Photo Credit: Shutterstock.com/ Benjamin Haas
May 10, 2013
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He disappeared more than a decade ago, just 18-years-old and
teaching abroad, separated from his family for the first time in life.
His mother and father, sick with worry, heard nothing. For all they knew
he was dead. Then, one day they opened a newspaper and learned their
son was being held in a military prison run by the US of A, accused of –
but never charged with – being an enemy of the state.
Were
Abdurahman al-Shubati a US citizen, his case would be featured on CNN,
his face plastered on television screens next to a graphic listing his
days in prison without trial. Some go-getting entrepreneur would be
selling yellow wristbands with his name and “#solidarity” printed on
them. The president, affecting the right level of empathy for the family
and strong but stately anger toward his captors, would be telling us:
“Never forget” and “There will be justice.”
But
Abdurahman was born in Yemen, which means he's not entitled to all those
rights said to be endowed to us by our creator, at least in the eyes of
the US government. And that means, despite being detained since 2001
and formally cleared of any wrongdoing in 2008, he remains trapped in a
prison cell at Guantanamo Bay, slowly starving to death. A combination
of racism, Islamophobia and simple guilt by association, have caused the
U.S. government to keep him locked up.
Since Barack Obama became US president after pledging to close Guantanamo, which his administration is
now seeking to expand, conditions at the military prison
have only gotten worse.
Prisoners there who were once promised their freedom are complaining of
physical and mental torture. Though he has unilaterally waged war,
Obama has decided that he can't – nay, won't – unilaterally free them.
In fact, the opposite: he
issued an executive order creating
“a formal system of indefinite detention for those held at the US
military prison at Guantanamo Bay.” The Obama administration has
unilaterally decided that dozens of men will never be tried so much as
in a military tribunal because the evidence against them was obtained
through torture, but that they can never be freed because they are
nonetheless deemed “too dangerous.”
Not that the US government is too keen on freeing anyone else, either. A US military committee has
already determined that
Abdurahman, like 57 other Yemenis imprisoned at Guantanamo, should be
returned home; that he spent his 20s in prison for a crime he didn't
commit, and with which he wasn't even charged, much less convicted.
Obama, however, refuses to release the men, ostensibly out of fear they
may seek revenge against their former captors once they return to Yemen.
Understandably, this has created a sense of hopelessness among the 166 people still imprisoned at Guantanamo.
More than 100 of
them are now on a hunger strike. What other option is left for them at
this point? Because of their symbolic act of defiance, however, they are
being tortured even more – “how dare you embarrass us by dying” – with
US personnel force-feeding them to avoid another public relations
problem (the United Nations says the practice is simply “
unjustifiable”).
“Can you imagine what this is like for a mother?” asks Abdurahman's own mom in
an appeal for his freedom.
“To imagine my son in such a loveless place, refusing nourishment to
protest his detention; to think of him being painfully force fed – it
breaks my heart every second of every day. Don’t they realize we are
human beings, not stones?”
As Mothers' Day is celebrated this year in the US, a holiday
with roots in
the fight for peace and justice, Abdurahman and more than a hundred
others never charged with crimes will be sitting in prison cells, alone.
George W. Bush will get to hug his mom. Michelle Obama will get to hug
her children, but the mothers of Guantanamo prisoners don’t get to hug
theirs, ever. The best they can hope for is a phone call every two
months.
In an
1870 appeal to
women of the world, writer and activist Julia Ward Howe – the
originator of the Mother’s Day we celebrate – implored her readers to
not let their children become complicit in the machinery of war and
injustice; to not let them unlearn the lessons they were taught “of
charity, mercy and patience”; to not let them “be trained to injure
others.”
Here in the 21st century, we need to relearn
those lessons and focus on training our children to be instruments of
peace, not oppression. Right now, too many kids of American mothers are
making mothers in other countries cry. We need to teach them that the
practice of compassion and mercy shouldn't stop at one's mailbox or a
country's borders. Mothers overseas are in anguish over the kidnapping
and loss of their children, too.
Charles Davis is an independent journalist based in Los Angeles.
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