Shaker Abdurraheem Aamer is a Saudi Arabian citizen and British resident who has been detained at Guantánamo Bay since early 2002. The U.S. military alleges that he has ties to al Qaeda, apparently because of his work in Afghanistan for a Saudi charity - the Al-Haramain Foundation - suspected of funneling money to terrorist organizations. A leader among the Guantánamo detainees, Aamer helped broker an end to one of the hunger strikes. He elicited a concession from the military that it would allow the detainees to form a grievance committee and treat them in a manner consistent with the Geneva Conventions. In September, 2005, just days after the grievance committee was formed, the military disbanded it and sent Aamer to solitary confinement, where he remains today. THEY FIGHT FOR PEACE
Peace, they say. Peace of mind? Peace on earth? Peace of what kind?
I see them talking, arguing, fighting- What kind of peace are they looking for? Why do they kill? What are they planning?
Is it just talk? Why do they argue? Is it so simple to kill? Is this their plan?
Yes, of course! They talk, they argue, they kill- They fight for peace.
ABDULAZIZ
Abdulaziz, who wishes not to reveal his last name, had just graduated from university in his native Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, when U.S. forces launched their attack on Afghanistan. He traveled to the region to find his brother and bring him home safely. Soon after Abdulaziz found him, both men were picked up by Northern Alliance forces. After being tortured in an Afghan prison, he was turned over to the U.S. military in early 2002 and eventually sent to Guantánamo along with his brother. Both were classified as enemy combatants. His brother was subsequently released, but Abdulaziz remains in detention.
O PRISON DARKNESS
O prison darkness, pitch your tent. We love the darkness.
For after the dark hours of the night, Pride's dawn will rise.
Let the world, with all its bliss, fade away- So long as we find favor with God.
A boy may despair in the face of a problem, But we know God has a design.
Even though the bands tighten and seem unbreakable, They will shatter.
Those who persist will attain their goal; Those who keep knocking shall gain entry.
O crisis, intensify! The morning is about to break forth.
I SHALL NOT COMPLAIN
I shall not complain to anyone or expect grace from anyone other than God, so help me God.
O Lord, my heart is plagued with troubles.
I shall not complain to anyone other than You, even if the seas complain of dryness.
My spirit is free in the heavens, while my body is overpowered by chains.
Praise God, who has granted me patience in times of adversity and gratitude in times of gladness.
Praise God, who placed a garden and an orchard in my bosom, so they will be with me always.
Praise God, who has granted me faith and made me a Muslim.
Praise God, Lord of the world.
ABDULLAH THANI FARIS AL ANAZI
Abdullah Thani Faris al Anazi is a double amputee, having lost both of his legs in a U.S. bombing campaign in Afghanistan while he was employed as a humanitarian aid worker. After his first leg was amputated, he was arrested on his recovery bed by bounty hunters and turned over to U.S. forces. While in U.S. custody, his second leg was amputated. He has been held at Guantánamo since 2002, where he has received inadequate medical care. At times, he has been forced to walk on prosthetic limbs held together with duct tape.
TO MY FATHER
Two years have passed in far-away prisons, Two years my eyes untouched by kohl. Two years my heart sending out messages To the homes where my family dwells, Where lavender cotton sprouts For grazing herds that leave well fed.
O Flaij, explain to those who visit our home How I used to live. I know your thoughts are swirled as in a whirlwind, When you hear the voice of my anguished soul. Send sweet peace and greetings to Bu'mair; Kiss him on his forehead, for he is my father. Fate has divided us, like the parting of a parent from a newborn.
O Father, this is a prison of injustice. Its iniquity makes the mountains weep. I have committed no crime and am guilty of no offense. Curved claws have I, But I have been sold like a fattened sheep.
I have no fellows but the Truth. They told me to confess, but I am guiltless; My deeds are all honorable and need no apology. They tempted me to turn away from the lofty summit of integrity, To exchange this cage for a pleasant life. By God, if they were to bind my body in chains, If all Arabs were to sell their faith, I would not sell mine. I have composed these lines For the day when your children have grown old.
O God-who governs creation with providence, Who is one, singular and self-subsisting, Who brings comfort and happy tidings, Whom we worship- Grant serenity to a heart that beats with oppression, And release this prisoner from the tight bonds of confinement.
USTAD BADRUZZAMAN BADR
Ustad Badruzzaman Badr is a prolific Pakistani essayist with an MA in English. Along with his brother Shaikh Abdurraheem Muslim Dost, he spent much of the 1980s publishing magazines that supported rebel fighters against the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan and writing for the cause of Pashtun nationalism. In November 2001 the brothers were arrested by Pakistani intelligence officers, who subsequently turned them over to the U.S. military. Badr was returned to Peshawar in 2004 after the military determined that he represented no threat to the United States. With his brother, he recently published a memoir of his time in detention, The Broken Shackles of Guantánamo.
LIONS IN THE CAGE
In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Most Merciful, a poem written in Camp Delta, Guantánamo, Cuba
We are the heroes of the time. We are the proud youth. We are the hairy lions.
We live in the stories now. We live in the epics. We live in the public's heart.
We are the shield before the oppressor. Our courage is like a mountain. The Pharaoh of our time is restless because of us.
The Chief of the White Palace, Like other sinful chiefs, Cannot see our patience.
