TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/020491/0204997.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 8.8 KB | 207 lines

                                                                                THE GULF WAR, Page 34

PRISONERS OF WAR

Iraq's Horror Picture Show


Saddam parades allied captives before TV cameras, but the
propaganda ploy merely underscores his contempt for accepted
behavior

By JILL SMOLOWE -- Reported by Christopher Ogden/Washington and
Lisa Towle/Cherry Hill


    ARTICLE 17

    "No physical or mental torture, nor any other form of
coercion, may be inflicted on prisoners of war."

    -- The 1949 Geneva Convention


    The images are only too familiar. The men stare straight
ahead, their eyes glazed and puffy, their bodies rigid,
unmoving. Their faces, lined with fatigue, show strain and
distrust and are discolored by cuts and bruises. "How have you
been shot down?" drills a harsh, disembodied voice. "What do
you think about this aggression against Iraq?" The men respond
woodenly, the rhythms of their speech halting and stilted. Some
employ peculiar accents. One lapses into a singsong cadence.
Another refuses -- or is unable -- to lift his head.

    "I think this war is crazy and should never have happened,"
says Marine Chief Warrant Officer Guy Hunter Jr., 46, his
blackened left eye nearly closed.

    "I think our leaders and our people have wrongly attacked
the peaceful people of Iraq," says Navy Lieut. Jeffrey Zaun,
28, his swollen face speckled with dried blood.

    These are not answers; they are invitations to questions.
What did Saddam Hussein hope to achieve by this bizarre and
revolting picture show? Did he believe that the grisly footage
would turn Western public opinion against the war? Deter pilots
from their missions? Raise doubts about the fortitude and
courage of the allied fighting forces? If so, Saddam had
grossly miscalculated once again. The clumsy propaganda seemed
only to harden civilian and military resolve that Saddam must
be stopped. Western viewers did not need expert commentary to
conclude that the statements made by 13 captured pilots --
eight Americans, two Britons, two Italians and one Kuwaiti --
had been brutally coerced, in bald violation of the Geneva
Conventions' provisions on the treatment of prisoners of war.

    If, by vowing to deploy the POWs as human shields at
"civilian, economic, educational and other targets," Saddam
aimed to curtail the allied aerial campaign, the plan backfired
as miserably as his earlier threat to put the now released
Western hostages to the same use. "America is angry about
this," said an irritated President Bush. "If [Saddam] thought
this brutal treatment of pilots is the way to muster world
support, he is dead wrong." Saddam's tactics also aroused
disgust in Europe. "He's a man without pity," said British
Prime Minister John Major. Both Bush and Major hinted that they
might seek to prosecute Saddam for war crimes if the prisoners
are mistreated in any way.

    Almost certainly, Saddam hoped for a reprise of the Vietnam
War. Back then, the constant parading of broken U.S. captives
before the TV cameras dampened American morale and helped turn
public sentiment against the war. What Saddam has apparently
failed to grasp is that unlike the shaky policy that maintained
the U.S. presence in Vietnam, Bush's goals enjoy the support
of the United Nations, a multinational force, Congress and a
vast majority of Americans. Moreover, Saddam's blatant
disregard for civilians -- his initial holding of unwilling
Western "guests," the torture and killing of unarmed Kuwaitis,
his ongoing Scud attacks against civilian targets in Israel --
has ensured that he will not be lionized as Ho Chi Minh was
during the Vietnam War. If anything, his brutality has
strengthened allied public and official support for his
elimination.

    Instead of offering a parallel, Vietnam has provided a
lesson. That experience sensitized Americans and their military
leaders to the limits of a POW's ability to withstand cruel
punishment. During Vietnam, the military Code of Conduct
prohibited a soldier from giving captors anything but his name,
rank, service number and date of birth. Returning POWs who had
been tortured into making antiwar statements were burdened by
such excessive guilt over their technical misconduct that in
1977 a military-civilian committee produced a new six-point
code. It allows that beyond the four "freebies," a soldier must
only "evade answering further questions to the utmost of my
ability." The amended code, explains a Navy spokesman, gives
a POW more latitude so that "if they are breaking his arm off,
he need not carry the mental load along with the physical."

    Former POWs say the new approach is common sense. "Rather
than be turned into a vegetable," says former Navy Commander
Lloyd Bucher, "prisoners of war should do what is required to
stay alive." He should know. Bucher was the skipper of the spy
ship U.S.S. Pueblo, which was captured by North Korea in 1968.
After 11 months of brutal treatment, Bucher confessed to
espionage activities. Although he had acted under duress and
out of concern for the safety of his men, whom the North
Koreans had threatened to execute unless Bucher cooperated, he
returned home only to be pilloried for breaking the code.

    In the gulf conflict, the public has been far more
understanding. Although it is possible that the facial
scratches and bruises occurred when the airmen "punched out"
of their aircraft or when they landed, most Americans are
convinced that the men were mistreated by their captors. Like
many Vietnam veterans, former paratrooper Thomas Waskovich, 42,
of Ocean County, N.J., insists that parachute injuries usually
involve broken limbs or bruises that result from landings in
trees. "There aren't too many trees to run into in the desert,"
he notes dryly.

    Far from believing that the latest POWs had behaved in a
cowardly fashion, Americans seemed to grope for explanations.
Perhaps the men were in shock. Or drugged. Or resisting.
Shortly after the first tapes were aired, several relatives
commented to reporters about the unusual inflection of the
men's voices. In Cherry Hill, N.J., Zaun's parents said their
son's voice sounded "high pitched and tense," and asserted that
the Iraqis were "putting words into his mouth." Hunter's father
said his son was "exaggerating his style of voice." The Defense
Department rapidly suggested that the families refrain from
further comment. The move was prompted both by concern that any
detail learned by the Iraqis could then be used during torture
sessions and by the recollection that several POWs were
tortured by the North Vietnamese after the press called
attention to their verbal and bodily signs of resistance.

    The POWs' rapid capitulation only heightened concern about
their treatment. These men, after all, have been schooled in
the art of surviving in captivity. Since the early 1970s, each
of the armed forces has been running men and women through a
program called SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape).
The simulated POW experience includes incarceration in fenced
compounds, sleep deprivation, interrogation and brainwashing.
While military officials will not discuss the specifics of the
seven-to-10-day courses, legal suits filed by troops who
sustained injuries during the training attest to its realistic
conditions.

    As yet, Baghdad has denied the International Committee of
the Red Cross access to the allied POWs. By contrast, the Red
Cross was permitted last week to visit seven Iraqi POWs
hospitalized in Saudi Arabia and 35 Iraqis in Britain whose
status changed from visiting student to POW when it was
discovered that they were members of the Iraqi armed forces.
Baghdad's refusal to permit inspection of the POWs served only
to arouse fears about what is being done to the men. Last
week's reports out of Baghdad that a downed allied pilot had
been stoned by Iraqi citizens, despite official appeals not to
harm Western airmen, unleashed new nightmares.

    These dark fantasies may not be imagination run wild. During
the eight-year Iran-Iraq conflict, Baghdad repeatedly
demonstrated its blatant disregard for the 143 articles of the
third Geneva Convention that address the treatment of POWs. A
1985 U.N. report issued after visits to eight prison camps in
each country concluded, "Physical violence appeared to be
particularly common in POW camps in Iraq." Among the atrocities
cited by prisoners: assaults on genital organs, beatings with
truncheons and wire cables, electric shocks and mock
executions. Late last week Baghdad announced that it was
temporarily halting broadcast of POW interviews. That may
provide some respite for anxious television viewers. But for
the POWs, the worst may be yet to come.