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Striding near the intersection of Pine St. and Fourth Ave., Emma Kaplan, clad in an orange jumpsuit, urged passersby to come witness something they’d probably never seen before: human torture.
“We’re going to do a real, live waterboarding of a human being,” she screamed into the cold afternoon of Jan. 11. “And people need to come decide if you’re for it or against it.”
Behind her, on a stage facing the open plaza of Westlake Center, an iconic figure of new millennial torture — a person with a black peaked hood obscuring the face, a black oversized smock hanging from the shoulders, taped fingertips giving way to electrical wires — stood on a box in total silence.
“Come and witness,” Kaplan bellowed at shoppers who clutched bags tighter.
Slowly, almost haphazardly, a crowd of more than 100 onlookers, some decked out in orange clothing, began to gather. They huddled before the stage.
The local demonstration was part of a national action marking the sixth anniversary of the opening of Guantánamo, a military facility based in Cuba, where the United States continues to hold alleged terrorists with supposed links to al Qaeda and/or the Taliban. Set upon land the U.S. government leases from the island nation, some sources estimate that as many as 800 people have been detained at Guantánamo at one time or another since 2002. (The New York Times suggests the current number of detainees to be 277.) Images of those held there nearly always depict them wearing orange jumpsuits.
“Orange is becoming a sign of resistance, what the peace sign was in the 60s,” said Kaplan, 22 and a member of World Can’t Wait: Drive out the Bush Regime. The government, she said, has been torturing detainees and concealing that information from the public. “There’s possible waterboarding on those CIA tapes,” she said, alluding to the recent admission by the CIA that it destroyed, in 2005, video footage of interrogations conducted of alleged al Qaeda operatives in 2002.
Before the stage, a massage table was set up, a series of straps attached to the legs. From the wings, two men — one wearing a black leather jacket, the other a black suit jacket — pulled a person in an orange jumpsuit and black hood to the massage table. He sat on the foot end. Both the foot and head ends collapsed under his weight. With the table reassembled, they unhooded the would-be operative, a young, curly haired man. Then, the demonstration, described as “street theater,” began.
“We just want to know the names of the other terrorists,” said the man in the leather jacket. “Just tell us what you know.”
“I don’t have anything to tell you,” the young man replied.
After assaulting the reluctant informant with a poor facsimile of a face slap, the men strapped him to the table. Mr. Leather Jacket pulled out a piece of black cloth.
“You’ve got one last chance,”’ said Mr. Suit Jacket.
The black cloth was placed over the young man’s face. Mr. Suit Jacket took close to 30 seconds to pour a gallon of water over the restrained man’s covered nose and mouth. The detainee struggled.
When the cloth was yanked free, the man on the table begged, “Just let me go.”
Mr. Suit Jacket, shaking his head, told him, “Lights out, dude.”
Once again, with the cloth in place, Mr. Suit Jacket trickled another gallon of water over his victim. Halfway into gallon three, people in the crowd, prompted by a rally organizer, began to shout, “Shame, shame, shame.”
Released from the straps, the cloth removed from his face, the young man sat up and shook his head. Drops of water flew right and left. His two jacketed interrogators helped him off the table.
Behind the stage, the alleged detainee revealed that his name was Baki Wright. When asked how he was, Wright, his hair dripping, replied, “I’m good.”
He explained that, during the demo, he never actually experienced the terror of drowning: the black cloth had been attached to the sides of a small soda pop container, causing the water, when poured on him, to be diverted from his mouth and nose. Wright, 18, said he agreed to perform because he felt it important to make people aware of waterboarding. “I really want to raise awareness about how horrible this is.”
The horror of torture was given voice, on stage, by former U.S. Army Chaplain James Yee, who told attendees of his own personal experiences at Guantánamo. In his role as chaplain, he said he’d seen detainees being dragged by their captives. “And I know first hand how terrifying this practice of sleep deprivation is,” said Yee.
In his book, For God and Country, Yee, a convert to Islam, recounts how, while working at Guantánamo in 2003, he was charged with spying, espionage, and three other offenses. Held for 76 days, he writes of being deprived of sleep during that time. All charges against him were eventually dropped.
The indefinite tortures at Guantánamo, said Yee, represent kangaroo courts. When, he wondered, would Americans say enough is enough? Removing his jacket, he displayed an orange shirt, saying the base should be shut down.
“Guantánamo is not justice for the prisoners, not for the victims of 9/11, or the families of those victims.” The crowd cheered him on as he said, “We should be closing Guantánamo. |
