Team Infidel
Forum Spin Doctor
If you want to know what I was involved in Iraq.... Here ya go...... TI
New York Times
December 17, 2006
Pg. 1
By Michael Moss
BAGHDAD — In a cavernous room that once displayed gifts given to Saddam Hussein, eight men in yellow prison garb sat on the floor facing the wall, guarded by two American soldiers.
Among them was Abdulla Sultan Khalaf, a Ministry of Industry employee seized by American troops who said they found 10 blasting caps and 100 sticks of TNT. When his name was called, he stood, walked into a cagelike defendant’s box and peered over the wooden slats at a panel of three Iraqi judges of the central court.
The judges reviewed evidence prepared by an American military lawyer — testimony from two soldiers, photographs and a sketch of the scene.
The evidence went largely unchallenged, because Mr. Khalaf had no lawyer. The judges appointed one, but Mr. Khalaf had no chance to speak with him. Mr. Khalaf told the judges that the soldiers were probably chasing a rogue nephew and denied that the explosives were his or ever in his house. “Let me examine the pictures,” he insisted. The judges ignored him. His lawyer said nothing, beyond declaring Mr. Khalaf’s innocence. The trial lasted 15 minutes.
The judges conducted six trials of similar length and depth before lunch, then deliberated for four minutes. Five defendants were found guilty; one was acquitted. “The evidence is enough,” Judge Saeb Khorsheed Ahmed said in convicting Mr. Khalaf. “Thirty years.”
The United States established the Central Criminal Court of Iraq three years ago, envisioning it as a pillar of a new democracy. But like the faltering effort to create effective Iraqi security forces, the system for detaining, charging and trying suspects has instead become another weak link in the rule of law in Iraq, according to an examination of the justice system by The New York Times.
The stakes are rising. The court has begun sentencing American-held detainees to death by hanging, 14 this year.
Almost every aspect of the judicial system is lacking, poorly serving not just detainees but also Iraqi citizens and troops trying to maintain order.
Soldiers who have little if any training in gathering evidence or sorting the guilty from the innocent are left to decide whom to detain. The military conducts reviews to decide whom to release, yet neither Iraqi detainees nor defense lawyers are allowed to attend, according to military documents and interviews.
Tens of thousands of detainees have been released by the Americans, often under political pressure from the Iraqis, but American soldiers complain they are apprehending many dangerous insurgents again and again. At the same time, detainees are held for long periods by the Americans without being charged, in some instances for as long as two years.
Even detainees who are formally charged and brought to the Iraqi court have little ability to develop a defense against evidence collected by American lawyers and soldiers. Most defense lawyers are appointed by the court and paid $15 per case. Even if they are so inclined, they are largely unable to gather evidence because of the threat of violence. One American lawyer said that in 100 cases he handled, not one defense lawyer had introduced evidence or witnesses.
The central court resembles the narrow end of a funnel crowded with suspects captured by American and Iraqi forces. No figures are available on prisoners held by Iraqis, but the Americans have held about 61,500 over the past three years and are now holding 14,000, military officials say. Roughly 3,000 have been charged and tried in the Iraqi court.
The court acquits nearly half of the defendants, but both Americans and Iraqis involved in the process say that political interference, threats from militants and the judges’ fear for their lives weigh heavily in many verdicts. The military has found housing in the protected Green Zone for only 12 of the 30 judges on the criminal court. The others commute to work.
“The most fundamental thing that we need to do in Iraq is establish the rule of law,” said Mark Waller, an Air Force Reserve major and deputy district attorney in Colorado, who spent four months this year in Baghdad helping to prosecute detainees. “It’s the cornerstone of a civilization. Without it you have anarchy. And we are falling short.”
Beyond the scandal at Abu Ghraib and the trial of Mr. Hussein, the system of holding and prosecuting detainees in Iraq has largely escaped public scrutiny. The day-to-day details of these government operations emerged from interviews with American and Iraqi officials, former detainees, a review of military records and a visit to proceedings in the Iraqi court normally closed to the public.
A classified Pentagon assessment completed in June of the American effort to strengthen Iraqi justice found one sign of progress: the prosecution of former senior government officials. Everything else, from training judges to building court capacity to minimizing civil rights abuses by Iraqi security forces, had fallen behind, according to the assessment by the National Security Council.
“Iraq’s judiciary is technically independent but unable and unwilling to assert itself or provide a balance to Iraq’s powerful political parties,” it said. “The criminal justice system is overloaded and lacks the capacity to consistently process those arrested and/or detained.”
Even though the American military helps to prosecute cases in the court, it does not always release detainees whose cases are dismissed, officials acknowledged in interviews. Maj. Gen. John D. Gardner, the commander of American detainee operations, orders those defendants held if the military believes they remain a threat. According to military officials, this has happened approximately 60 times, or in about 4 percent of the dismissed cases.
