| Written by JR Brow,
on 07-31-2008
|
Views : 733  |
 To Whom It May Concern:
Happy Independence Day from Guantanamo Bay! Tonight, the folks in charge of pyrotechnics get to strut their stuff! I am here with three other comics, and as of our third and final show last night, our work is done. Word has it that according to the big brass (commanding officers) our stand up shows were such a success that the C.O. of GTMO, Captain Mark Leary has invited us on a rare tour of Camp X-Ray. Not to sound corny, but not many people can say, "Independence Day, Guantanamo Bay, Camp X-Ray." I think I will someday write a song.
As a treat, the event coordinator loans us a van for the entire trip. We come and go as we please and take turns driving each other to our shows or to run errands and whatnot. Today, Scotty K drives us to the detainee camp. He snaps one last picture of a sign that says, "All Cameras And Video Equipment Will Be Confiscated Beyond This Point." Nice one, Scotty! We are cleared at the gate, and are led to a bus where we meet up with the rest of the tour group.
I'm told that we are the largest tour group to visit the camp since
9/11. Normally, 6 people at a time are allowed in, but today there are
20 of us. Cool! The group is comprised of former NFL players, a
congressman, two foreign dignitaries, several band members and four
comedians. We are also informed that everyone is aware that there are
comics amongst us, and we had better be on our best behavior! Well, I
say, "Lookout!"
A few people surround the former football stars. One of them, Dickie
Anderson, is from the Miami Dolphins 1972 Dream Team (the only NFL team
with a perfect record)! I must confess, I don't know dick about Mr.
Anderson, and when he proudly displays his super bowl ring for the
group, I grab his ring finger, zoom in on it and reply, "Ah
yeah...that'll fetch a couple hundred at a pawn shop!" Nothing. Not a
peep. We board the bus and begin our tour.
Before we can pass through the prison (I mean camp) walls, a
briefing officer stops to inform us. "We would ask that you please talk
in a very quiet manner, don't mention names, first or last, don't talk
about where you are from to anyone here, and if any of the detainees
attempts to throws a feces ball laced with urine in your direction, do
your best to dodge it. OK, let's move forward." Everyone in my group
can't help but to look at one another. I say, in a quiet voice, "This
was not mentioned in the brochure!"
We learn that in American prisons, 40% of the population has
mental/social disorders or psychoses. Here at Camp X-Ray, only 4% of
the detainee population displays signs of mental instability. An
officer adds, "That being said, these guys are very intelligent and
want to kill you and your family and are fully aware of their
intentions." Scary, huh? I ask why we have to call them detainees
instead of prisoners. All I get from the lieutenant is, "Because that
is what they are to us - detainees."
We pass more empty buildings and are escorted through corridors,
where atrocities might have happened in the past, but today it seems
everyone is on their best behavior. Arrows that point to Mecca for
prayer purposes are painted in every room. We are taken inside an empty
cell unit to experience living conditions. It's about as big as my
wife's walk-in closet, but with a single bed, a toilet, toothbrush,
comb, one copy of the Koran, and a limited supply of toilet paper. They
limit TP to a few sheets at a time, because I guess they don't want
detainees making any paper mache cell mates.
Detainees are given tan jump suits when they arrive and awarded
white ones to indicate that they are compliant with rules set forth by
the U.S. Government. If they become non-compliant, they are given the
bright orange jump suits (like the ones we see in the news). If they
still refuse to cooperate, they are stripped of their orange jump suits
altogether and made to wear an attractive single frock that hangs to
the knees.
We finally spot a group of prisoners. I mean terrorists. Crap, I
mean detainees! They are in white jump suits, so they are given the
liberty of interaction and communication with each other. One of the
white suited men catches me eyeballing him, and he yells something in
Arabic to the 7 or 8 others sitting on the bench near him. They all
stand up, and begin to walk toward the fence that separates us. I begin
to back-pedal toward the group. I almost want to say, "Uh-oh, I think I
just stirred the zombies."
"They're probably wondering if you're with the media. And if they
think you are, trust me, they'll start hollering ‘cruel and unusual
punishment'. It happens every day," says the silver haired officer. His
voice resembles that of Strother Martin as the warden in "Cool Hand
Luke." Everyone remains silent as we exit the facility and end our
twenty-minute tour of the world's most notorious torture camp. I don't
see any water boards, or anyone forced to stand on one leg for 24 hours
and I wonder to myself, which one of these 270
terrorists/detainees/prisoners is the most non-compliant? Is he in
isolation right now? Will he ever see the light of day again, and could
he ever swallow 50 hard boiled eggs in one day?
The fireworks that follow that evening on our last night at GTMO are
magnificent. Huge booms, giant clusters, and crackling sparks fill the
sky directly in front of me. The military spares no expense at
celebrating its independence - from tyranny, and taxation, and
communism. Someone told me that the detainees have complained every
year about the noise associated with this annual spectacle, but I'm
sure they have fallen on deaf ears. If I had to guess, the fireworks
went a little long this year. Thirty-five minutes plus. And the last
seven were the loudest booms of the night. If I had to describe the
noise, I'd have to compare it to "Shave and a haircut, two bits."
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