the Shackle Report

ACLU Reveals Secret Interrogation Project

by Scot Crawford

(Off the Chain temporarily suspends its coverage of the Gitmo situation in order to bring you this special report.)

The ACLU today announced that it has been engaged in a project to obtain information from captured terrorists, unbeknownst to the Pentagon or the State Department.

The project, code named “Operation Be Nice”, was begun in secret in January of 2004, and, according to the president of the ACLU, Ms. Nagabe Lafarza-Smith, has proved an unmitigated success. “We wanted to be sure it would work before we told anyone. Now, we can say without reservation that our methods work. Mr. Rumsfeld? Take a memo!”

The story begins with the capture of a high-level Al Qaeda operative in Pakistan in 2004 by the ACLU’s top-secret, crack kidnapping team, the FLIPPERS, which is an acronym for; Foppish, Licentious, Independent, Pompous, Pious, Educated, Retrieval Squad.

“The FLIPPERS are less well-known than the SEALS, or the Delta Force, but, believe me, they are a highly-trained, effective force with an impressive record of improving the civil rights of not only the oppressed of the world, but of the global community as a whole,” says Ms. Lafarza-Smith.

Prior to 2004, the FLIPPERS were primarily used for secret missions into the darker regions of the globe, such as parachuting into the Congo to provide an abortion for a woman who had been raped by her son’s infant child, or airlifting prisoners who had been charged with no crime out of some of the nastier prisons around the world.

“Charles Taylor? Edi Amin? They lived in terror of the FLIPPERS. And for good reason,” says Ms. Lafarza-Smith. “There were moments when it seem like the FLIPPERS were on the verge of spreading fairness like wildfire throughout the world. If it weren’t for Operation Enduring Freedom, they could have brought the rule of law to everyone, one victim at a time. But, now…”

Indeed, it was the Iraq war that spurred Lafarza-Smith to expand the role of the ACLU into the shadowy world of secret interrogation. Ms. Lafarza-Smith: “Getting used to all the shadows was hard, but I could see that the Abu Ghraib scandal, and Guantanamo Bay, were going to expose the limitations of beatings, electric shocks, prolonged exposure, Palistinian hanging, and psychological torment. I decided we had to do something.”

What was that something? A four-man crew of FLIPPERS, operating on information secretly obtained from the Pakistani Council on Concealing Members of Al Qaeda, undertook a daring night raid on an Al Qaeda safehouse, in which it was believed operatives of the terrorist network were being hidden. After a viscious exchange of some tollhouse cookies for fresh-baked poori, the FLIPPERS managed to get out with Muhammed al Muhammed, Osama bin Laden’s Minister of Foreign Cuisine.

Ms. Lafarza-Smith: “We were ecstatic. We were thinking at most the Minister of Fake Passports, or maybe just a driver, or the laundry guy. But the Minister of Foreign Cuisine? Jackpot! At first he resisted; one of my FLIPPERS took a spatula in the snout. But when Mr. Muhammed got a taste of those Pepperidge Farm cookies, oh, he started to be more flexible.”

Like something out of a John Le Carre cookbook, the FLIPPERS whisked Muhammed al Muhammed (now code-named Mr. Mud) around the world, via many modes of transportation, including, ironically, a nighttime ride on some actual dolphins through the Port of Oman to elude a team of SEALS who came flopping around, apparently trying to acquire the same target.

Ms. Lafarza-Smith: “It got dicey let me tell you. My FLIPPERS were about ready to whip out their waterproof, pocket Constitutions and start reading the Bill of Rights to those SEALS. But, with the help of our seagoing pals, we made our escape. Sometimes I think animals know just a little bit more than us people.”

After a harrowing ordeal, often going without food for hours, and sometimes flying coach, the team of Flippers finally managed to bring Mr. Mud to their own secret safehouse in Greenwich Village, New York City.

Ms. Lafarza-Smith: “We were first considering hiding him in Kansas, you know, thinking maybe Mr. Mud might need a gradual transition. Going straight from the Taliban to Greenwich Village, you know, that could be quite a shock. He might have just cracked, and become a gibbering fool. But then we decided that we didn’t have much time, so we decided to put him through the Cuisinart right off. Anyway, he’s the Foreign Cuisine Minister. The food in Kansas would have killed him outright, before we could even get any information out of him. The word “foreign” doesn’t begin to cover the crap those people eat. I mean, they may as well just have a tube that runs from their asshole to their mouth, it’d be healthier.”

