July/August 2006 Featured Story A Pilgrimage to the Modern Heart of Darkness by Frida Berrigan How can we resist the war on terrorism and respond to its victims? Our faith gives us the courage to ask that question and the tools to answer it – community, prayer, and a process of discernment. In December 2005, a group of friends marched to Guantánamo to visit the prisoners. I was part of that group, and now we are working on a campaign to shut down that modern heart of darkness. We were moved to respond when we learned that the men imprisoned at Guantánamo without charge or recourse had begun a hunger strike – appealing directly to the American people for justice and mercy.
We thought: if those men were being held at Westover or Fort Dix or Dover Air Force Base, we would be there. But they were so far away, shrouded in secrecy and lies on foreign territory, in a country Americans face steep fines for visiting – put there intentionally, to hide their inhuman treatment and their humanity. A new question born of faith emerged: what if we went there? A friend was going to Cuba and agreed to explore the possibilities for us. What he found was discouraging. As they say in Maine, “You can’t get there from here.” The prisoners are on a huge naval base that the United States has occupied since 1905. The base straddles the bay of Guantánamo. It generates 25% of its electricity by windmill. It is home to thousands of U.S. troops. It has a McDonald’s, a golf course, a bowling alley, and an outdoor movie theater, as well as Camp V, Camp Delta, and the other prisons where men from Yemen, Australia, Kuwait, Germany, and other countries are being held.
Lawyers, soldiers, and journalists traveling to Guantánamo fly there directly from a military base in the United States. On the ground, the whole facility is surrounded by a fence, and the far side is dotted with U.S. and Cuban landmines. Another fence, and a belt of Cuban military territory, and then another fence stand between Cuban citizens and the base. The road through the fences and the landmines is guarded by a Cuban military checkpoint, and no one goes through without permission. We held a meeting to review this information and the maps and photos our friend brought back. Oh well, it had been a good idea, some of us thought. Worth a try. But with faith and in community, imagination flourishes. And someone asked: what if we walk? Even if we could not get close to the prison, with each step we could tell the story of how far the Bush administration has gone to hide its torture and abuse of prisoners. With each step, in prayer and pilgrimage, we could aim to bring light and love to that place. Walking would make our attempt and intention – our not getting there – into the story. And at a practical level, walking would give the Cuban government time to respond to us. It would make us transparent and unthreatening. We would camp, and use one car to transport food and water along the way. Mark Twain is said to have remarked that “history does not repeat itself, but it rhymes.” Walking would put us in a long and rich tradition of peace walks – the Salt March, the March to Selma, the Great Peace March.
It was an electrifying meeting, one where we could feel the spirit moving and motivating, soothing fear and kindling faith. On December 7th, our walk began in Santiago de Cuba. Over five days we walked almost 70 miles, camping on the side of the road at night. Sometimes we walked in silence, meditating on the stories of prisoners in Guantánamo. As we walked, Cubans shared greetings, encouragement, and most often incredulous exclamations like “a Guantánamo? Caminando? Es bein lejos!” (“To Guantánamo? Walking? That’s good and far!”) On Sunday, December 11th, after a long day’s walk on a busy road, we came to La Glorieta, a dusty little town near the end of our journey: the Cuban military checkpoint. There we fasted for four days, praying and holding vigil around the clock. We hoped our prayers would cover the remaining miles that separated us from the prisoners. We hoped that by some miracle, they would know we were there. And apparently they did. Many weeks later, we heard from a lawyer for Kuwaiti prisoners at Guantánamo. He wrote: “My guys explicitly asked me to thank you for all you are doing to support them. They really appreciate knowing that some people in the U.S. are standing up for American values. We need to keep pressing for what is right.” We returned to the United States on December 17th. Then the real work began. We committed ourselves to a national campaign to shut down Guantánamo, both as a physical torture chamber and as a symbol of the brutality of American exceptionalism. We began the Christian season of Lent on March 1st by bringing Guantánamo to Washington. Wearing orange jumpsuits and hoods like those of the prisoners, we marched from the Supreme Court to the Capitol to the Justice Department, finishing our witness at the White House. On Good Friday, we went back to the White House and erected a cross with a hooded, orange-jumpsuited figure in the place of Christ. On April 29th, we marched in the United for Peace and Justice demonstration; we displayed a cage holding a prisoner and “Shut Down Guantánamo” signs. Then on May 1st we traveled to New York. With Clergy and Laity Concerned about Iraq, we went to the U.S. mission to the United Nations, calling on John Bolton to support the U.N. calls to close the prison. We have developed a one-page fact sheet and made thousands of (sweatshop-free, hand-printed) orange T-shirts that we are selling to support our organizing efforts. On our Web site (www.witnesstorture.org), we have instructions on how to build a Guantánamo cage – a prop we have found very useful, since it affects people deeply. We participated this June in Torture Awareness Month, all the while doing public education and organizing to make what is happening at Guantánamo visible and to ignite both outrage and action. I have always struggled with what it means to be a Roman Catholic. As we walked to visit the prisoners at Guantánamo, I felt cupped in the hands of God. I got the sense that when one heeds the calls of gospel and community, that is how you feel.
Frida Berrigan, a board member of the War Resisters League, is part of Witness Against Torture: A Campaign to Shut Down Guantánamo. She is also a senior research associate at the World Policy Institute’s Arms Trade Resource Center.
©2006 Fellowship of Reconciliation
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