the Law of Land Warfare5 and calling it a joke. Francis Lieber’s “Instructions for the Armies of the United States” (1863) expressed what I believe to be the continuing consensus of serious military professionals: “Men who take up arms against one another in public war do not cease on this account to be moral beings, responsible to one another and to God.”6 Even tough-guy gunslingers in the ground forces, and all those whose ideals include “supporting our troops,” have good reason, based on national self-interest, to respect and support the “rules of war.” Those who claim “there are no rules” fail to support the troops patriotically. Furthermore, those who hawkishly advocate torture (sometimes called “harsh interrogation techniques” or “coercive interrogation”) should think again about the adverse impact of participation in torture on our military forces. The toxic legacy of torture during the “war on terror” is starkly articulated in this book.
The “purity of arms”—all arms and all Military Occupation Specialties (MOS) and all actual tasks service members are assigned to do, regardless of their MOS—is something we do for ourselves to win fights and remain whole.
Jonathan Shay is a retired VA psychiatrist and is the author of Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character and of Odysseus in America: Combat Trauma and the Trials of Homecoming, which includes a joint foreword by US Senators John McCain and Max Cleland. Shay speaks frequently at the invitation of US and allied forces and has held a number of consultative and teaching posts, such as the Commandant of the Marine Corps Trust Study (1999–2000), Chair of Ethics, Leadership and Personnel Policy in the Office of the US Army Deputy Chief of Staff for Personnel (2004–2005), and the 2009 Omar Bradley Chair of Strategic Leadership at the US Army War College (spring semester 2010). He describes himself as “a missionary from the veterans I served: They don’t want other young kids wrecked the way they were wrecked. So listen up!” He has been a MacArthur Fellow, beginning January 2008.
Introduction
TWO STARK SENTENCES wedged in the center of a military document curtly summarized the demise of a twenty-four-year-old soldier: “SGT Gray was found dead in his barracks room at 1921 hrs on 29 August 2004. Subsequent investigation by CID (Exhibit 5) found that his death was accidental.” An autopsy report provided a few more details about the deceased: “He spoke at length of many positive experiences in Iraq, such as rebuilding schools and eating with Iraqis. However, he also made reference to events that bothered him and that he could not speak … about.”
Sergeant Adam Gray rarely spoke of those “events that bothered him.” He shared these experiences with loved ones during one tearful evening, telling of one incident that involved an accidental shooting that claimed two Iraqi lives. But there were other events that distressed him and other soldiers from his unit as well. After military sweeps, they detained Iraqis in a makeshift jail in Iraq and occasionally roughed them up. Sometimes the roughing up took an extreme turn. Friends and family noticed that Adam seemed “troubled” by those events and witnessed his struggle against anger, substance abuse, and depression after his tour in Iraq. Military documents show that he even professed to have attempted suicide at his Army barracks room in Alaska. The documents also reveal that “Gray said that [his] problems were due to the way he felt about what happened during his deployment.” But there is no indication that the military genuinely tried to understand the source of those problems from his tour in Iraq, namely what happened during his deployment.
Three weeks after that attempted suicide, Sergeant Adam Gray was found dead in the same room. The circumstances leading up to his death led Adam’s friends and family to question whether it was accurately summarized as “accidental.” Some also puzzled over how ordinary soldiers like Adam Gray—a tanker, not an interrogator—became involved in detainee abuse and torture.
Understanding how and why US forces have engaged in detainee abuse and torture is a difficult and uncomfortable inquiry. It forces us to examine who we are as a nation and what has compelled us to choose such a path. This issue does not involve only the soldiers who abused and tortured detainees, but also the government, military, and intelligence officials whose policies enabled it and sometimes ordered it, the doctors and psychologists who oversaw it, and the agencies that failed to investigate the abuses, among others. Among those “others” is us, the American public. Even though Americans have consistently opposed torture in recent years, as evidenced by polling data, the myths surrounding torture (e.g., its effectiveness for questioning terrorist suspects) have influenced its acceptance and use.1
This book contains several expository narratives to illustrate the causes and costs of US torture and detainee abuse during the war on terror. The central story is about members of an Army unit that turned to torture, and the toll it took on them all. That is the story of Sergeant Adam Gray and some of his fellow soldiers from Battalion 1-68. One story cannot wholly explain the disparate factors that led US forces to engage in detainee abuse and torture, nor can it fully address the total costs of that experience. But it does help illuminate many critical issues that have been overlooked in the discourse about US torture—some of which involve enormous human tragedies.
Overall, the Central Intelligence Agency has held far fewer detainees than the military; by most estimates, there have been roughly a hundred detainees held in CIA “black sites,” compared with the tens of thousands of detainees that the US military has held in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo Bay.2 This book does not cover CIA operations such as “extraordinary renditions” or the black sites, in which US personnel (aided by allies) have abducted and sent terrorist suspects to secret foreign prisons. While investigative reporting in this area is critically important, those CIA programs are an enormous subject that deserves the attention of another book. Moreover, the CIA’s programs and the agency’s involvement in torture during the war on terror have been different than, and separate from, the experience of US military forces (the former being more directly managed by Bush administration officials, as evidenced by recently released legal memos and documents). However, military and intelligence forces have shared some similar associations with torture, and operations by CIA and military personnel sometimes overlapped on the battlefield.
As for torture carried out by US soldiers, President Bush and his supporters have narrowly referenced the Abu Ghraib detainee “abuse” scandal (never called torture), claiming it was an isolated incident and attributing it to the actions of “a few bad apples.” By their account, these perpetrators were swiftly investigated and punished, and the problem of detainee abuse was thus eliminated. But this position was dishonest. Even if we were to accept this account, it doesn’t explain what enabled those “few bad apples” to engage in torture.3
The other problem with this analysis is that it myopically focuses our attention on one high-profile case: Abu Ghraib. To be sure, the torture and abuse at Abu Ghraib was notorious and deserved much scrutiny. Yet it represented just one example. Reports by journalists and human rights organizations have shown that US detainee abuse and torture spread far beyond that single prison during the war on terror. This is consistent with the military’s data. In 2006, the Department of Defense announced that it had opened investigations into 842 allegations of detainee abuse, 600 of which were criminal inquiries.4 According to military investigators, there are possibly hundreds, if not thousands, of detainee abuse cases “that nobody is aware of…that have never seen the light of day.” As for accountability, in the case of Abu Ghraib, eleven soldiers were convicted (nine of whom were sentenced to prison), while five officers received administrative punishment.5
The question “How did US forces turn to torture?” may even be too broad. To properly answer the question, one has to break it down further. That means asking: Why did US forces and officials think torture would be effective? Why did they think it would be permissible and necessary? How did they turn to certain techniques? Where did their ideas about the effectiveness of torture come from, and why were they so pervasive? And what other factors led US forces to engage in abuse and
