Being sick sucks. You’ve a headache, every part of your body hurts and you cannot focus on anything really serious. This is why, to boost up my immune system and kick out the flu, I decided that I needed a good superhero movie: The Avengers. I didn’t know what I was stepping into.
One of them hit me hard across the face, and quickly put the goggles on my eyes, earmuffs on my ears, and a small bag over my head. I couldn’t tell who did what. They tightened the chains around my ankles and my wrists; afterwards, I started to bleed. All I could hear was _____ cursing, “F-this and F-that!” I didn’t say a word, I was overwhelmingly surprised, I thought they were going to execute me.
Ours is a season in which, more than ever, we need a face, a name and a personal struggle to be able to take a strong position on a topic. We can take to the streets and show outrage only if we “fall in love” with someone’s story, even if he or she is not the only one in that situation.
In such a season, here comes The Guardian, with its serialization of the Guantanamo Diary, a memoir written by Mohamedou Ould Slahi, prisoner number 760 in the US detention centre of Guantanamo, since 2002.