Holdbrooks - Traitor?

.

Disclaimer: All names except the prisoners and Terry Holdbrooks have been changed to protect the safety and security of those soldiers still serving in the armed forces. Some individuals with names attributed to them are in fact combinations of different nameless soldiers who shared common characteristics.

ISBN 10: 1481849131

ISBN 13: 978-1481849135

eBook ISBN: 978-1-63002-672-1

LCCN: 2013908287

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

North Charleston, SC

.

Table of Contents

.

Foreword

The example of Islam is like that of a beautifully-scented, colorful tree because when grown it develops many things that people come to benefit from like shade, fruit, unique scents and beautiful colors to enjoy. Now imagine if this tree, every time it began to grow, was crushed and uprooted, and people were told to be careful of it, for it was a harmful, poisonous tree and if it grew it would even destroy them from its poisonous essence; eventually people would grow accustomed to staying away from it without seeing its beauty or benefits, and those who lost out would lose out, and the ones who stay away would never come back to the trees beauty. However, a soldier known as Holdbrooks was to hear about this tree, and to ask for its benefits in the worst of places, where no tree or plant ever grows, only hostility and hatred between people, in a place called Guantanamo Bay. The prisoners orange suits and chains did not stop Holdbrooks from becoming close to the prisoners and discussing Islam with them. He was brave in his approaches, in his questioning; I was amazed by his free mind, which was not like mine, his logic, and clear mind was not confused with false claims and prejudices. The arrogance and love of power over prisoners did not overtake him like it overtook many other soldiers; instead he grew to detest the abuses, for he saw what his other colleagues didnt see, and found what the other guards didnt find, and he was adamant to continue his search because he loved the description of the tree, and saw its effect amongst the prisoners, he wanted to own the tree, and wanted the tree to own him. It is the happiness that overcomes the sinful lost servant when he finds the forgiving, kind Lord waiting for him.

Ahmed Errachidi (Formerly Detainee 590 The General)

.

Traitor?

.

Of all places to have a tickle of laughter in my throat, this was most inappropriate. For all intents and purposes, I should have been very somber, very sad and very angry. This was, I now know, the expected mood. On a sunny day in June, standing in front of the two-year old ruins at the World Trade Center in New York City, with my fellow soldiers standing all around me, I let out a small laugh. In my defense, something I had just read was cause for amusement. It was also something that set the tone for my time at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba (GTMO).

This is the greatest tragedy to happen to all of mankind.

This sentence was scrawled on the wall where citizens wrote quotations or words of condolence, or listed the names of family members that had been lost in the attack. At this point, all members of my company were standing quietly in our civilian clothes, somberly reading the comments other Americans had left on the wall. This visit was part of the training we received in preparation for our time at GTMO. Upon reading it I pointed, chuckled, and declared: This wasnt even close to the worst tragedy to happen to mankind! I expected at least some smiles, perhaps a nod and maybe even a fellow chuckler.

On the contrary, every eye narrowed; someone even hissed. My bemused reaction to the statement obviously was not shared. Feeling the need to explain myself further, I remarked how incredibly ignorant the writer was of history, of wars and of genocides, of oppression by any dominant regime. The author of that comment, declaring the attack of 9/11 to be the greatest tragedy, revealed a thorough lack of awareness of contemporary history. My explanation met with neither understanding nor change in attitude. Blank, angry stares, admonishment and a question about my allegiance all followed my futile attempt at a history lesson.

Remember, these are not people! These are hate-filled, evil, terrorist dirt farmers, and they will stop at nothing to kill you! NEVER FORGET THIS! NEVER FORGET 9/11! NEVER FORGET WHY WE ARE FIGHTING! my superior officers decried.

Their position clarified, I was roundly chastised for expressing my view about the certain tragedy in New York City. I realized then and there that my career in the military was not going to be demonstrated, as I had assumed, by becoming a better American citizen. It was not going to be found in improving the lives of my fellow citizens. It was going to manifest itself in being at war with strangers from across the sea and sand, considering them as enemies while knowing nothing about them, and getting back at them for a crime that was ascribed to them without substantial evidence. I did not take to heart their defamations then but kept it under advisement; I did learn to keep my liberal opinions to myself, and to toe the line. It was part of the training, and a part of the routine of every single day during my time at GTMOto be reminded of this message of retaliation. It was very important to my senior officers that those under their charge never forget about the World Trade Centers destruction and the demise of its occupants. Their calumny was squared against me (of all people) since the actual event, when it occurred, was to me just another news anecdote, blown out of proportion by the media.

Prior to September 2001, I recall there werent as many American-flag bumper stickers, nor vocal patriots, nor Support our Troops propaganda in the United States as were apparent after that date. I recall with wonder the fuss made about 9/11. I had come home late from an evening of playing pool and drinking with friends, and just wanted to go to bed. Before the effects of the evening had worn off, my grandmother woke me to come watch the news on TV.

Who cares, let me sleep please, I replied. However, in my grandparents home, where watching the news was done more religiously than attending church and special news reports warranted vigils, I was not allowed the comfort of my bed. I sat in front of the TV beside my grandmother, watching the same footage over and over and over: boom!boom!boom!the plane hitting the first tower on repeat. Well, this is really fascinating, but I would like to go back to bed now for a little while, I commented, returning to my room. Within moments of lying back down, the second tower was hit.

She woke me up a second time, and I then had to endure some of the most ridiculous noise that I had ever heard come from the news channels.

This is the end of the world!, This is the beginning of World War Three! and even Aliens have taken control of our planes and are diverting them into towers! were some of the incredible commentary allotted for newscasters nationally. Again, I thought to myself: no big deal, it was two planes. Oh, well. The news media were always reporting about some kind of violent attack. Annoyed by the hysteria and the bizarre conclusions of the news mediashooting in the deep dark about the reasons or motivations of the attackers of the World Trade CenterI shut off every TV in the house.

For the rest of that day and those following, I tried in vain to escape the news of the attacks. However, anyone who can remember that day clearly must recall how nearly impossible it was to avoid the medias unconditional immersion in it. Stopping first at a local coffee shop, I saw that the news was playing on all three televisions, prompting all in the shop to discuss it incessantly. I then moved on to have some work done on my truck; the only television in the waiting room had the same footage playing repeatedly, accompanied by the same random, ludicrous guessing as to the cause.