the Shackle Report » 5. Off the Chain

Off the Chain—Going Gitmo IV

C and C — Sun, 26 Feb 2006 14:30:53 +0000

This is the fourth in a series of special reports by Scot Crawford on the Rumsfeld interrogation protocols in action.

GOING GITMO PART IV: BISCUITS FROM SCRATCH

In the Going Gitmo series, the Shackle Report is exploiting the “travocities” going on at Guantanamo Bay Detention Facility. “Travocity” is a combination of travesty and atrocity, the key features of US detainee policies as reported most recently by Jane Mayer in The New Yorker February 27, 2006, and by Gitmo lawyer, Thomas Wilner in The Los Angeles Times.

BACKSTORY:

In Part III of this series, “Lights Out”, we met Doctor Duress (DD), the leader of the BISCUITs (Behavioral Science Consultation Team) who was sent to Gitmo to assist in interrogating detainees. After learning that a recalcitrant prisoner is afraid of the dark, Duress had the penetrating idea of turning out the lights in the prisoner’s cell. Impressed with DD’s ingenuity, the IO (Interrogating Officer) has taken the doctor’s suggestion and gone off to breakfast with him, leaving a Pfc to guard the detainee.

Scene:
The full BISCUIT team has now arrived and they are about to continue the interrogation. They are standing outside the cell where the detainee is being held.

IO:

Ok, Private, did the Afraid of the Dark treatment work?

Pfc:

No, sir. He’s just been standing there in the dark not saying anything.

IO:

Damnit to hell! See Doc, see what we’re dealing with?

DD:

I do indeed. Have you tried making him stand up for hours at a time?

Pfc:

Well, yes, sir. We had him stand for four hours at a time before, but that didn’t make him talk, either.

DD:

Well, four hours isn’t much. Many people who aren’t vicious terrorists stand up for eight to ten hours in the normal course of their lives. Like Donald Rumsfeld, for example.

Pfc:

He’s not shackled to the ceiling, though. Yet.

IO:

Cut the attitude, private. Let’s get down to business. Private, meet the rest of the Biscuit team. We have Dr. Justin Volpe…

Volpe:

Ehhhhhhhhhhhhy, ‘ow we doin’ ‘ere, boy?

Pfc:

Fine, thank you, sir. Um, are you the Justin Volpe, the NYPD cop who got sent to prison for sodomizing your prisoner with a broomstick?

Volpe:

Dat’s me! I took courses inna joint, an’ I got my degree in Interrogation Psychology. Itsa brand-new branch uh duh science. Itsa beeyooteeful ‘ting! It’s weird, but I found my true callin’ in jail. I wadn’t cut out ta be a cop, anyways. Dat wuz da whole trouble.

IO:

And here is the other member of the team, Dr. Lynndie England.

England:

Hi.

Pfc:

Hello. You’re a doctor?

England:

Like, I am now. They put me on trial, but then I started crying, and my lawyer pointed out that, like, lots of government officials get promoted for screwing up, so they made me a doctor. Plus, I have lots of experience humiliating people.

Pfc:

Everyone in America, for instance.

DD:

Ok, team, are we ready to do no harm, like the Hippocratic Oath says?

Volpe:

Oh, baby!

DD:

Now, it seems nothing works with this detainee. Not the Sissy Slap Glove treatment, not the Afraid of the Dark treatment, not the Dance Instruction Technique, not even pissing on the Koran. So, what I would like to try next is the Missing his Mommy treatment. It would be easier if we could just torture him, but the United States doesn’t torture people.

Pfc:

It’s torturing me.

England:

How do you know he misses his mommy? I want to know, because, like, I’m a brand new mother myself, and I would want my kid to miss me.

Pfc:

You would have to be nice to him for a while first.

England:

Oh, boy. That could be like, a problem.

DD:

We know he misses his mother because she told me he always gets depressed and violent when he’s away from her. It’s called “separation anxiety”, and it’s often accompanied by abandonment issues. There are those who speculate that the entire terrorism problem boils down to those two things.

Pfc:

Well, sir, and also, last week he curled up in a ball on the floor naked, sucked his thumb, and said “I miss my mommy” over and over.

DD:

Hmmm. That could be a clue, but not necessarily. People are complex. He could have been trying to give false information.

