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The CPT Report
“Soldiers handcuffed four of us, our father, my brother, and my uncle. They put plastic bags over our heads and took us away in an armored military vehicle. “My father started gasping for breath and called out ‘Help me! I can’t breathe!’ The soldiers responded with ‘Shut up! Shut up! F___ you!’ When I pleaded for the soldiers to loosen or take the bag off my father’s head, soldiers cursed me and hit me in the chest with a rifle butt. I heard one soldier say, ‘The f___ing old man may be dead.’ “My brother, uncle, and I were then transferred to another vehicle and taken home and released. There we found the body of our dead father. A soldier told us that our father had died of heart failure, but I responded angrily, ‘No, you killed my father. You soldiers treat us like animals!’ “After the funeral service, we filed a claim against the U.S. Military and a man in our community who we believed accused our father falsely. Many in the community hated him because he had been an informant for the former regime. Now he was doing it for the U.S. Col. Nate Sassaman, commander of the unit involved, told us he would bring the informant to us, but we said, ‘No, we don’t want revenge. We want justice.’ Sassaman then said he would investigate the informer, but later told us that he was innocent.” At the time we heard this story, we had a plastic sandbag that Theresa, a woman working to help families of detainees, had brought to us saying that soldiers had used it to put on the head of a four-year-old boy when his father, the Imam of a mosque, was detained. On the bag was written with a black marker pen, Wrongo, Dongo, Captain Stupid.” We showed this bag to Abdulkahar, and he said, “Yes, this is the kind of bag soldiers put on our heads when we were detained.” He put it on his head, and we could see how tightly it fit. WHO WILL SPEAK TO THOSE
Being North Americans in Iraq carries a lot of privilege. On the street our lighter skin, our hair, and clothing made us stand out in any crowd. We had access to information and resources from back home that helped us rise above the limitations and some of the chaos of post-invasion Iraq. Because of our passports, English language, and some knowledge of how these military systems operate, we were able to get into CPA or U.S. military offices and talk to the personnel. We wanted to use this privilege, not only to help Iraqis access what little help was available, but also to speak directly on their behalf to those in power. Often our contacts with U.S. officials in Iraq came in the process of getting information, advocating for particular families, or just traveling around the country. But we also made special appointments or contacts with certain officials in order to share what we had learned in our work or to give our suggestions. Everywhere we went we encountered soldiers who believed that their presence here was important and helpful to the Iraqi people. There were also soldiers who believed the opposite, or didn’t want to be in Iraq. Even though we opposed the occupation, we wanted to support the soldiers in their struggle to retain their humanity and not dehumanize Iraqis. We wanted them to see that it is not necessary to use excessive force to maintain security. Indeed, our experience showed that the use of excessive violence put them in greater danger. In December the team decided to develop and pass out to the soldiers the flier entitled “Coalition Forces and the Human Rights of Iraqi Citizens.” In it we invited all coalition soldiers to abide by the Geneva Convention, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and related humanitarian and human rights law, all of which postulate a soldier’s duty to protect civilians and their property, to notify the families of detainees, to refrain from collective punishment; arbitrary arrest or detention; torture; cruel and inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment; and attacks against honor and reputation. Responses to the flier were mostly positive, but occasionally soldiers got defensive and angry, especially those who had been in Iraq a long time and had been under a lot of stress. One time on the way home from Falluja, the team stopped at a large U.S. army base. While trying unsuccessfully to get in, the team members passed out fliers to guards around the entrance and to soldiers on convoys as they came through. Another time Cliff Kindy, a CPT member, was walking near the Palestine Hotel and offered fliers to two soldiers on a tank. One refused to take it, but the other took it gladly and wanted to talk. It seemed like he was considering trying to leave the military. In February, my husband Art came to spend a week with the team and me in Iraq. He went with Cliff and an Iraqi man to Abu Ghraib prison to try to help him visit his detained brother. After walking through the razor wire in front of the prison, a guard told them, “He is not allowed any visits.” Art and Cliff challenged this, and told the Iraqi guards they wanted to talk with an American official. That is when they met “Tony,” an American soldier, about 22 years old, short, and good-looking. “I like to work out in the gym, but most days I am too tired to even think after standing guard in front of the prison for 12 hours every day,” he said. He told them he was only a common soldier. He had no authority and there was nothing he could do to help them arrange a visit. Then he opened up. “The situation is a mess in Iraq, and the American military is making it worse. I can understand that the Iraqi people are angry. Under Saddam,” he said, “families could visit their loved ones once a week.”
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