Michelle Buchanan's Blog - Posts Tagged "abu-ghraib-prison"
Excerpt from "SMILE" in Rolling Up
Out on the grounds there are EPW’s everywhere staring at you through the fence. You’ve been told that there’s another load of them arriving, but they haven’t shown up yet. The heat is unbearable, a hundred twenty degrees they’d said in the canteen. A Humvee rolls up delivering some officers. They approach you and ask to be led to a group of prisoners separated from the others out here. You know those Ali Babas must be the real troublemakers. You talk to the Ali Baba’s mayor; the one who speaks English, telling him there’s hell to pay now, to get their sorry selves in line. One of the officers loses no time; he enters the compound and beats one of the EPWs across the head. They tell the mayor to tell them all to strip naked, which they do, while you and the other private are ordered to chain them up and put hoods over their heads. The sun pounds down on all of you, reflecting off the dusty ground, the walls. The prisoners look at you with leering eyes and sneering sweaty lips as you go about your work. You hate them. You hate everything about this place. “Fifty ten,” says one of the officers to an approaching Corporal who responds with, “Yes, sir.” And you and the other private are stuck there the rest of the day keeping the EPWs on their feet fifty minutes of every hour for ten hours.
Kirkpatrick is starting to give you grief about sleeping in Seth’s cot, but, really, it’s the only way you get any sleep at all. The hooded naked prisoners you are seeing with increased regularity really give you the creeps. You hear the rattle of their chains even when they’re not around. You saw the prisoner they made do the scorpion, tied up all contorted and bleeding. You wish you hadn’t. You can’t get him out of your mind. Kirkpatrick continues to tell you to keep some of the prisoners off the record. You tried talking about this with McPhearson, his soft college-boy face had stiffened with anger. He had no idea. He had paced the hallway while you had explained.
“Is it right?” you’d asked. He’d stopped and looked at you, eyes widening.
“It’s Right alright. It’s very Right.”
“But I’m just following orders, just doing what I’m supposed to. I won’t get in trouble for it, will I?”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Who knows how to play the game when the rules don’t apply anymore.”
“But I’m just doing what I’m told.”
Sears had taken his helmet and with shaking hands thrown it hard against the cement wall. The sound echoed down the corridor as it bounced off the floor.“Yeah, we’re all just doing what we’re told.”
Hard Site, A Block, where they keep Intelligence’s detainees: the Falcon Team works at night. Kirkpatrick and the others were really getting on your case about sleeping in Seth’s cot, threatening to Court Marshal you. They said they had documented evidence; said they wouldn’t hassle you anymore if you joined the Falcon Team. So you did. Now that you’ve seen Seth in action, however, you’re not sure if sleeping in his cot is something you’d consider a perk anymore. You’ve seen him beat the prisoners until they bleed then stitch them up with a needle and thread whispering with laughter in his voice, “There, there.” Now you know why they call him the Sealer.
But you just can’t stay in that dungeon room at night. At least in Hard Site there’s light and people and something to drink besides Pepsi. The guys hang out and party a little before they get down to business, and you like that part. It reminds you of home. One of the guys whispered in your ear that Kirkpatrick has you and Seth doing it on video. You can’t imagine how. In your now, nearly constant, drunken state you think maybe you’ll stop taking the pill. If you’re pregnant they’ll have to send you home. Small town Kentucky seems like paradise now.
Rolling Up
Kirkpatrick is starting to give you grief about sleeping in Seth’s cot, but, really, it’s the only way you get any sleep at all. The hooded naked prisoners you are seeing with increased regularity really give you the creeps. You hear the rattle of their chains even when they’re not around. You saw the prisoner they made do the scorpion, tied up all contorted and bleeding. You wish you hadn’t. You can’t get him out of your mind. Kirkpatrick continues to tell you to keep some of the prisoners off the record. You tried talking about this with McPhearson, his soft college-boy face had stiffened with anger. He had no idea. He had paced the hallway while you had explained.
“Is it right?” you’d asked. He’d stopped and looked at you, eyes widening.
“It’s Right alright. It’s very Right.”
“But I’m just following orders, just doing what I’m supposed to. I won’t get in trouble for it, will I?”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Who knows how to play the game when the rules don’t apply anymore.”
“But I’m just doing what I’m told.”
Sears had taken his helmet and with shaking hands thrown it hard against the cement wall. The sound echoed down the corridor as it bounced off the floor.“Yeah, we’re all just doing what we’re told.”
Hard Site, A Block, where they keep Intelligence’s detainees: the Falcon Team works at night. Kirkpatrick and the others were really getting on your case about sleeping in Seth’s cot, threatening to Court Marshal you. They said they had documented evidence; said they wouldn’t hassle you anymore if you joined the Falcon Team. So you did. Now that you’ve seen Seth in action, however, you’re not sure if sleeping in his cot is something you’d consider a perk anymore. You’ve seen him beat the prisoners until they bleed then stitch them up with a needle and thread whispering with laughter in his voice, “There, there.” Now you know why they call him the Sealer.
But you just can’t stay in that dungeon room at night. At least in Hard Site there’s light and people and something to drink besides Pepsi. The guys hang out and party a little before they get down to business, and you like that part. It reminds you of home. One of the guys whispered in your ear that Kirkpatrick has you and Seth doing it on video. You can’t imagine how. In your now, nearly constant, drunken state you think maybe you’ll stop taking the pill. If you’re pregnant they’ll have to send you home. Small town Kentucky seems like paradise now.
Rolling Up
