope you are the same way. My health situation is OK. I still keep up with my schedule with the Doctors. I feel I am getting better. And the family is OK.

  As I mentioned everybody sends his greeting to you. Beloved son! As of now we have received three letters from you. And this is our second reply. The neighbors are well and they send their greetings. At the end of this letter I renew my greeting. Peace be with you.

  Your Mom ■■■■■■■■■■■

  I couldn’t believe that after all I had been through I was holding a letter from my mom. I smelled the odor of a letter that had touched the hand of my mom and other members of my beloved family. The emotions in my heart were mixed: I didn’t know what to do, laugh or cry. I ultimately ended up doing both. I kept reading the short message over and over. I knew it was for real, not like the fake one I got one year ago. But I couldn’t respond to the letter because I was still not allowed to see the ICRC.

  Meanwhile, I kept getting books in English that I enjoyed reading, most of them Western literature. I still remember one book called The Catcher in the Rye that made me laugh until my stomach hurt. It was such a funny book. I tried to keep my laughter as low as possible, pushing it down, but the guards felt something.

  “Are you crying?” one of them asked.

  “No, I’m alright,” I responded. It was my first unofficial laughter in the ocean of tears. Since interrogators are not professional comedians, most of the humor they came up with was a bunch of lame jokes that really didn’t make me laugh, but I would always force an official smile.

  ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ came one Sunday morning and waited outside the building. ■■■■■■■■■■■■ appeared before my cell ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. I didn’t recognize him, of course; I thought he was a new interrogator.* But when he spoke I knew it was him.

  “Are ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■?”

  “Don’t worry. Your interrogator is waiting on you outside.” I was overwhelmed and terrified at the same time; it was too much for me. ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ led me outside the building; I saw ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ looking away from me, shy that I see his face. If you deal with somebody for so long behind a face cover, that is how you know him ■■■■■■■■. But now if he ■■■■■■■ takes off the face cover you have to deal with his features, and that is a completely different story for both sides. I could tell the guards were uncomfortable to show me their faces.

  ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ put it bluntly. “If I catch you looking at me, I’m gonna hurt you.”

  “Don’t you worry, I’m not dying to see your face.” Through time I had built a perception about the way everybody looked, but imagination was far from the reality.

  ■■■■■■■■ prepared a small table with a modest breakfast. I was scared as hell; for one, ■■■■■■■ never took me outside the building, and for two, I was not used to my guards’ “new” faces. I tried to act casually but my shaking gave me away.

  “What’s wrong with you,” ■■■■■■■■ asked.

  “I am very ne
rvous. I am not used to this environment.”

  “But I meant it for your good,” ■■■■ said. ■■■■■■■■■ was a very official person; if ■■■■ interrogates you, she does it officially, and if ■■■■ eats with you, ■■■■ does it as part of ■■■■ job, and that was cool.† I was just waiting for the breakfast to be done so I could go back to my cell, because ■■■■■■■■ had brought me the movie King Henry V by Shakespeare.

  “■■■■■, may I watch the movie more than once?” I asked. “I am afraid I am not going to understand it right away.”

  “Yes, you can watch it as many times as you wish.”

  When ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ brought the TV ■■■■■■■■ briefed the guards to let me watch a movie only once, and then the party is over. “You’re allowed to watch your movie only once, but as far as we’re concerned you can watch it as many times as you wish, as long as you don’t tell your interrogator about it. We really don’t care,” ■■■■■■■■■ told me later.

  “No, if ■■■■■■■ said so, I am going to stick with it. I am not gonna cheat,” I told him. I really didn’t want to mess with a comfort item I had just gotten, so I chose to treat everything carefully. But I did ask for one thing.

  “■■■■■, can I keep my water bottle in my cell, and drink whenever I choose?” I was just tired of the lack of sleep; as soon as I closed my eyes, the heavy metal door opened and I had to drink another bottle of water. I knew ■■■■■■■■ was not the right person to ask to take the initiative; ■■■■■■■■■■■ had literally been following the orders of ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. But to my surprise, ■■■■■■■■ came the next day and briefed the guards that the water bottle now belonged in my cell. You cannot imagine how happy I was to be able to decide the time and the amount of water I could drink. People who never have been in such a situation cannot really appreciate the freedom of drinking water whenever they want, however much they want.