Jackson: Here’s a wild thought. The U.S. government consistently described the men at Guantánamo Bay as the "worst of the worst." Yet, when dozens of these cases finally made it to federal court, judges ordered the release of nearly 75% of them. Olivia: That is a staggering gap between accusation and fact. It makes you wonder, what was happening in that void? What was the reality on the ground for those men, held for years without charge? Jackson: Exactly. It’s a black box. Most of us will never know. Olivia: But one man, Mohamedou Ould Slahi, wrote it all down. Today, we’re diving into his incredible and harrowing book, Guantánamo Diary. Jackson: And the story of how this book even exists is a testament to his spirit. Olivia: It’s truly astounding. Slahi wrote this entire 466-page manuscript by hand, in English—which was his fourth language, a language he largely learned while in U.S. custody. For nearly eight years after he wrote it, the government classified the entire thing as 'SECRET,' trying to bury it. Jackson: Wow. So he’s essentially learning the language of his captors to tell a story they don't want told. That alone is an act of defiance. Olivia: It’s the ultimate act of defiance. And it sets the stage for everything that follows. His story, or at least the part he details first in the book, begins not with an accusation, but with a complete and total sensory assault.

Jackson: A sensory assault? What do you mean by that? Olivia: I mean the process of his rendition. In July 2002, he’s taken from a Jordanian prison, where he’d been held for months, and handed over to an American team. He describes being blindfolded and shackled, but it’s the smaller details that are so chilling. They strip him naked, conduct a cavity search, and then dress him in a giant diaper. Jackson: A diaper? Hold on, he's a grown man. What is the possible justification for that? Olivia: He asks the same question in his diary. There’s no practical reason. He’s on a short flight. The only logical conclusion is that it’s about pure humiliation. It’s the first step in a systematic process of infantilization and dehumanization. They put him on this freezing cold plane, with earmuffs blasting static and blacked-out goggles over his eyes. He can’t see, he can’t hear, he can’t move. He is completely powerless. Jackson: That sounds like something out of a psychological horror film. The silence of the team you mentioned feels almost more terrifying than if they were shouting at him. Was that a deliberate tactic? Olivia: Absolutely. He describes them as a silent, professional team. This wasn't random cruelty; it was a calculated procedure. This was the start of what would later be known as the "special interrogation plan," a set of techniques approved at the highest levels of government, by officials like Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. The goal was to disorient and break down a detainee's sense of self before the real interrogation even began. Jackson: So it’s psychological demolition. They’re trying to unmake him as a person before they even ask him a question. Olivia: Precisely. And it’s filled with this layer of profound absurdity. When he arrives at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan, he’s interrogated by a German-speaking agent. At the end of the session, the agent tells him, in German, "Wahrheit macht frei"—"The truth sets you free." Jackson: Wait a minute. That’s a variation of "Arbeit macht frei," the slogan over the gates of Auschwitz. Olivia: He knew it, too. Slahi is incredibly well-educated. He recognized the historical echo immediately. It was a clear, chilling message: we are in control, and the normal rules of justice, history, and morality do not apply here. This wasn't about finding truth; it was about demonstrating absolute power. Jackson: That’s terrifying. It’s one thing to be brutal, but it’s another to be brutal with that kind of dark, historical irony. It feels like a very deliberate form of psychological warfare. Olivia: It was. And it continued for years. He was subjected to sleep deprivation, extreme temperatures, death threats, threats against his mother, and even a mock kidnapping where he was taken out on a boat, beaten, and forced to drink saltwater to make him believe he was being rendered to another country for even worse torture. Jackson: But surely there has to be an official security reason for these things, right? They can't just be doing it for the sake of being cruel. Olivia: That was always the official line, that these were "enhanced interrogation techniques" necessary for national security. But as Slahi’s diary and countless declassified documents have shown, the line between security and torture became nonexistent. The system wasn't designed to get reliable information. In fact, under this kind of duress, people will say anything. The system was designed to produce confessions, true or not. Jackson: It’s like they’re trying to gaslight him on an industrial scale. To break his connection with reality so completely that he’ll just give them whatever narrative they want. Olivia: Exactly. They wanted to create a blank slate, a person so broken they could write any story they wanted onto him. The entire system was an architecture of dehumanization. Jackson: Okay, so you have this massive, state-sponsored machine designed to erase a person. A system with a budget, a methodology, and high-level approval. How does anyone even begin to fight back? You can't physically overpower them. What's left?

