Tim Blair at the Daily Telegraph (incidentally...voted Best Blog Down Under) outlines for your convenience the accusations of torture at Gitmo as stated by Susan Crawford. The recipient was Mohammed al-Qahtani according to Crawford, a Pentagon official.
• Forty-eight of 54 consecutive days of 18-to-20-hour interrogations.____
• Standing naked in front of a female agent.
• Subject to strip searches.
• Insults to his mother and sister.
• Threatened with a military working dog named Zeus.
• Forced to wear a woman’s bra.
• Had a thong placed on his head.
Personally, I'm not impressed:
• Forty-eight of 54 consecutive days of 18-to-20-hour interrogations.
Did it in college, from a certain point of view. I got stuck in a couple Urban Studies elective courses due to a lack of seniority during the registration process. On the first day, upon hearing that minorities have been (and continue be) oppressed by the white authority, I made the mistake of inquiring as to who, specifically, made up this sinister “white authority.” Imagine my surprise when I was informed by the minority professor, that I was a full fledged member based solely on my skin tone. Good Lord… Up until this point, no one would let me join anything. Everyone likes to be included, and I was no exception. I was, also, the only “white guy” in the class, so that allowed me a certain level of self-importance such that each issue discussed during the semester would not be complete without my added words of contribution as a card carrying member of the “White Proletariat.” I am a strong believer in the power of diversity.
The discussion, over time, became more and more pointed. It wasn’t long until name calling entered the fray as the rest of the class joined the professor in heated exchanges between them and me. They interrogated me on my lineage, and suggested reparations right there in class. My books were “misplaced” on a regular basis as was my pride. After 48 consecutive days of these heated exchanges, I finally cracked and made the only choice I had left. I renounced my “white authority” and secured a student discounted membership to the “Tan-R-ific” tanning salon to show skin tone solidarity.
• Standing naked in front of a female agent.
Did it in college…although it was more fun to stand in front of the French Maid, or the Jungle Temptress. My girlfriend at the time was an English major with access to the Drama Club storage area.
• Subject to strip searches.
Did it in college. It was, of course, preceded by the simple phrase…”I have a present for you in one of my pockets.” The fact that the falsehood worked continuously without payoff suggests that my dating standards weren’t necessarily tailored towards the cerebral.
• Insults to his mother and sister.
Did it in college. At least, I think I did. It was a wild graduation party and it is entirely possible that they were related in some fashion. Hey…you hoard the blanket, you risk verbal abuse. These are hard and fast rules.
• Threatened with a military working dog named Zeus.
Did this in college, but the dog was, affectionately, named Mange. No one knew his real name…or owner. He just meandered throughout the apartment complex begging out a few scraps here and there. This particular dog really didn’t put too much stock in hygiene as was demonstrated by the unbelievable stench and mud-caked coat. It had become a tradition of sorts to welcome Mange into our humble abode each time someone visiting had the temerity to over-indulge and require a session of mandatory catatonic rest. Perhaps the cagey canine didn’t have an impressive and aggressive name like “Zeus.” But, there’s nothing more breath-takingly frightening than waking up half in the bag only to see a mess of mud tangled locks that smell like the south end of a horse.
• Forced to wear a woman’s bra.
Did it in college…but was not mandatory. Someone had the brilliant idea that the best way to sneak adult libations into a Joe Jackson concert was by means of “hidden pockets.” I froze my bloody nipples off, but I didn’t sag. They were longnecks.
• Had a thong placed on his head.
Did it in college…and I wasn’t alone. One of my roommates (who is now a full bird Colonel in the Army) and I had Kamikaze pilot helmets (the old leather ones). Every so often, after a few liquid refreshments, we would go visit some of our more prudish sorority sister friends and trade our mission headgear for a more pedestrian look. It never solicited the response we were looking for, but I don’t claim to be a sophisticated lady’s man.
On a side note, we had a friend who had acquired the nickname of “Scrounger.” He was one of those young men who had no difficulty admiring the personality of a young woman over her more physical attributes. One fine evening, I walked in (quite accidentally) on one of his conquests and him. At that particular moment, “Scrounger” was wearing, not only, a thong on his head. He was wearing the woman attached to the thong. His continued exploits in that regard could, arguably, account for the flatness of his head.
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Andrea Harris knows what I'm thinking:
Is that the best we’ve got? Come on! What have we been doing with this reputation we’ve been building up for being a ruthless, warmongering, baby-killing, ice-cream-from-kids-snatching, old-lady-pushing-to-the-ground, rough, tough, mean hegemonic empire for? What about thumbscrews? What about iron maidens? What about the rack???Real torture is being confined to the waiting room of your dentist in advance of a root canal marathon with only one ten year old magazine highlighting the "Best of Susan Sontag" while a musical produced in India plays jaggedly in the background. Gitmo seems to be more tuned into the sophomoric hijinks-type shenanigans.
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