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Welcome to the Apocalypse

BDSM, #MeToo, Torture and the Drumbeat For War

In February 2004, an Iraqi Arab male named Ibrahim Awad Ibrahim al-Badrywas was captured in Falluja and taken to the Abu Ghraib prison complex not far away with a sandbag over his head, along with a collection of other Iraqi Arab males. He was kept there for eight months, then was moved to a prison called Camp Bucca. He was eventually released. What al-Badrywas experienced in US custody in Abu Ghraib and Camp Bucca is not known, probably because he was one of so many Iraqi Arab males captured during what supporters of, and protesters against, the invasion and occupation of Iraq both concede was a very confusing time. The fact is, no one -- especially our leaders at the time -- knew what the consequences of their combined arrogance and ignorance would be, something that never seems to change when it comes to the Middle East.

A good friend of mine was an infantryman in the invasion who ended up patrolled the town of Abu Ghraib that surrounds the notorious prison. He says he must have kicked in a thousands doors in Abu Ghraib at three in the morning, rousting families out of bed, cursing in a strange language and humiliating husbands and fathers in front of their wives and kids. One day it went off in his head like a light: These people were attacking us because we were in their town and breaking down their doors in the middle of the night. Abu Ghraib and Falluja were the beginning of the brutal violence and humiliation our forces brought down on the citizens of Anbar Province. Anbar reaches from Baghdad west to the Jordanian and Syrian borders. For what it’s worth, I’ve ridden in a large GMC utility vehicle through Anbar province for 12-hours from Ammon, Jordan to Baghdad and back, twice. We stopped for hot tea and kabobs at a truck stop in the middle of that desert, and I have no doubt many of the busy, working people also stopping there were friendly to Saddam Hussein and, later, to ISIS. As I waited in line in December 2003 for hot tea in a courtyard concession outside the truck stop, I recall a large, imposing bullying sort of fellow. He saw me and decided it would be great sport to harass the European or American. This was after the invasion, and Saddam was still on the run and in hiding. The man pointed at me and, so everybody could hear, loudly said: “George Bush!” Because I did not like George Bush, I smiled at him and quickly gave him a thumbs-down. At this, his face lit up. “You like Saddam!?” The situation was deteriorating fast, so the prudent thing was to become scarse. I looked him straight in the eye and said: “George Bush!” I gave him another emphatic thumbs-down. Then I said: “Saddam!” and gave him a second emphatic thumbs-down. Then, I booked from the line and returned inside the truck stop with my comrades. Fortunately, the fellow did not follow me and we enjoyed without incident very tasty lamb kabobs among the working people of Anbar Province.

story | by Dr. Radut