The whirlpool of our tears Is moving fast towards him. No one can endure the power of this flood.
It mostly happens, in these cages, That the stars at midnight Bring good news-
That we will surely succeed, And the world will wait for us, The Caravan of Badr.
MOAZZAM BEGG
Moazzam Begg is a British citizen who was arrested in Pakistan and detained for three years in Guantánamo. While there, Begg received a heavily-censored letter from his seven-year-old daughter; the only legible line was, "I love you, Dad." Upon his release, his daughter told him the censored lines were a poem she had copied for him: "One, two, three, four, five, / Once I caught a fish alive. / Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, / Then I let it go again." Released in 2005, he was never charged with a crime. The biggest problem at Guantánamo, he explained to Amnesty International, is "the sheer lack of any ability to prove your innocence because you remain in limbo, in legal limbo, and have no meaningful communication with your family." Begg recently published a memoir, Enemy Combatant: My Imprisonment at Guantánamo, Bagram, and Kandahar.
HOMEWARD BOUND
Begins this journey without reins, Ends in capture without aims; Now lying in the cell awake, With merriment and smiles all fake:
Freedom is spent, time is up- Tears have rent my sorrow's cup; Home is cage, and cage is steel, Thus manifest reality's unreal
Dreams are shattered, hopes are battered, Yet with new status one is flattered! The irony of it-detention, and all: Be so small, and stand so tall.
Years of tears and days of toil Are now but fears and tyrants' spoil; Ordainment has surely come to pass, But endure alone one must this farce.
Now "patience is of virtue" taught, And virtue is of iron wrought; So poetry is in motion set (Perhaps, with appreciation met).
Still the paper do I pen, Knowing what, but never when- As dreams begin, and nightmares end- I'm homeward bound to beloved tend.
JUMAH AL DOSSARI
Jumah al Dossari, a thirty-three-year-old Bahraini national, is the father of a young daughter. He has been held at Guantánamo Bay for more than five years. In addition to being detained without charge or trial, Dossari has been subjected to a range of physical and psychological abuses, some of which are detailed in Inside the Wire, an account of the Guantánamo prison by former military intelligence soldier Erik Saar. He has been held in solitary confinement since the end of 2003 and, according to the U.S. military, has tried to kill himself twelve times while in the prison. On one occasion, he was found by his lawyer, hanging by his neck and bleeding from a gash to his arm.
DEATH POEM
Take my blood. Take my death shroud and The remnants of my body. Take photographs of my corpse at the grave, lonely.
Send them to the world, To the judges and To the people of conscience, Send them to the principled men and the fair-minded.
And let them bear the guilty burden, before the world, Of this innocent soul. Let them bear the burden, before their children and before history, Of this wasted, sinless soul, Of this soul which has suffered at the hands of the "protectors of peace."
SHAIKH ABDURRAHEEM MUSLIM DOST
Shaikh Abdurraheem Muslim Dost is a Pakistani poet and essayist who spent nearly three years in Guantánamo with his brother, Ustad Badruzzaman Badr. Dost was a respected religious scholar, poet, and journalist - and author of nearly twenty books - before his arrest in 2001. While at Guantánamo, he composed thousands of lines of poetry in Pashto, most of which were retained by the U.S. military after his release in April 2005. In October 2006, shortly after Dost and his brother published a memoir of their Guantánamo detention, Dost was again arrested by Pakistani intelligence. He has not been heard from since.
THEY CANNOT HELP
In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Most Merciful, a poem written in Camp Delta, Guantánamo, Cuba
Those who are charitable Cannot help but sacrifice for others.
They cannot help but face danger If they wish to remain true.
When they face injustice, dishonesty, and iniquity, They cannot help but be under the power of the traitors and the notorious.
Consider what might compel a man To kill himself, or another.
Does oppression not demand Some reaction against the oppressor?
It is natural that a man is driven to invention And to creation in times of duress.
The evildoer will be punished. He cannot avoid making amends, and must apologize eventually.
Those who foolishly dispute with Dost the Poet Cannot help but surrender, or else run away.
CUP POEM I
What kind of spring is this, Where there are no flowers and The air is filled with a miserable smell?
CUP POEM 2
Handcuffs befit brave young men, Bangles are for spinsters or pretty young ladies.
TWO FRAGMENTS
1.
Eid has come, but my father has not. He is not come from Cuba.
I am eating the bread of Eid with my tears. I have nothing.
Why am I deprived of the love of my father? Why am I so oppressed?
2.
Just as the heart beats in the darkness of the body, So I, despite this cage, continue to beat with life.
Those who have no courage or honor consider themselves free, But they are slaves.
I am flying on the wings of thought, And so, even in this cage, I know a greater freedom.
MOHAMMED EL GHARANI
Mohammed el Gharani, a fourteen-year-old Chadian national raised in Saudi Arabia, had recently arrived in Pakistan to learn English and to study information technology when he was imprisoned by Pakistani police. They hanged 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.
FIRST POEM OF MY LIFE
Move it cautiously in the land of those who speak no Arabic,? 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.
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" 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.
Out of spite, they showed such impudence. Their war is against Islam and justice.
translated by Flagg Miller
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.
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.
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 Mohammad. Lord, grant success to the righteous.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from POEMS FROM Guantánamo Copyright © 2007 by University of Iowa Press. Excerpted by permission.
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