There Is a Man Under That Hood

THERE'S A MAN UNDER THAT HOOD
I am hungry. It is the third day of a 12 day liquids-only fast. I am in the company of about 40 other fasters whose spirit and commitment keep me going. Our purpose also keeps me going We are trying to bring justice to the remaininng 173 Muslim detainees at Guantanamo Bay Prison who are being held indefinitely by our government, some already cleared for release others not yet charged with any crime. And they're not the only ones. We know that there are at least 600 men in detention --without access to lawyers -- at Bagram Air Force base in Afghanistan and some others at secret sites around the world.
In our criminal-justice system people in prison are supposed to have done something wrong, told what they did, and given a trial to determine if they are guilty. Not that that system runs perfectly. Not that it isn't sometimes arbitrary and unjust, but with a good lawyer, you can hope for justice. The men at Guantanamo Military tribunals have cleared 90 of them for release, but they are still there. The others, although given the right of habeas corpus by our Supreme Court back in 2008, are still there, still without being charged with anything and still without access to a trial.
So we in Witness Against Torture are bearing witness to their suffering by fasting, vigiling, processing slowly through the streets of Washington in orange jumpsuits and black hoods, lobbying and risking arrest. Here's what that feels like:
Today (January 13) the temperature was around 35 degrees in the sun, but about 20 degrees when the wind blew. I had on my down jacket and long underwear under the jumpsuit but my fingers were cold until Matt handed out hand-warmers. Our group of about 40 vigiled outside a Federal District court where the ACLU was getting a preliminary hearing on the case of Ali v Rumsfeld. (Guess who is the criminal in this case.) Having been barred from entering the courthouse (we think illegally), we stood still or walked slowly in a circle. Standing still made my lower back ache, and holding my hands behind my back made my shoulders ache. So there I am, cold, hungry and aching and wondering how long this would last before our leadership would announce that it was time to stop that particular action. Under my black hood, hands behind me, I couldn't be looking at my watch, and being part of a solemn, silent and purposeful vigil, I couldn't just sit down or walk off.
While I am standing, I start to think trivial thoughts- like needing to remember to cut the nail I broke this morning. When I catch my mind wandering aimlessly like that, I attempt to focus myself. I think about the people I usually pray for every day. That feels worthwhile, but doesn't last long before I have strayed back into trivia. Then I think about the men at Guantanamo and the horrible journeys they have been on from capture to torture to indefinite imprisonment. I have seen documentaries showing their ordeals, which remind me of the pictures that came out of Abu Greib prison in Iraq a few years ago.
I am cold, but they were colder, with no warm clothing, no blankets and sometimes tortured by having cold water poured over them. My shoulders ache, but they were tied in stress positions, or made to stand against a wall with their arms shackled over their heads their feet barely touching the floor, for hours on end. I am hungry, but they were hungry and then fed such filthy food that they went on a hunger strike. If they persisted, they were force fed by a tube through the nose, sometimes overfed so that they were bloated, and then the tube would be yanked out causing pain. I am under a hood through which I can see dimly, but they were put under purposely foul-smelling, very thick hoods that made them feel like they were suffocating. I wish this standing in the cold would be over-- knowing it will be, but these men never knew when their torture session would be over and now don't know when or if they will ever be released. Our fasting is an act of solidarity with their suffering.
Of these 173 men, 90 have been cleared for release by their captors. But they are not released. Fifty-eight of them are from Yemen, and President Obama has signed an order that no more men be released to Yemen...because the Christmas bomber was trained there. So far no other country has offered to take these men. The other 31 cleared men are also waiting for a country to take them, because the U.S. has passed a law against receiving them here. Forty-eight detainees have been designated as too dangerous to release - ever. Does that mean that they have been tried and found guilty of horrific crimes? No, it means they are being held without charge or trial - most likely because we have tortured them so badly, that we dare not set them free. That leaves 33 detainees who have had or will have a military commissions trial, a highly discredited substitute for justice.
A poet from New York City's "Peace Poets" named Luke recited a very moving poem he wrote-- and I hope to post as soon as I get a copy -- in front of the Department of Justice where we were temporarily blocking the entrance. It's title and repeated refrain is, "There is a man under that hood," and that is what we want our government to recognize. Personally, I fear for my country when it carries out policies like indefinite detention and will not prosecute those who have been proven to have authorized torture. We must see that there are men under those hoods, men who should be treated humanely and justly.
We fast and protest for justice because our country is in a moral, and some would say a constitutional crisis, where the loss of civil and human rights for one group is a slippery slope for us all.