This Blog Is About Waterboarding (And My Guilt)

On the heels of the news that Strike Anywhere was signing to Bridge Nine and was moving away from Dead FM as a sound, I've come to listen to Dead FM nearly nonstop and realize that it is, categorically, Strike Anywhere's best record for its combination of enthusiasm, solidarity and joy.

I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised then, that while writing this blog about anger, spite and torture I listened to the record five six times, straight through. Consider purchasing a copy.

Also, it's Memorial Day. There's a lot of patriotic sentiment going around today about supporting the troops, so, in a slightly different vein, here's a link to the United State's Veteran's Affairs website about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When soldiers (of all stripes and nations) get back, some of them can't leave their time in combat on the battlefield and it's them I want you to remember, especially.




I take it back.

I've said, loudly and irregularly, that members of ex-President Bush's cabinet ought to face waterboarding as some kind of a penance and poetic justice for their crimes inside and outside of the inland territories of the United States. After watching an occurrence of waterboarding, I take it back.

A local shock jock I dislike got waterboarded recently and there's a youtube clip up if you care to look. I'm not mentioning their name or even gender, because I don't want this person to get more attention or pageviews. Suffice to say I find their entire program to be racist, sexist, homophobic and unimaginative. I viewed this person as exactly the opposite of what I wanted to grow up like. I view this on-air personality, at a minimum, as repugnant and chauvinistic.

This personality lost a bet, is what I remember and the consequence is enduring a form of torture known as waterboarding. It's pretty much simulated drowning, but you know this already. I found embedded video on Facebook and my face lit up. I hit the play button and the scene unfolded in front of me.

There's EMTs standing by and at least two video cameras, along with another DJ (the show must go on!) and a photographer. So, when I see a black rag being put over their nose and eyes and I see the Marine overseeing the entire enterprise preparing the gallon of water, I was ready. I knew what to do. Reptile brain, get ready for the overload of comeuppance and pleasure in seeing a person I despise drown. The initial repetition of "the normal person can only stand 14 seconds" struck me of the same infantile traditional fratboy dominance games that masquerade as generic male bonding, but whatever. Motherfucker's getting waterboarded! It's about time!

The intensity was ratcheted up. Feet were tied so as restrain the subject, and the other announcer kept asking his friend if they were ready. Sure as ever that the coming waterfall was nothing to worry, the subject instructed the Marine to get on with it. Out comes the clear gallon of water. I wanted to feel sorry for the water that it was being used to go into the nose and mouth of a person who spent their day disenfranchising minorities and women, calling it all good in the name of entertainment and comedy.

Down came the water. I got a little bit of joy when I saw the water leave the container, the promise that what would come next would please me even more, when the simulated drowning would really take effect.

It didn't come.

Water stopped being poured after seven seconds, the personality saying it was enough and it was horrific. But aside from the visible, but minuscule vindication of my ethical standpoint, I feel worse, demonstrably, for having watched that. Certainly, one, I am contributing, virally, to the the continued success of the DJ, but more that waterboarding is torture on anyone, even those I loathe and it's not fun for me to watch, regardless of who it is being practiced on.

I thought I would get a sick pleasure in seeing the person in pain, but I felt, for the most part, disgusted. I let my own petty, ingrained hate override my beliefs. What does it say about me that I thought I would get some kicks out of watching an overgrown child getting tortured and I went through with it? I chose to click that youtube link. I chose to hit start on that video. What does it say about me that I got caught up in bad blood that frankly, I should have grown up and moved on from years ago?

I don't want to say something as stark as torture is torture, but watching a person think they're drowning is harrowing enough, even a computer screen or two removed from the incident. Still, take another look at the second paragraph above this one. The phrase "It's not fun for me to watch" sticks out. Looking back on that just makes me think, "Dude, what were you thinking? Of course it's not going to be fun. It's torture."

But more to the point, why did I let myself get into a judgment where I might have to weigh the potential pleasure to see a corrosive personality get waterboarded versus my distaste for the practice? It's obvious. I was blinded by spite and chose to indulge voyerism.

There's an obvious parallel here. Important portions of the United States government were blinded and made choices, too. They had go through labyrinthine means and some pretty bizzare memos to legalize the use of torture and even then, something still felt wrong. I suppose, after seeing it used, myself, on someone willing, I'm no longer willing to run my mouth about forcing 60 or 70 year old men to experience it themselves, despite the fact that they ordered it.

I'm technically well aware of just how much damage what those Cabinet members ordered and signed off on has done to this country, both in terms of what this opens up for our enemies, but also in terms of the United States' international credibility. They ought to pay a high price for their crimes, but I'm not sure torture is the right punishment. In this case, I'm not sure the crime they legalized fits the crime they committed.

I just want for torture not to be used, period. But, failing that, I just don't want it to be used in my name. For all the times that has happened (and especially on Memorial Day), I'm sorry. I can't take back the pain. But, after watching it happen, to someone who thought they could handle it, I can make a promise to speak out even louder against it when I see evidence it is being used, in the hope that when it is used again, it isn't by hands of this country, whether it's our agents performing the procedure or our agents pulling the strings from overseas.

Too many have died already around the world this year. Too many more will next year and the year after that, too. I'm going to thank that DJ for bringing a bit of the war (and the realization of horror that comes with it) home to me for Memorial Day. Tomorrow, that personality will be back on air, spewing their garbage and poisonous rhetoric, but that's for tomorrow.

Today is Memorial Day.