US Training of Death Squads in Iraq? - War Is A Crime .org

‘‘I think it was all an act to try and get him to talk,’’ Rooker said. ‘‘But for a fraction of a secondI didn’t know that. I thought the guy was going to cap him.’’The commandos moved about 100 yards away, where they interrogated the young man again,this time without an AK-47 in his face. With an execution no longer in the offing, Rookerdecided not to irritate the captain further. ‘‘They’ll shake him up a little bit more,’’ he said to thedriver of his Humvee. ‘‘Stay back and let them do their job.’’Later, I asked Johansen about what had happened.‘‘I’m about 99 percent sure it was intimidation to put fear into the guy,’’ he told me. ‘‘I knowthey use different means of interrogation, but I didn’t expect them to raise a weapon at adetainee. I don’t think they know the value of human life Americans have. If they shootsomebody, I don’t think they would have remorse, even if they killed someone who wasinnocent.’’Inside the Detention CenterIn Samarra, the commandos established a detention center at the public library, a hundred yardsdown the road from City Hall. The library is a one-story rose-hued building surrounded by afive-foot wall. There is a Arabic inscription over its entrance: ‘‘In the name of Allah the mostgracious and merciful, Oh, Lord, please fill me with knowledge.’’These days, the knowledge sought under its roof comes not from hardback books but fromblindfolded detainees. In guerrilla wars of recent decades, detention centers have played anotorious role. From Latin America to the Balkans and the Middle East, the worst abuse hastaken place away from the eyes of bystanders or journalists. During my first few days in the city,I was told I could not visit the center; I was able only to observe, discreetly, as detainees wereled into it at all hours. But one day Jim Steele asked whether I wanted to interview a Saudi youthwho had been captured the previous day. I agreed, and he took me to the detention center.We walked through the entrance gates of the center and stood, briefly, outside the main hall.Looking through the doors, I saw about 100 detainees squatting on the floor, hands bound behindtheir backs; most were blindfolded. To my right, outside the doors, a leather-jacketed securityofficial was slapping and kicking a detainee who was sitting on the ground. We went to a roomadjacent to the main hall, and as we walked in, a detainee was led out with fresh blood aroundhis nose. The room had enough space for a couple of desks and chairs; one desk had bloodstainsrunning down its side. The 20-year-old Saudi was led into the room and sat a few feet from me.He said he had been treated well and that a bandage on his head was a result of an injury hesuffered in a car accident as he was being chased by Iraqi soldiers.A few minutes after the interview started, a man began screaming in the main hall, drowning outthe Saudi’s voice. ‘‘Allah!’’ he shouted. ‘‘Allah! Allah!’’ It was not an ecstatic cry; it waschilling, like the screams of a madman, or of someone being driven mad. ‘‘Allah!’’ he yelledagain and again. The shouts were too loud to ignore. Steele left the room to find out what washappening. By the time he returned, the shouts had ceased. But soon, through the window behind15