[Cross posted to Broadsides.org]
I’ve got a nose for suffering – well, in that white-guy American way of suffering, that is. Because it’s all relative. And as much as I’d like to bitch and moan about the goddamn rain that won’t stop, everything was put into perspective over the last day or two as I tended to writing clients and read Murat Kurnaz’s powerful book, “Five Years of My Life, An Innocent Man in Guantanamo.” Like I said, I’ve got a nose for suffering.
Kurnaz, for those who don’t know, was an idealistic German/Turkish young man of 18 years of age who picked a hell of a bad time to seek some international and spiritual enlightening. Kurnaz, you see, grew tired of the partying and mindless pursuits of his peers in October of 2001. Worse, from a strictly timing perspective, Kurnaz decided that a trip to Pakistan and a deep immersion into the lessons of the Koran were in order to jolt him out of the doldrums of his German youth.
In the end, Kurnaz saw more of the world than he wanted, learned more about himself than he ever dreamed of, came face-to-face with the true evils in human nature, and was nothing short of victimized by a U.S.-sanctioned “War on Terror.” Yeah, in a Keystone Cops-like dragnet of racist and paranoid vengeance, Kurnaz was swept up, snatched, and ferreted off to Guantanamo before anyone who bothered to punch, kick and otherwise abuse him took a mere moment of level-headedness to realize he was as innocent as innocent could be. He was seeking peace and enlightenment but he found nothing but an American-made hell.
Remember, these were the not-so-level-headed days of post-9/11 America, where President Bush and his ever so compliant Congress were shelving civil liberties and demanding “the heads” of anyone who looked or felt differently than “us,” where the CIA’s bounty cash was being thrown around to the tune of $5,000 per “terrorist” (read: anyone who merely looked the part), and where Bush’s “dead or alive” edict reached way down into the rank and file of the military he leads, resulting in a de facto suspension of any and all sense of justice or even compassion toward folks like Kurnaz who were only “guilty” of being the wrong color, with the wrong name, in the wrong place, and at the wrong time. Welcome, my friends, to the early days of the War on Terror.
To say that Kurnaz was merely tortured would be an insult to the pain and suffering he went through at the hands of our government. As a five and a half year inmate in the 6×8 foot cells in Guantanamo (and even on his way there), Kurnaz has more disturbing stories of torture than anything I have ever read. He was routinely beaten. He was hung from the ceiling for days. He was waterboarded. He was psychologically-tortured by interrogators who didn’t even speak his German language but spat at him, cursed him, and refused to even consider the truth of his statements that he was merely a young, innocent man. Indeed, logic was – and remains – the first casualty of this “war.”
Here, for example, is one of Kurnaz’s accounts of the torture he endured:
The escort team brought me to one of the tents. There they told me to sit on the ground with my legs stretched out. I didn’t understand and tried to kneel as always. But they said: Sit! Sit down! Then they pushed my legs to the ground. I was to stretch them out. Two soldiers held my feel tight. Others grabbed my hands and pushed on my shoulders so that I could no longer move.
“So, you’re not a terrorist?” one of the interrogators asked. “You’re not from Al Qaeda?”
I could tell from his tone of voice that they were trying a new approach.
“Today we’re going to find out,” said another interrogator.
Did they have a lie detector? I asked myself. The man was holding something in his hands. It looked like two irons that he was rubbing together. Or one of those machines used to revive people who have heart attacks. Before I realized what was happening, I felt the first jolt.
It was electricity. And electroshock.
They put the electrodes to the soles of my feet. There was no way to remain seated. It was as though my body was lifting itself off the ground of its own accord. I felt the electric current running through my entire body. There was a bang. It hurt a lot. I felt warmth, jolts, cramps. My muscles cramped up and quivered. That hurt, too.
“Did you change your mind?”
“What?”
I don’t know how long they held the electrodes to the soles of my feet. It could have been ten or twenty seconds, maybe longer. It felt like an eternity.
“So how is that?”
The man rubbed the electrodes together and again touched them to my feet. Again I felt the cramps, the tremors, the hot pain.
“Funny, huh?”
The electricity crackled like a series of caps being hit with a hammer. They were like bolts of lightening in my ear. If I could look inside my ear, I thought, there would be electricity there – you could see electricity. At the same time, I heard screams.
They were my screams. But it seemed as though they were coming from outside my body, as though I had nothing to do with them. My whole body was quivering.
“Did you change your mind?”
“No, no…”
“Okay, try this!”
I heard myself screaming.
“Do you remember now who you are?”
“No, yes, no…”
“Okay, how about that…”
I heard my heart. It was beating loudly and very strangely. Quickly and then slowly again.
“Do you now Osama?”
“You…Taliban…?”
“…Atta…?”
I could hardly hear the man any more. I thought I was either going to pass our or die. But he always removed the electrodes from my feet. That was the worst thing, knowing that the pain would come again, until you thought there was no way you could take it any more.
I think I passed out. That was probably when they stopped.
Ah, our tax dollars at work.
But the most uplifting aspect of Kurnaz’s story is his never-ending faith in himself and his innocence. He was literally in hell, but kept focused on his salvation and whatever bright light he could sense at the end of this torturous tunnel.
Even more moving is Kurnaz’s refusal to greet the evil he was forced to go face-to-face with everyday with a similar kind of evil. Here, for example, are the harshest words toward Americans that can be found in Kurnaz’s 255-page account of the unspeakable torture he received in our name:
Sleep would have been the only consolation in such a situation. I thought about the American movies I had seen in Bremen. Action flicks and war movies. I used to admire Americans. Now I was getting to know their true nature.
I say that without anger. It’s simply the truth, and I’m not talking about all Americans. But the ones I encountered are terrified of pain. They’re afraid of every little scratch, bacteria, and illness. They’re like little girls, I’d say. If you examine Americans closely, you realize this – no matter how big or powerful they are. But in the movies, they’re always the heroes.
Again, Kurnaz wrote these rather mild words of condemnation after more than 5 years of pure, unadulterated torture at the hands of soldiers representing us, the United States of America. And the only thing he was guilty of was being a young man in the pursuit of a spiritual and international mission of peace.
Eventually – easy for me to say – Kurnaz was released. But not after being lied to, having his lawyers turned away as a result of guards who reported that he “didn’t want to see them” when Kurnaz had no idea that they were even there, and more than five years of living in the closest thing to a metaphorical hell that any us could ever imagine – let alone survive.
Kurnaz’s book should be mandatory reading for any U.S. citizen who seeks to vote this November. We must understand what has been done and is continuing to be done in our nation’s name. And, most importantly, we must demand from those seeking ANY elected office – especially president – to come clean, condemn the atrocities, and promise nothing but an end to this ugly, draconian and – yes – evil chapter to our nation’s story.
In other words, read it. Weep. And then act. Let’s make it the new American way.
Peace.