The task of the FLIPPERS now complete, the work of acquiring information began. “We knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” says Ms. Lafarza-Smith. “What we were about to attempt had never been tried in all the history of warfare. I know that’s hard to believe, but it’s true: no one had ever tried just being nice, and sharing our good things with the enemy, and letting them explore their creative side in non-violent ways. We were pretty nervous! I mean, it could be that it had never been tried because, well, it won’t work!”

For this part of the project, the ACLU brought in their specially-trained crack group of drunken poets, psychologists, sanctimonious liberal pundits, and left wing ideologues, known as MUFFINS, to break Mr. Mud. Ms. Lafarza-Smith: “We heard the Pentagon was using Behavioral Science Consultation Teams for interrogations, called ‘BISCUITS’ for short, so we came up with ‘MUFFIN’ teams. ‘MUFFIN’ doesn’t really stand for anything, though, we just like the way it sounds. And it makes for nice associations in a detainee’s mind…you know, ‘fresh-baked muffins’…’Mom’…’snow days from school.’ We were going to go with ‘APPLE PIE’ teams, but we thought that would be too American-sounding for a fresh detainee! You know, like, they hate us, remember?! But everybody likes ‘MUFFINS.’”

At first, things did not go well. Mr. Mud went on a hunger strike for almost an entire morning, but, he submitted when the aroma of Turkish coffee and fresh croissants from Dean and Deluca filled the interrogation cell. “Yes,” laughed Ms. Lafarza-Smith, “that little tactic didn’t last too long! I mean, you know, this isn’t Paris, so the croissants aren’t the best, but still, compared to the dirt croissants in Kabul, New York isn’t half bad! And the freshly pressed cloth napkins, with the nice cafe table we got special from that little antique place on ************St, put right next to the window in his cell so he could look out over ********** St. …well, he started to soften up pretty fast.”

Indeed, the tactics of the MUFFINS: good food, cable TV, drawing pad, The New York Times, Internet access (no e-mail, of course) his own special table at the coffee place on *******Ave. where the people came to know him and even refer to him as Mr. Mud, kind, earnest conversation, worked with surprising speed. Ms. Lafarza-Smith: “He started talking so much we had to record him in shifts. Sometimes, he’d wake us up at night because he just thought of something, like which blogs bin Laden prefers, or, which foreign cuisine he favors, or which type of airliner he feels blows up most spectacularly. He was a treasure-trove of information. And when we brought him over to the White Horse Tavern for a few belts, man, it was like an oil gusher! Oops, probably shouldn’t have given that location away…”

However, it wasn’t long before Mr. Mud started to show signs of discontent and agitation. He began sleeping long hours, not drawing, sighing, not speaking for days at a time. Soon, he didn’t even want to go out to the ****** ***** Tavern for a beer. “We were baffled,” says Ms. Lafarza-Smith. “Even the folks at the coffee shop noticed a change. Everything had been going so well. We had a novel-length report we were preparing to turn in to the State Department in return for their assurances that they would immediately cease and desist torturing people. Then, he just clammed up. We didn’t know what to do. I shouldn’t say this, but some of the MUFFINS were talking about slapping him around, or taking his laptop. That’s when I put my foot down and sent in Dr. Alrightnow, our best psychiatrist.”

It wasn’t long before Dr. Alrightnow had Mr. Mud sobbing in his lap. It turned out that Mr. Mud was bored. And he had no purpose in life anymore, and that was affecting his sense of autonomy, and his natural ambition was not being directed in a positive way. He had lost his identity. He was also having issues with betrayal. Try as he might, he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was betraying bin Laden, the man who had taken him from a backwater bureacrat’s job pushing walls over on people for the Taliban, and put him in foreign cities eating fine food and casing restaurants for possible suicide bomber attacks. Now, he was no more than a very comfortable nobody.

“We felt so stupid,” said Ms. Lafarza-Smith. “How could we not see it, being career-oriented, driven, Western people? It was so simple.”

The MUFFINS sprung into action. Soon, they had Mr. Mud interviewing for a manager’s position for the new Housing Works Bookstore opening on ********* St. He got the job.

Ms. Lafarza-Smith: “We had to tinker with his resume a little, you know. We couldn’t really put down ‘Al Qaeda member’ in the ‘previous position’ space, and we couldn’t quite put ‘kidnapped by a FLIPPER team’ in the ‘reason for leaving previous position’ spot, but we patched something together, and with Mr. Mud’s natural charisma, he had them eating out of his palm in no time. And it didn’t hurt that by this time his English was perfect. He even knew how to use slang properly.”