IO:

Right, doc. They’re trained for that. One of ‘em had us on a wild goose chase for days when he told us he had to use the toilet.

Volpe:

“I miss my mommy.” Jeez, what a fuckin’ dothead mook.

DD:

I believe these people are “towelheads”, doctor. You see, a “dothead” would refer to a woman of Hindu faith, where the dots, known as a “bindi”, symbolize female energy…

Volpe:

No shit, doc? I t’aught it was so you knew where to shoot ‘em. Badabing!

DD:

Ahem. Well, nevertheless, my academic instinct is telling me that we must exploit his abandonment issues regarding his mother via this infantile sucking activity the private mentioned.

Volpe:

Ehhy, I know! When I wuz in jail, we useta play dis game wit boyz dat din’t wanna cooperate. We called it “suck on my joint or I’ll beat your fuckin’ head in”.

DD:

Brilliant. I should go to jail. Apparently, you don’t learn everything at Harvard.

England:

I’ll do it! I haven’t sucked on a joint since I got pregnant in Iraq. I can’t figure out how that happened…

DD:

Well, Lynndie, it works like this…

Pfc:

I’m dying…

IO:

Quiet private. Remember the medal I promised you. Let the masters work this through. You’re getting all of this in the log, aren’t you? And remind me to send Rummy a memo about these non-torture methods. They should go in the new How Not To Torture People manual. We have to give something to the press to get those liberal pansies off our backs.

DD:

The question is, my oh so esteemed colleagues, how do we tie the Sucking on the Joint technique, to the Missing his Mommy treatment?

England:

Maybe we should save the Missing his Mommy thing until after he has his lunch. That way he’ll be, like, really vulnerable because usually mothers feed their kids and everything…that’s like, the way I do it…

Pfc:

That’s a start, doctor. Well, the problem with that is, he’s on hunger strike. We’ve been shackling him to a chair and feeding him with a tube. I’m not sure you can really call that lunch.

IO:

But he gets to choose the color of the tube, and the tube is halal, so you know, it’s not like we’re being insensitive.

DD:

Oh, excellent. Did he show any appreciation for that?

Pfc:

Not really, sir. Can’t see why not.

DD:

These people are very strange. Are they even human? We’re charting new territory. I’m getting so excited. We should set up a control group to make sure we get this right, and then I can publish.

England:

I’ve got it! I’ll, like, dress up in a burqua and go in the cell with him and pretend to be his mother, okay? And I’ll be all nice to him and everything, and then, like, just when he’s starting to think I’m really his mother, I’ll strip naked in front of him, and one of you can run in and start fucking me up the ass! But wear a condom ’cause, like, I don’t wanna get pregnant again. Then, somebody can point at his dick when he gets hard, and somebody else can take pictures, and we can send them to his real mother!

Volpe:

Eehy, I’ll fuck you up da ass wit my broomstick! Dey give it back to me wit my diploma.

IO:

People, I think we can safely say that this long war just got a little bit shorter.

England:

Hey, does anyone want a signed copy of my book: “Every Picture Tells a Story: One Woman’s Life in the Army”?

Pfc:

I’m going insane.

DD:

Maybe we’ll try that tomorrow, private. But, thank you for the suggestion.

(Thudding noises in the background.)

IO:

What the hell is that?

(a soldier rushes into the room.)

Soldier:

Sir, they’re shelling the compound!

IO:

What?! Who?

Soldier:

The Cubans!

IO:

Finally! Return fire, soldier! People, I think we can say this war just got a little bit longer…hoo-rah!

NOTE: This is the last episode in this series about Gitmo. The author has become alarmed about the mild, vulgar streak this issue has aroused in him. He’s decided to turn his attention to less provocative issues, like abortion.

—Scot Crawford

_________________________________________________

click here for previous scene — "Off the Chain — Going Gitmo III"

Off the Chain — Going Gitmo — Intro

Off the Chain — Going Gitmo III

scrawf — Thu, 29 Dec 2005 19:40:10 +0000

This is the third in a series of special reports by Scot Crawford on the Rumsfeld interrogation protocols in action.

