Chapter 4
As we walked into the meeting room, Hussein’s anger was a toxic presence. He was sitting, arms folded across his chest, his right leg pumping up and down so rapidly that the chain between his ankles made a loud clanking sound. He didn’t stand. No handshakes. No greetings. I sat across from Hussain, Mohammed to my right, and Carter to my left. Fredricks next to Carter. Hussain glared.
I nodded. Asked, “Did you sleep well
“What do you care?” Angry Arabic with a rapid translation. But the attitude was so obvious no translation was necessary.
I responded that, “If we work together, we need to care about and for each other.”
After Mohammed translated this, there was a rapid response to Mohammed, and the conversation in Arabic continued for a couple of minutes. Mohammed turned to me and said,“He does have some questions, but he says he does not believe you will tell him the truth. So he says if you are going to lie, why ask?
“What are your questions?”
More back and forth in Arabic “How can you as a Jew defend me, a freedom fighter against the US and Israeli incursions into our lives?”
I tried to look directly into his eyes. I told him that I was not religious, although I am proud that I am Jewish. I don’t know if you are a terrorist. That is what the government of the United States says. But the government often lies.”
He responded, “Suppose I did much of what they say I did. Suppose I helped with the attack? What then?”
I explained that in our system, the prosecution had to prove his guilt. If they could not do that, then he should go free. And if he did lead the attack, we would try to understand why he did that. To try to save his life. I was unsure if he understood.
He stood and took a step back, which was all the chains around his ankles would allow. The clanking of the heavy chains rattled and changed the room.
“I just don’t know if I can trust a Jew.”
Fuck this. “Would you like me to leave?” Before he could answer, Mohammed began speaking with him in hurried Arabic.
After a few minutes of back and forth, Mohammed said. “I’ve told him he should ask you more questions before he rejects you. That he is being unfair.”
More back and forth. Mohammed turned.“Is your wife Jewish?”
“My wife is not Jewish.”
More chatter, and then, “What religion is she?”
“Christian. Although she is also not observant.”
He sat silently and then resumed with Mohammed. Finally, another question,
“Do you have Muslim friends?”
“No. Not a lot of Muslims in my town.”
“Do you know the Koran?”
“Only what I learned preparing to meet you. I generally know the five pillars of Islam. I know the American notion of Jihad is incorrect. I know many Americans’ opinions of Islam are wrong.”
“How can you say that?”
“Well, Islam is not about violence or killing; it is about grace and love. Some believe that proper support of Islam is violent, but that is like some Christians think killing is proper to support Christianity.”
“But,” He shook his head. “Perhaps I am a freedom fighter. I am Muslim. How can you, as a Jew, defend me? Understand my concerns?”
I shrugged. “My ability to understand your concerns has nothing to do with my religion. I need you to teach me about your concerns and why you fought. If we understand, we can do our best to explain your concerns to the court. But you will have to teach all of us, and we will do our best to learn from you.”
“And do you know what the US did to me?”
“Not any details. When you are comfortable, we’ll talk about that.”
He and Mohammed then had a long conversation. I assumed they were talking about me and my religion by the way they glanced at me and used what I assumed to be the Arabic word for Jew. But the longer it went on, the more the thought crystalized - If you don’t want me as your lawyer, it’s your loss.
Mohammed turned from Hussain and to my surprize said, “We should go now.”
“Why?” I asked. “We’ve not been here long.”
Mohammed smiled. “Trust me.”
As we stood, and Husain nodded, “I need to think about things. Will I see you tomorrow?
“If you wish, we will come back.”
A nod and, “Inshallah.”
As we drove away, Mohammed was smiling as he said, “I think this problem is over.“
Fredricks asked, “Why do you say that?”
“I told him Mr. Connor is one of the best lawyers I’ve seen, and he should be grateful you are willing to work on his case.”
I laughed, “You hardly know me and you’ve never seen me in court. How can you tell him that?”
“Ah, but Mr. Connor, we are a team.”
And while I doubted that al-Yemeni had any real trust in us, for the first time since I’d met these lawyers, I thought we might become a team.
But even as that thought flitted across my mind, I noticed Fredricks looking out the window with blank eyes and a scowl.
For the next several months, we went to see Hussain once a month for three or four days at a time. He continued to be volatile, although the outbursts were less frequent.
Somehow, Carter and Fredricks worked some magic and got the prison to transport him without being blindfolded. They were vague about how they got it done. Fredricks only said, “Sometimes you have to ask in the right way.”
There were rumors about a case of scotch, but I’d learned a long time ago that often it’s best not to ask.
But after he was no longer blindfolded, Hussain would occasionally smile when he came into the meeting room. And in time, he greeted us with handshakes and then, every so often hugs.