ABSTRACT
Sakina Feltane had never allowed herself to cry. Not once in the six years and three months of her husband’s open-ended captivity in a US military prison on a distant Caribbean island. Not until my students and I telephoned to let her know that her husband, Mammar Ameur was aboard a plane bound for their North African homeland did she let her tears fl ood forth as she sobbed uncontrollably. The contrast with her steady composure in our years of collaboration on her husband’s case was stark, and it left me wondering about her tears.