Click here to read the introduction

GOING GITMO PART III: LIGHTS OUT

Scene:

In Part 2, “The Futility Approach”, the Interrogating Officer (IO) at Gitmo explains to a (Pfc) how using BISCUITs (Behavioral Science Consultation Teams) will help them torture detainees better. BISCUIT leader Dr. Duress (DD)arrives early, and along with IO and Pfc, is standing outside an interrogation cell looking through a two-way mirror at a detainee who is shackled to the floor.

IO:

Hello, Doc, thanks for comin’ down. How’s your room? Is your Direct TV working?

DD:

Oh, yes. I caught “Good Morning, America: Time to Die” before I came over.

IO:

That’s darn good TV. You ready to win this war, Doc?

DD:

Yes, indeed.

IO:

Okay. This guy is a tough one. We tried the Futility Approach, the Sissy Slap Glove, and Dance Instruction, and he just won’t talk. How do we crack him?

DD:

Give me a moment to reflect…do you have a light?

IO:

Sure, Doc. That’s a nice cigar. Cuban?

DD:

Of course. Thank you. It helps me think to have this stinking, turd-like thing in my mouth. Now, I’ve taken the liberty of contacting the detainee’s mother in Afghanistan. At first she wailed and ripped her clothes, but I promised her if she gave us information we’d ask the Afghan men in her village to stop gang-raping her to punish her for letting herself be raped. That got her. She said that the detainee didn’t like to be away from his mother, and that he was afraid of the dark.

IO:

Can we use that?

DD:

Absolutely. Because with a person who’s afraid of the dark, when we want to tap into their deep-seated, unconscious desire to cooperate with someone they loathe and want to kill, we turn the lights off.

IO:

Ah! You go, Doc. You Harvard guys are ok. Some of these grunts down here don’t like having educated people around, because it makes them feel stupid since they never went to college or read a book and they grew up in a corn patch. Isn’t that right, Private?

Pfc:

Well, sir, some of them might…but I worked in a library, and I read a lot…I only went to a community college, yeah, but…hey, excuse me, Doctor Duress, but, um, are you sure it’s okay for you to be giving us advice on how to torture…I mean interrogate…people what with you being a doctor and all? You know, like, the Hippocratic Oath and “do no harm” and all that?

DD:

Oh, yes, it’s fine. The AMA had a big conference about whether BISCUITS were ethical and the final decision was that since we’re not on American soil, partaaaay!

IO:

And it’s a time of war, right? Desperate measures?

DD:

Exactly. When the sovereignty of the United States is threatened, when the entire country could be overrun, and it’s citizens turned into slaves of a Muslim Caliphate ruled by sexually frustrated psychopaths, who we could very well find shitting on the Lincoln Memorial on CNN where the Europeans could see us being humiliated, why, no measures are too excessive.

IO:

You got a real firm grasp of the stakes, Doc.

DD:

Oh, yes. You see, at Harvard they didn’t just teach us how to define reality for the rest of the world from a classroom where we seldom have to engage with it. We also paddled each others asses, carried grapes around in our rectums for a week, and got drunk and gang-raped a girl who was passed out. These things create a special capacity for mutual cooperation, an easy acceptance of personal humiliation, and a unique identification with Islamic laws that allow gang-rape as punishment. Muslims do it sober, though, which is very deep…

IO:

Man. And I thought parachuting into Afghanistan in the dark with orders to shoot to kill everything that moves made you hard. So, what’s our next move?

DD:

I suggest we focus on his Afraid-of-the-Dark problem. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to the Missing-his-Mommy issue.

IO:

Great, doc. Let’s do her.

DD:

Ok. Let’s go have breaky with my BISCUITS, they should be here by now. Let’s turn the lights off in the interrogation cell.

IO:

Doc, you baaad….You heard the man, Private. Lights out. Make sure you write down in the log everything our detainee does and says…

Pfc:

Yessir…

_________________________________________________

coming next in the Gitmo series: Biscuits from Scratch

click here for previous scene — "Off the Chain — Going Gitmo II"

Off the Chain — Going Gitmo — Intro

Off the Chain — The MUFFIN Method

scrawf — Sat, 03 Dec 2005 19:28:11 +0000

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..

Off the Chain — Going Gitmo II

scrawf — Mon, 21 Nov 2005 05:41:31 +0000

This is the second in a series of special reports by Scot Crawford on the Rumsfeld interrogation protocols in action.

