“The Worst Thing was the Separation from My Family”

 Very recently, when Direct Aid Iraq met Abu Omar, we knew only that he had been tortured in detention centers in Iraq. He welcomed us into his small apartment in Amman, gave us tea and juice, and for nearly three hours told us the story of his arrest, torture, release, and escape to Jordan. He spoke with remarkable dignity and humility, and when he was finished he invited us to stay for dinner. “You haven’t eaten,” he said, “and this is the Iraqi way of hospitality.” To read his story, told in his own words, click “read more.”

 

 I am a former military officer in the Iraqi Army. After the invasion, I lived with my three sisters and our elderly mother in a predominantly Sunni area outside of Baghdad.

 This area became known as a place of fierce resistance to the occupation. American military personnel (sometimes accompanied by Iraqi military) searched my house and the houses in our neighborhood frequently. Whenever shots were fired, the Americans would come. But they didn’t come in a proper way or at a good time.

 They’d come after midnight, to each house along the streets. We had no electricity, but they brought their own bright lights. Their purpose was to terrify us. Instead of knocking and waiting, they would either break the door in, or more frequently, set off small explosives that would blow the door open. This happened so often that eventually I made a habit of leaving the door open and sleeping two meters from the door to protect the house.

 I wouldn’t sleep much, because whenever I heard a shot fired, I knew the Americans would come. But this way my mother and sisters could sleep better, knowing I was watching the door. I wake early to pray anyway. Then I would try to sleep during the day.  

 Although this may sound bad to your ears, as an Army officer it doesn’t offend me. What bothers me is how they conducted themselves: making the entire family wait outside, breaking our belongings, stealing our belongings, making a mess, frightening people – the worst thing was, knowing our traditions they would nonetheless break into women’s clothes and women’s things.

 Art night, hearing gunfire and knowing they would come, I would wait, and as I waited, I could not look outside to see their progress or they would shoot me. In many of the families in our neighborhood, the men would flee when they knew the Americans were coming, because they knew they could be arrested for nothing. But for me, given my age, no weapons in my house, and only my old mother and my sisters living with me, I felt safe.

 Often, if the Americans came to a house with four or five men, they’d arrest them all, assuming they were a group of terrorists – but it could most likely be a group of brothers or cousins. Parents often asked their sons to leave for their own protection. 

 On March 9, 2007, the Americans came to our house. We had no electricity, so they put a light on my face. “What is your name?” they asked. Hearing my answer, they told the Iraqi soldiers accompanying them to arrest me. They tied my hands behind my back, blindfolded me. They took me in a very bad, rough, violent way. They put me in a cage in the back of the car like I am an animal or a thing. Iraqi soldiers then beat the cage, abused me verbally, verbally abused Sunnis in general and the community where I lived. The American soldiers just stood and watched. They were standing there long enough and their faces showed they understood the meaning of what was being said. 

 I was due to be married the following week. After my marriage, my wife and I planned to move into a house next door to the one I lived in with my mother and sisters. By this time, I had packed everything so that I was ready to move. I had packed the gold for the wedding.

 During sanctions, the Iraqi army wasn’t paid well, and I had been working in antiques to earn some extra money. So I had also packed antiques, some of which belonged to my father’s family. From the cage, I could hear the Iraqi soldiers talking about what they stole from me – the gold for the wedding. I am most sad about the family antiques.

 They took me to an American military base located in one of Saddam Hussein’s former palaces. When they took me out of the car, a group of Iraqi soldiers – 10 or 15 – began to beat me. Because I am a trained soldier myself, I didn’t scream or open my mouth, though they hurt me badly. At one point, they hit me over the head with a pipe. I thought it would kill me. But I was OK, and this upset them.

 When they started to use metal pipes and clubs, the Americans stopped them. I was still blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back. I also heard the screams of others who were arrested with me, many of them were children. Remember, I was still in my bedclothes, my underwear, and it was February, and cold.

  They took  me to a parking area outside and made me stand. I have a problem with varicose veins and a clot in my leg, and I’m not allowed to stand for long periods, but they made me stand (today, I also have joint problems and hypertension from stress). I was still blindfolded. And people would come by and hit me. I could hear them dividing my belongings and talking about the things: “this is for a soldier, this is for an officer.” Even my officer clothing – I looked after these clothes, even after the fall of Saddam Hussein – they took even these, including the hats made in France.

  An interrogation began the next morning at 7:30. I soon realized they weren’t trained interrogators from the military, but militia. I know this because they argued about taking me to Iran. The Americans stopped them from taking me. The main reason they couldn’t take me is because the Americans had made an official record of my arrest and the interrogation. They had given me a number. And they would know if I disappeared.

 While I was in prison, I documented the torture that I experienced and observed. In fact, they saw me writing and prohibited me from receiving pens and paper. But a few of the Iraqi soldiers were good, and they made sure I had these things. 

 They made me stand, blindfolded, hands tied, for three days. Day One: no food. Day Two and Three: they untied my hands for a few minutes to let me eat, and took me to the bathroom twice a day. I continued to be blindfolded. Almost all of the Iraqi soldiers were Shia, because the Sunni, at this time, were refusing to be a part of the GOI (government of Iraq). But at night a few of the Sunni soldiers would come and bring me a chair to sit in.

 There was no principle or legality behind their interrogation: it was a purely sectarian investigation. I was trying to understand why they arrested me in the first place, because I had done nothing illegal. 

 After this, they took me to the Green Zone, to the GOI’s offices. Ten real soldiers (most I knew because I had been their superior) interrogated me. I was still blindfolded, but I recognized their voices. They said to me ”we are your friends,” but wouldn’t give their names.