There remained only dealing with his betrayal issues. The MUFFINS baked over that for a long time. “Even Dr. Alrightnow was stumped,” says Ms. Lafarza-Smith. “I mean, Mr. Mud did betray bin Laden. But, how could we convince him that bin Laden was a murdering bastard who deserved not only to be betrayed, but to have every last one of his civil rights savagely revoked? Mr. Mud’s natural sense of loyalty was betraying him, ironically.”

Finally, the MUFFINS hit on a plan. As usual, it was a simple idea, which was why it had eluded the collection of brilliant people that is the MUFFINS. In fact, it was Mr. Mud himself that gave them the idea, though not on purpose.

“He so loved his cell phone, even though we couldn’t let him actually call anyone, for obvious reasons. But, he would dial, and pretend he was talking to people, and play games, and take photos of himself that he couldn’t send to anyone. It was very sweet, and touching. Then, it was totally like, a eureka moment: let him call bin Laden! Tell him what’s going on! Explain himself. Free himself of this enormous guilt. Catharsis! Closure!”

And that’s what happened. Mr. Mud called Osama bin Laden. The following is a transcript of a recording of Mr. Mud’s side of that conversation. Mr. bin Laden’s side was not recorded on the request of Mr. Mud. He did however divulge bin Laden’s cell phone number, and in the interests of transparency, the ACLU has agreed to let the Shackle Report print it: 1-I’M-NOT-DEAD.

the phone call:

“H-Hi, Osama? It’s Muhammed…

Hi…Hi…Okay, yeah, I’m okay…

Yeah…Yeah…I know…

No, no, it’s my fault, totally, I was supposed to check in, and, well…yeah, some things came up…

well, see, that’s, you know, kinda what I wanted to talk to you about…

oh, really? Wow, that sucks. Are they ok? I guess you wouldn’t know…

yeah, yeah, well, um, you know, keep on truckin’ you know, man. Fight the good fight and everything…

yeah, I know, I’ve been meaning to call, because, well, look, this isn’t easy to say but, um, I’m living in America now…

now, I know, I know that, now listen to me…

list…liste…listen…ok, I’m just going to let you talk now, because, like, clearly you have things you need to get off your chest…mmm-hmmm….mm-hmm…right…uh-huh…now, that’s not…! No, no, I never…

Osama you can’t mean that…

Osama, no…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…(weeping sounds from Mr. Mud)

Osama, please, I…I never meant to…I wanted to…you don’t understand, they kidnapped me…

well, no…no, if they tortured me, then your training on how to resist torture would have come in handy, but, no, they…they’ve been real nice to me…they’re not as mean as you said…

but, no, don’t be like that, I know you were doing your best…we all were, it’s not that…

Greenwich Village…don’t scream like that Osama, it hurts me…

no, I’m not going to give you any information…that’s what I’m calling about…I wanted to tell you that I’m through, I’m leaving Al Qaeda…

but I…I don’t want to be a terrorist anymore…you don’t understand, no! No, you don’t understand!…

But you like caves, and yours is the best one! You have a microwave and everything! I was the minister of foreign cuisine, I didn’t even have a crockpot!…

no, no, that’s not fair, Osama! That is not fair, you…I’m getting angry…I know you’re not used to that, but my friends here have taught me that it’s ok to be angry, I don’t have to blow everyone up just because I’m mad, there are other ways…

Osama, I don’t hate you…everyone here hates you, but I don’t. They don’t know you like I do…they weren’t there when you picked me up, and dusted me off and gave me a place in the world, you saw my potential and my talent when no one else did, I’ll always love you for that…they’ve never seen the soft and loving side of you…

Don’t…don’t…stop…no…Osama…I can’t, no, I can’t…because, you know, it was ok in the beginning with you, when no one really was paying attention, and I could go places and find great places to eat and blow up, those were great days, but then the bombing started, and the running from cave to cave, and always looking over your shoulder, it stopped being fun, Osama, for me, just for me…I like my life, here…I have a job, now, soon I’ll have my own money, I can eat at places and not have to think about blowing them up, and you know what? It’s okay, not to think about blowing them up…I mean, yes, it’s not as edgy and exciting and everything, but, you know what? I’m getting older now, and I feel like I’m ready to just, you know, go into the restaurant and sit down and have a nice meal and talk to my friends, and then just go on home and don’t bother blowing it up, can you understand that? Can you?

Hello? Are you crying?

Oh, god, I hate to see you like this…I

know…well, don’t despair, Osama, things might turn around, you never know, you might win the war…I mean, you know, it doesn’t really seem that likely right now, I know, but, things have a way of turning out okay if you just keep on keepin’ on, you know what I’m saying?

Hello? Hello? You’re breaking up..