Click here to read the introduction

Click here to read “Going Gitmo, Part I — The Sissy-Slap Gloves Are Off” "Off the Chain — Going Gitmo Part I"

GOING GITMO PART II: THE FUTILITY APPROACH

Scene:

Viewing room outside interrogation cell in which a detainee is bolted to the floor. He is being viewed through a two-way mirror.

IO: (interrogating officer): Well, son, howdja do with the sissy-slap glove tactic? Did he tell you where he learned to use a box cutter?
Pfc:(interrogating enlisted man): Um, no sir. He just started crying and shouting incoherently. I don’t think he understood what the sissy-slap glove meant. Like me. And um, then I put on Benny Goodman and tried the Dance Instruction Technique with him like you said, but he kept throwing himself against the door, so I had to shackle him down again.
IO:: Ah. The old “throw yourself against the door” ploy. These men are good. They’ve been trained not to say anything under the harshest duress. Al Qaeda has their own manual for resisting interrogation: How To Resist Talking to People Torturing You. (HTRTPTY) We in the game call it the “Hiterterpity. It’s right snappy to dance to as well.”
Pfc:: Oh. Well, I mean, sir, if I may, I’m not sure that the detainee knows very much. I mean…everybody keeps saying that the terrorists operate in discrete cells that don’t know what the other cells are doing, and that’s how come they’re effective. I mean…it could be that all he knows is what we already know…
IO:: We can’t take that chance, son. We don’t know shit. And anyway, what are you saying, you want to go to Baghdad and ride around in a Humvee instead? A transfer can be arranged, son, so, just say the word…
Pfc:: No, no, sir…I’m sure I wouldn’t be suited to that kind of duty, sir…although, I was never trained for this duty either, so…I mean, maybe I’m not cut out for this work…I’m really a librarian…I just know a little Arabic…
IO:: Well, no worries at all, son. None of us Americans are too good at interrogation because we usually have oppressive Muslim regimes do it for us so we can preserve our status as leaders in human rights and rule of law. We’ve gotten rusty. But, not to worry, help is on the way.
Pfc::: Really, sir?
IO::: Yep. I pulled some strings and got us some Biscuits comin’ down to help us out with this one.
Pfc:: “Biscuits,” sir?
IO:: That’s right, son. Behavior Science Consultation Teams. Doctors. Headcutters, son. These men are so smart, they can just sit in a room with you and think so hard, you’ll just start telling them how you want to do all this perverted shit you didn’t even know you wanted to do. I suggest you keep your guard up around these men, because they take no prisoners.
Pfc:: Yessir. When are they due to arrive sir?
IO:: I’ve got them on the Hooters Air Red-Dick from Ft. Lauderdale coming in at 0600 hours. We’ll give them some time to freshen up, and then we’ll turn these guys loose on this poor, sad bastard. He’s gonna regret holding out on us, son.
Pfc:: I see, sir. Well. I hope the..uh…“Biscuits” don’t hurt him. He doesn’t seem really all that dangerous right now, sir. He seems more just…you know, freaked out and lonely. I mean…I don’t know… just because he might have been the twentieth hijacker doesn’t mean he knows bin Laden’s location, you know, and, anyway we already know where bin Laden is, it’s just that Musharraf’s political life would be over if he let us capture him…I mean, um, just because this fuck is a crazed, murderous bastard, doesn’t mean he isn’t a human being…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean “human being” in a positive sense, you know, like “oh, we’re all human, we all make mistakes” kind of way, but just as in, you know, human beings are complicated…I mean, ok, he’s dangerous, but he also asked me whether the earth revolves around the sun, or the sun around the earth, so, he’s clearly not very evolved, you know, along with being just, whatever, pure evil…