 These are Shia who now belong to a militia, and they didn’t treat me fairly in this interrogation. It lasted three hours. Twice they stopped to beat me, though not as bad as earlier. Their interrogation covered three areas: 1) why didn’t you re-join the army and work with us? You don’t respect us. 2) sectarianism: “you are Sunni, your neighborhood is Sunni.” I was calm and quiet and patient. I told them: “You, too, were in the military and associated with the Ba’ath party, but no one broke into your house  and arrested you. Why arrest me?” 3) questions regarding the power behind the resistance in our community; “Who is in charge? Give us names.” This is perhaps the main reason they arrested me. After three hours, an order came to take me to jail and to start torturing me. It upset them that I was so calm.

 After the interrogation, they took me to the same place and made me stand for two more days. In the middle of the night, I heard the torture of other prisoners – mostly children. After these two days, they took me to a tiny cell – a meter and a half by a meter and a half. No windows. I am still in my underwear, and the ground is cold and hard, so I can’t sleep. Imagine my situation: I was used to showering twice a day in the winter, and now I’m living with dirt and cold and no sleep. I stayed in this cell for ten days. Food two times a day: in the morning, bread and a bit of cheese, sometimes cold tea. Later in the day, rice and soup and a piece of bread thrown on top. Every night, psychological torture: beating on the door, shooting their guns, etc.

 There was a trade in prisoners. Prison guards and soldiers “sold” prisoners. In other words, they were offered money to turn prisoners (of a certain religion or ethnicity, for example) over to militias outside the prison. The only thing the Americans were concerned about was making sure I hadn’t been sold. A soldier in the prison told me ‘They offered me good money for you.’ 

 Ten days later, I was hauled in front of an American doctor, stripped naked, and examined. It was dark. The doctor had a light. The purpose wasn’t a medical exam, but simply to determine if I had any bullet wounds. If I did, these would be evidence that I was a terrorist.

 The following day, an Iraqi doctor gave me an actual medical exam, but even in this case, it wasn’t motivated by humanitarian concern but by the fact that the judicial process would require it.

 Three weeks later, they took me to court. Professional lawyers told me “We know you’ve been tortured, etc., so we will do our own investigation.” In other words, anything learned under torture cannot be used. They gave their report to the judge, who was Shia. The judge ruled there should be another investigation.

 I was taken to jail and held for another 10 days; tortured every few days. They took us outside, beat us, insulted us, and returned us to our cells. Even to be in these cells was torture. I told the humanitarian committee (who investigated practices at the prison) that animals are treated better, given  open air, decent food, etc.

 Then they took me to a prison in the Green Zone, run by the GOI, related to the Ministry of Defense and Intelligence. There are four secret prisons run by Al-Maliki’s government. People hadn’t known about these at the time. They took me to a room, one meter square and held me there for 6 months. They said they were bringing me there for interrogation, but there was none. Then finally they questioned me – for five days – using the same questions but different techniques. The last day was the worst, torture and beatings, but they couldn’t get anything from me. They told me: “It looks like you are well-trained to deal with these kinds of interrogations, so you must be a terrorist.” They took me back to the cell and held me there until my release. In all I was held over a year and a half. 

 During this time, I had one hour a day outside my cell with the other prisoners, and I learned from them the effects of the torture they suffered: bloody urine, blindness, broken noses and other bones. They told me: “You are lucky you came here after the prison was discovered, after the international humanitarian groups came and investigated.” 

 Even though I was tortured often during my imprisonment, the worst thing for me was the separation from my family, knowing that they would be worried about me and not have any information, and not knowing how they were doing. The first time I was able to contact them was seven months after my arrest; it cost me $500, and then I was only able to say: “I am alive.” It was very hard on my mother. When I was arrested, she was walking. When I returned, she was in a wheelchair. Thank God nothing serious happened to my family while I was imprisoned. Worrying that they’d be attacked was the worst thing for me. But they suffered no special mistreatment – only what everyone in the neighborhood suffered.

 Although Americans are guilty in what happened to me, they also protected me. I told American soldiers: “You are responsible for what has happened to us because you just gave us to the militias.” At my release, one of the high investigators told me, “You have three options: 1) join us; 2) flee Iraq; 3) be buried in a coffin. “I didn’t join them because the Iraqi military is infiltrated by militias who will not allow me to operate independently. No free, independent person could work for them. Instead, I would be taking my orders from the militia. I would have to join the militia, and my job would be to serve the militia and it’s goals (killing, etc.). And they work under directions from Iran.  

 Even the lawyer who released me advised me not to stay in my house more than a week, saying “if you do, they’ll arrest you again and bring you back.” I have a brother in Iraq. Because the attack was on me personally, the rest of my family was safe, but I didn’t want to endanger my brother by staying with him. I returned to my house for 10 days. I couldn’t sleep much and neither could my mother. When I’d awake in the middle of the night, I’d find her awake watching to see if I was OK. Even my mother asked me to leave Iraq.

 I went to Syria because the visa to enter Jordan would take two months. I spent two months in Syria, applied for a visa, and came to Jordan. I didn’t feel comfortable in Syria. No problem with the people. But life was very complicated there. I lived in three different homes during my short stay. In the last residence, thieves came and stole everything I had. If they hadn’t robbed me, I’d have enough to manage here for another six months. As it is now, my money is running out. I’ve tried unsuccessfully to get permanent residency in Jordan. I cannot be resettled (because I was in the Iraqi Army), but I’ve registered with UNHCR and been promised help (cash assistance). 

Editor’s note: Direct Aid Iraq has advocated with UNHCR on Abu Omar’s behalf, seeking to ensure that he receives the cash assistance to which he is entitled — a small monthly stipend to help with living expenses. DAI has also contacted people who might be able to help him with part-time work so that he can make ends meet. And it is possible that the Center for Victims of Torture may be able to provide him with assistance.

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