Why I Am On Hunger Strike In Solidarity With Pal Action Detainees
I know this road. I have its map etched into my bones. I carry scars that won’t heal without justice, without accountability.
I learned it in Guantanamo, when the only thing I could control was my own body.
We were disappeared. Isolated. Forced into silence. Our words were redacted. Our letters were stamped secret. Lawyers were blocked. Time stretched and rotted. No court dates were given. No real charges were made.
I was reduced to a number in an orange uniform, locked in a metal cage. The US government had already named me. “The worst of the worst.” “Terrorist.” “Enemy combatant.” Labels designed to make torture sound necessary.