IO:: “The earth revolves around the sun…” Haw! That’s rich. Look son, evil doesn’t evolve, any more than good does. Remember that. And evolution is just a theory.
Pfc:: Right…sir. But, it seems like all we’re doing is avenging the Sept. 11th victims, not getting useful information. He’s the twentieth hijacker, okay, but 9-11 already happened. I mean, we know the outcome of that. And we know we should be more careful about who we let on our planes…right…sir?
IO:: You don’t understand, son. ANY information is good information in this brand new kind of war we have to fight with planes and bombs and soldiers just like we’ve always fought our wars. Now, back to business. We should soften this guy up before the Headcutters get here. Let me see, what else is in the HTTP (How To Torture People) manual…ah, “The Futility Approach.” Did we hit him with that yet, son?
Pfc:: Not that I know of, sir.
IO:: That could be just the ticket. Let’s give it a shot. You ready, son? You got your game face on?
Pfc:: Yes…sir…
IO:: Open that door, son!; (note: In the video, you see the two men enter the interrogation cell where the prisoner is shackled to the floor. They stand over him, the IO with his arms crossed aggressively, the Pfc. away from the detainee.)
IO:: Well, good afternoon Mr. Mohammed…do you have everything you need? Have you read your Koran today?
Detainee (Det):: Grrrnnnn….
IO:: What’s he saying, son?
Pfc:: He said “Grrrnnn…,” sir.
IO:: What is that, some kind of heathen prayer?
Pfc:: No, sir. He’s just stressed…And anyway, he doesn’t understand English.
IO:: Perfect. If he’s stressed, he’s sure to crack and tell us everything we need to know…Now. The Futility Approach. I love this one. Son, just follow my lead. Ask him if he’s ever gonna talk.
Pfc::: (in Arabic))Are you ever going to talk?
Det:: (in Arabic) No.
IO:: What did he say, son?
Pfc:: He said “No” sir.
IO::: Goddamnit to hell, this is futile!
Pfc:: Yessir.
IO:: Okay. Tell him how upset I am at all this futility. I’ll pretend I’m sad.
Pfc::: (in Arabic) He’s feeling pretty sad because he thinks this is futile. That you’re never going to talk.
Det:: (in Arabic) I will never talk to you. I don’t care if you are sad.
Pfc:: He says he will never talk and that he doesn’t care if you’re sad.
IO:: My God. Now, son, you see how showing these sandniggers our humane side will never work? It’s eye-for-an-eye or nothing.
Pfc:: Right…sir…um, sir, is it possible that the Futility Approach was supposed to be, like, you know, about convincing him that resisting us is futile…sir?
IO::: No, that’s not it. That’s old school. Primitive stuff.
Det:: (in Arabic) I need to go to the bathroom…
Pfc:: He says he wants to go to the bathroom.
IO:: Oh, he does, does he? Well. Tell him to go in his pants.
Pfc:: Sir?
IO:: You heard me. The sissy-slap gloves are off, I’m through playing games and it’s time to get some boots on the ground, capiche?
Pfc::: Yessir. (in Arabic to detainee) He says to go in your pants…sorry…
Det:: (in Arabic, in pants) Pplllllggggggshhhhh……
IO:: Jesus, that’s disgusting. Now, ask him if he feels humiliated.
Pfc:: (in Arabic)( Do you feel humiliated?
Det:: (in Arabic)This you are doing to me is nothing compared to what Allah will do to you when he takes his revenge on the infidels. Allah’s Sissy Slap glove isn’t inflated.
Pfc:: He says Allah is really going to fuck us up, sir. He says that the sissy-slap glove of Allah isn’t inflated.
IO:: Ahhh, goddamnit to hell! These men are wily, son. Wily! You see why we need the Biscuits, now, don’t you?
Pfc::: Uh. Yessir.

