Former Guantánamo prisoner asks U.S. to review its founding ideals

Adam's case for habeas corpus was dismissed, but Hamad's continues to await a hearing in the Washington, D.C., district courts. The two men say they will be filing a civil suit seeking compensation for their years in Guantánamo.

On Dec. 5, 2007, the US Supreme Court heard arguments in Boumediene v. Bush, which could affect the dozens of habeas corpus cases of individual Guantánamo detainees. In the case, the Center for Constitutional Rights argued that Guantánamo detainees were entitled to habeas corpus rights, even if they are noncitizens. The court's decision is pending and could come anytime.

At the time of his capture, on July 18, 2002, Hamad says he was neither a soldier nor a terrorist, but an administrator of health services for the World Assembly of Muslim Youth (WAMY), a Saudi-funded charity. Hamad's work included providing medical services to Afghan refugees living around Peshawar. But American suspicion fell on WAMY, because of its outspoken support for militant groups, and because Osama bin Laden's brother, Abdullah, was on its board.

Held and interrogated in a Pakistani prison for six months, Hamad was transferred to Bagram Air Base outside Kabul for two months and then sent to Guantánamo. His treatment was "inhumane," Hamad says. "Every unimaginable transgression was committed," including beatings and torture.

But the methods that hurt Hamad the most were those that were aimed to denigrate Muslim traditions: forced public nudity of prisoners, disrespectful handling of the Koran, and even turning up loud music during the times of prayer.

Hamad's detention, he says, had another consequence. Back home in Khartoum, Hamad's wife – suddenly impoverished without Hamad's salary – struggled to find medicines for their sick daughter, Fida. The young girl died in 2005 at the age of 3.

Like Hamad, Adam – arrested in Peshawar on May 27, 2002, by Pakistani police – says he thinks he was arrested mainly for his Arabic origins. As the director of a Pakistani school for orphans run by the now-banned Jamiat Ihya Al-Turath Al-Islami, Adam says he had nothing to do with militancy, or indeed with the broader missions of the Kuwaiti charity that ran the school.

Asked about the nature of his treatment by Pakistani police, and by Americans at Bagram and Guantánamo, Adam becomes vague. When pressed, he recalls the constant light and noise that deprived him of sleep, beatings, tear gas, pepper spray, attack dogs, the desecration of the Koran, and the "degrading" personal searches in which he was forced to expose himself in front of other men.

"Most of the soldiers there, I doubted they could be from a great nation," Adam says. But sometimes he would meet an educated soldier, who would "deal with us quietly, kindly," until that soldier would be ordered to "change his style of treatment."

And there was the interrogator who, one day, started bringing Adam books from his own collection, books on European history and Western civilization, saying, "I can see you have the mind of a scholar."

Such glimpses of kindness were a source of hope for Adam, but these were overshadowed by the senselessness of his captivity. Adam later found out that US Army judges had decided to release him on Oct. 21, 2005, a decision that would not be carried out until Dec. 11, 2007.

Today, Adam is looking for work in a Sudan he doesn't recognize, seeking a reunion with his Pakistani wife and three children, still living in Peshawar. One daughter, 5-year-old Amina, was born after he was captured and has never seen her father.

Adam and Hamad both say that they hold no grudge against the American people, but want to be sure that Guantánamo and other military detention centers are shut down.

"We know that American society is a good society," Hamad says. "Our religion teaches us to treat those well who treat us badly."

•Leigh Montgomery in Boston contributed to this report

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