Letters From Hell "I AM A PRISONER at Abu Ghraib"

http://www.macleans.ca/topstories/world/article.jsp?content=20040524_81255_81255

May 24, 2004

"I AM A PRISONER at Abu Ghraib." With those words, Mohammed Jassim al-Jabouri and I began our short-lived correspondence. It was a haunting first sentence, in a letter smuggled out of Iraq's most notorious prison by a local worker not long after disturbing images of torture and abuse surfaced in the media. Despite the words' simplicity, they were chilling -- as is the rest of this story. After three short letters, my go-between has disappeared, there has been no more correspondence from Mohammed, and his family lives in fear after American troops searched their home.

(snip)

TWO DAYS LATER, Hassan brought us a third letter from Mohammed. It began by thanking me for my efforts, and then gave more details about life in Abu Ghraib. "There is little food," Mohammed wrote. "I am feeling weak and haven't eaten since morning. The torture usually begins at 12 p.m., 3 p.m., and 4 a.m. We beg the human rights committee to speed up our release from this terrible prison." I wrote back asking for more details. What was their daily routine? Had things changed since the publication of the photographs? What were their living conditions like? Hassan said he would have a reply in another two days.

But this time, Hassan didn't appear. We waited for two hours, hoping he'd simply been delayed. We paid another visit to Mohammed's family; they asked us to stay away because American troops had raided their house the day before, searching it thoroughly before leaving without explanation. "We are afraid they know Mohammed has been sending out letters," his brother told me.

Had Mohammed and Hassan been found out? The following day we returned to the prison, well before the employees were scheduled to arrive. I waited in the car at the spot where we had normally met Hassan, while my translator went to the gate to see if he would come from a different direction. Nothing. Now, even as I worry about Mohammed and Hassan, I can't help but wonder what Mohammed may have written in that last letter, the one I will likely never receive. The mystery of Abu Ghraib has infected me, and it feels like a virus.

it's a forgone epidemic.