click here for previous scene — "Off the Chain — Going Gitmo Part I"

coming next in the Gitmo series: Lights Out

Off the Chain — Going Gitmo — Intro

Off the Chain — Going Gitmo Part I

scrawf — Tue, 01 Nov 2005 23:04:11 +0000

This is the first in a series of reports from the bowels of American foreign policy

by Scot Crawford

Click here to read the introduction

The following is a transcript of a videotape recorded at the Guantanamo Bay Prison Facility, commonly known as GITMO. The tape was obtained by The Shackle Report’s crack reporter, Shaqi the Shackle, who was on assignment in Cuba.

Well, actually, he was vacationing at the beautiful Club Med resort situated outside the fences at GITMO (for info, go to BayofPigsCruiselines.com) and he found the tape on the beach while he was strolling with his morning Mojito.

In order to cooperate with Donald Rumsfeld’s wishes that the video not be broadcast because it depicts Americans doing illegal and repellent things, which could lower self-esteem of the American citizenry, the Shackle Report has agreed to post only the audio portion in print form.

continued. . .

The First Part:: THE SISSY-SLAP GLOVES ARE OFF

Scene:: Viewing room outside interrogation cell in which a detainee is bolted to the floor. He is being viewed through a two-way mirror.

Interrogating Officer ( IO):: Good morning, son, how goes the battle?
Interrogating Enlisted Man, a Private (Pfc):: Uh, fine, sir.
IO:: Good! And how is our detainee today?
Pfc:: Pretty much the same, sir.
IO:: Not talking, eh? He didn’t admit to being the twentieth hijacker yet?
Pfc:: No, sir.
IO:: Dammit! I don’t know why he doesn’t admit it since we already know he is. Did he say anything at all?
Pfc:: Well, he said he wanted Allah to help him.
IO:: Ah! We’re getting somewhere. Excellent work, son. How did you get it out of him? The Sissy-Slap Glove, I bet, am I right?
Pfc:: Sir?
IO:: The Sissy-Slap Glove, son, you don’t know it?
Pfc:: Uh. No, sir, I don’t. I just asked him if he needed anything, and he told me he wanted Allah.
IO:: Huh. I suggest you lay off that “just asking” stuff, son. It could get us in trouble. I’m gonna give you some top secret info, son, I’m gonna trust you. In the new How To Torture People manual (HTTP) approved by Rumsfeld, there’s a technique that could very well revolutionize the game. Called, the “Sissy-Slap Glove” treatment.
Pfc:: I see, sir. Thank you for taking me into your confidence.
IO:: My pleasure, son. I like you. And desperate times call for desperate measures, and these are desperate times, are they not? When was the last time you could have a good meal and relax in front of the TV without worrying about a terrorist breaking into your house and fucking you up the ass and insulting Jesus?
Pfc:: Well, I. . .
IO:: Absolutely right, son. Now, the Sissy-Slap Glove technique goes like this: First, you take an MRE box, you know, the Meals Ready to Eat that we don’t have to eat because we’re not in combat?
Pfc:: Yessir.
IO: Okay. Take the box from one of those…we may have to order some since we don’t have any here, but, anyway, take one of those and paint a smiley face on it, make it into a mask, and put it on his head for a minute. With me so far, son?
Pfc:: Um. Yessir.
IO:: Good! Could be medal time, son. I can feel it. Now, you take the mask off his head, and you take a latex glove and inflate it, and write “Sissy-Slap Glove” on it. Still with me?
Pfc:: Um. . .
IO:: And now, here’s the kicker; you take the inflated Sissy Slap Glove, and you touch it to his face periodically after explaining the terminology to him. Dastardly, eh, son? Wouldn’t you talk?
Pfc:: Yessir. Uh, Sir?
IO:: What is it, son? Don’t be shy, there are no stupid questions in this business.
Pfc:: What does “the terminology” mean, sir? I’m not quite clear. . .sir. . .
IO:: Well, isn’t it obvious, son? “The Sissy-Slap Glove.” Get it? And if that’s not enough, you can try “Dance Instruction with Detainee,” that always gets them. Boy, they just talk and talk, then. Start sweeping them around the room in your arms, giving them the big dip. That’s how we got bin Laden’s driver to tell us whether he had a wet bar in his vehicle. He does, the fucking hypocrite. Likes Creme de Menthe, the faggot.
Pfc:: Oh. But. . .sir? I still don’t quite understand what the Sissy-Slap Glove means, exactly. I mean, what is a “Sissy-Slap”? Why is there a glove? What does it do to someone. . . sir?
IO:: Son, I’m starting to reconsider that medal. Tell you what I’ll do son, and this is verboten, so you can’t tell anyone. But, I’ll give you a copy of the new How To Torture People manual, and you can read the entry about the Sissy-Slap Glove. It’s in the index, right before; “Suck Detainee Cock – Pretend to. Unless Very Stubborn, Then Go for It.”
Pfc:: Okay, sir. I look forward to reading it.
IO:: Oh, it makes falling asleep easy, son, let me tell you. Or staying up, whatever you prefer.
Pfc:: Right, sir.
IO:: Okay, son. Now! Back to getting this barbaric pig to talk. Tell you what we’ll do. You try the Sissy-Slap Glove on him, and try the Dance Instruction if you have to, while I go and make some calls to the Head Office. We need some help with this one. We need some little men with big chairs to make some hard decisions. I’ll be back in a couple hours. By then, maybe you’ll have gotten some information out of him. Try and find out if it was bin Laden himself who trained him in the deadly art of waving a box cutter around. If we can pinpoint the boxcutter training facility, we can hit it with a cruise missile and then, whammo, no more hijackings! You with me, son?
Pfc:: Oh, yes sir. Yessir. . .

next: Off the Chain — Going Gitmo Part II: The Futility Approach click here. . .