Olivia: That’s the most profound part of the book. Slahi's resistance wasn't physical. It was intellectual, psychological, and deeply paradoxical. After months of enduring this torture and maintaining his innocence, he has a realization. They don't want the truth. They want a story. Jackson: A story that fits their pre-written script. Olivia: Yes. They already believe he's a major al-Qaeda operative. Every denial he makes is just proof that he’s a hardened, well-trained liar. So, he makes a strategic decision. He says to his interrogators, "If you’re ready to buy, I am selling." Jackson: Whoa. So he starts confessing? Doesn't that just prove their case and dig him into a deeper hole? Olivia: You would think so, but that’s the genius of his approach. He starts giving them exactly what they want to hear, but he does it in such an elaborate, detailed, and sometimes over-the-top way that he exposes the absurdity of their entire investigation. He fabricates a wild plot to blow up the CN Tower in Toronto. He weaves in details he knows they're looking for, connecting dots for them that don't actually exist. Jackson: It’s like he's a programmer who realizes the system is full of bugs, so he starts feeding it junk data until it crashes. He's hacking his own interrogation. Olivia: That’s a perfect analogy. He’s taking back a measure of control. He’s no longer just a passive victim of their narrative; he’s now the author of it. And the most incredible part? It works. His treatment improves. They see him as a valuable, cooperative asset. He even manages to pass a polygraph test while telling these fabricated stories. Jackson: That’s unbelievable. He essentially outsmarted a system designed to crush his mind. But what about the moral cost? He's lying, he's implicating people. Olivia: He struggles with that immensely, especially when they pressure him to invent stories about other detainees. He describes it as a terrible burden. But in his situation, it was a survival strategy. He realized that truth had no currency in Guantánamo. The only thing that mattered was satisfying the interrogators' hunger for a narrative of guilt. Jackson: So his resistance was to become the best liar in the room. That completely flips the script on what we think of as heroic defiance. Olivia: It does. But his resistance wasn't just strategic. It was also deeply human. Amidst all this horror, he finds ways to connect with people. He develops friendships with some of his guards. There's a wonderful story about a female guard who studied biology and helps him start a small garden. He teases her when she gives him bad advice about using soap to kill crickets, and she helps him with his English pronunciation. Jackson: A garden in Guantánamo. That feels like the most potent symbol of hope you could imagine. Olivia: It is. It’s these small moments of shared humanity that show the system’s failure. They could control his body, his food, his sleep, but they couldn't extinguish his ability to see the person inside the uniform, or prevent them from seeing the person in him. His wit, his faith, his intellect—these were things they couldn't redact. Jackson: Which brings us back to the book itself. The act of writing it all down, in his fourth language, page by page, knowing it would be read by his censors… that’s the ultimate act of resistance. Olivia: It’s the ultimate act of reclamation. He’s taking back his own story, on his own terms. He’s refusing to be erased.

Jackson: So after all this, after 14 years of this nightmare, he’s finally released in 2016. What's the final message of the book? Is it a story of despair? Is it a call for revenge? Olivia: It's quite the opposite, and that’s what makes it so powerful. The book is shockingly, almost miraculously, devoid of bitterness. In his author's note, written after his release, he says he holds no grudge against anyone he mentions. He says he dreams of one day sitting down with all of them, his interrogators and guards included, around a cup of tea to learn from one another. Jackson: That’s… I don’t even have words for that. That level of grace is almost incomprehensible. Olivia: It is. And I think the ultimate takeaway isn't just about the specific horrors of Guantánamo. It's a deeper insight into power and resilience. The book shows that a system built on lies, fear, and dehumanization is ultimately fragile. It’s inefficient, it’s absurd, and it’s self-defeating. It couldn't get the truth, and it couldn't erase the spirit of the man it was trying to break. Jackson: The diary itself is the proof. It’s the evidence that they failed to silence him. Olivia: Exactly. The book is the final word. It outlasted the interrogations, the censorship, and the imprisonment. It’s a permanent record of not just what was done to him, but of the person who endured it. Jackson: It makes you wonder, what is it within a person that can endure that kind of systematic erasure and come out with not just sanity, but with grace? It's an incredible question to reflect on. Olivia: It truly is. And it’s a question that stays with you long after you finish the last page. Jackson: We’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Slahi’s story is a difficult one, but it’s also profoundly inspiring. Find us on our socials and share what resonated most with you. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.