"Off the Chain — Going Gitmo II"

Off the Chain — Intro

Off the Chain — Introduction

cutler — Fri, 21 Oct 2005 17:50:15 +0000

Travocity Rules

by Scot Crawford

People sometimes ask me; “Scot, why are you so fascinated by torture?”

“Beats me,” I say.

I don’t know why torture fascinates me. It always has, though. As a child, I loved to curl up on my bed of a rainy Sunday, and read accounts of Apache Indians staking white people to the desert sand with wet rawhide that would then dry and cut off their circulation so their hands and feet fell off. Then, the Indians would slit open the whites’ abdomens and pull their entrails out to roast in the sun, and even cut their eyelids off so their eyes boiled in their sockets like eggs.

Eventually, I matured and moved on to the Oz books.

The fascination with torture never left me, though. So, when I saw that my government was using my tax money to torture people at Abu Ghraib and Gitmo, I was sucked right back in. I felt like a kid again.

But, my childish enthusiasm notwithstanding, I don’t think my government should torture people, no matter who they are or what they may know. And I don’t think this way on principle. I don’t like adhering to principles, since they so rarely seem to apply to this world, and I don’t object because torture is barbaric, immoral, or degrading to everyone involved. All of that is true, but I’m not squeamish about abusing murderous assholes if some good can come of it. It’s that torture is not ultimately effective.

Okay, if a nuclear bomb is going to destroy NYC in fourteen minutes and the dude you have in custody can tell you where it is, go ahead, cut his eyelids off and boil his eyes. Give it a shot. But I bet it still won’t work, because a man in that position is probably way too convinced of his mission to help you, which is, paradoxically, what you’re asking him to do when you torture him. You’re saying: “Help me. Bet this hurts. Help me.”

Anyway, Keifer “24” Sutherland isn’t in this show. Too bad, because things would work out better if he was on the case.

Also, it’s common knowledge among intelligence personel that when you use torture you get more enemies than useful information. The Israelis say the results aren’t worth the bad blood it creates, and I tend to believe them; I mean, if anyone would know. So I don’t think that my country is torturing people because it is good military and strategic policy. I think it’s because there are a lot of people in the military, bottom to top, who never moved on to the Oz books: They do it because they like it. And because Apaches did it to some white folks, back in the day.

TIME Magazine ran an article in its June 20th, 2005 issue featuring a log US military personnel kept on the interrogation of one of the detainees at Gitmo. The log was like a print version of the Abu Ghraib photos, except that it aroused no public outcry. It should have. The descriptions are appalling, and absurd beyond words. Interrogators used methods like “sissy-slap” gloves, and “Close Proximity of a Female” , (see if you don’t believe me). They also poured water on a the head of a prisoner who was on a food and water strike and called it the “Drink Water or Wear It Game”.

“Game”? The article in TIME reported other twisted, stupid shit as institutionally approved interrogation technique, making all Americans look like twisted, stupid shitheads. The actions of the interrogators are a unique mixture of travesty and atrocity. “Travocity”, I call it. Sadly, “Travocity” isn’t a website that offers quickie travel deals to Cuba.

And I kept running across that same travocity in a series of articles I saw in the NY Times and elsewhere, which reported that the U.S. military was now using people from the healing professions — psychologists and psychiatrists — to help them devise techniques to break the detainees, and that these doctors were called “Biscuits”, for Behavioral Science Consultation Teams, and that there was some controversy within the medical community over whether it violated the Hippocratic Oath to have people who had vowed to “do no harm,” helping with torture. I don’t think there’s a controversy there.

I’m writing these pieces to try to to deal with this increasingly travocitous world, my unwilling complicity in my government’s actions, and my desire to escape culpability, to get “off the Chain.”

. . . go to first episode "Off the Chain — Going Gitmo Part I"

more background via NEWSWEEK’S "Torture Debate"