American officials said that within the confines of the nascent Iraqi justice system they were striving to protect American troops, while promoting due process. “Our goal is to balance detaining the people who are the real threats, and releasing those who are not, and that’s a fine line,” General Gardner said.
The justice system is most troubling for people like Intisar Jaafar. Her 29-year-old son, Laith al-Ani, was taken from his home in Baghdad by American troops in October 2004 in a search for weapons his mother said they never found. The military said he was a “security detainee” but would not elaborate.
Mr. Ani, a women’s clothing merchant, is being held at Camp Bucca in the desert of southern Iraq, his relatives said. They have made the daylong trip to visit him, but it brought them no more information about when he might be charged, released or brought to court.
In a recent letter he drew a caged heart reaching out to his wife and two children, and wrote, “I hope I can be dust in the storms of Bucca so that I can reach you.”
A Grand Vision
At 9 a.m. on a recent Monday, two United States Army trucks guarded by seven Humvees pulled to a halt in central Baghdad, just outside the protected Green Zone.
The soldiers fanned out with their rifles ready as a man in a black hood and yellow prison garb emerged, followed by more than 30 others, their hands and feet shackled.
The men shuffled down two flights of stairs into the Central Criminal Court.
The courthouse did not exist before the war, with most criminal cases left to provincial judges. In 2003, the Bush administration decided Iraq also needed a central court — like the American federal judiciary — for major national crimes like significant corruption or violence.
The vision was grand.
“Evil doers will face justice in honest and fair Iraqi courts,” L. Paul Bremer III, the administrator of the Coalition Provisional Authority, said in an address to the Iraqi people in November 2003.
Zuhair Maliky, an Iraqi lawyer tapped by the Americans as a chief judge, said: “It was to be a model for all of the courts around the country, where students would come to read the records and learn how courts work. There was to be a library, a conference room where judges would give lectures, and computers where court records would be kept.”
But that vision has run into the realities of Iraq — the insurgency, a lack of resources and politics.
Security concerns have effectively closed proceedings to the public. Court records are not kept on computers, but mostly in paper files held together by yarn. And the daily proceedings, observed by a reporter, are hardly a model of deliberative justice.
That day’s defendants came from two American detention camps and from sundry Iraqi jails.
Shortly past 10 a.m., two American soldiers escorted Hussan Lotfi Abdulla upstairs to a judge’s office for a preliminary hearing. Mr. Abdulla, who had been in detention for nearly two years, sat next to his court-appointed Iraqi lawyer, whom he had never met.
Facing them in front of the judge’s desk was Capt. Lisa Gorog, a military lawyer who had come to Baghdad to help the military unit that runs the American detention operations in Iraq.
The unit is doubling its legal staff to more than 100 lawyers and aides, drawn largely from the military and prosecutor’s offices throughout the United States.
Even for experienced prosecutors, identifying strong cases among the mass of detainees is difficult given the quality of the evidence. Capt. Matt McCall, who focuses on men like Mr. Abdulla who have been detained in the volatile Anbar Province in western Iraq, said he had to sift through the files of 50 detainees to find 2 that he thought could be convicted. The rest were left in detention either because the soldiers who captured them were not readily available as witnesses or because the evidence was too weak, he said.
New York Times
December 17, 2006
Pg. 1
By Michael Moss
BAGHDAD — In a cavernous room that once displayed gifts given to Saddam Hussein, eight men in yellow prison garb sat on the floor facing the wall, guarded by two American soldiers.
Among them was Abdulla Sultan Khalaf, a Ministry of Industry employee seized by American troops who said they found 10 blasting caps and 100 sticks of TNT. When his name was called, he stood, walked into a cagelike defendant’s box and peered over the wooden slats at a panel of three Iraqi judges of the central court.
The judges reviewed evidence prepared by an American military lawyer — testimony from two soldiers, photographs and a sketch of the scene.
The evidence went largely unchallenged, because Mr. Khalaf had no lawyer. The judges appointed one, but Mr. Khalaf had no chance to speak with him. Mr. Khalaf told the judges that the soldiers were probably chasing a rogue nephew and denied that the explosives were his or ever in his house. “Let me examine the pictures,” he insisted. The judges ignored him. His lawyer said nothing, beyond declaring Mr. Khalaf’s innocence. The trial lasted 15 minutes.
The judges conducted six trials of similar length and depth before lunch, then deliberated for four minutes. Five defendants were found guilty; one was acquitted. “The evidence is enough,” Judge Saeb Khorsheed Ahmed said in convicting Mr. Khalaf. “Thirty years.”
The United States established the Central Criminal Court of Iraq three years ago, envisioning it as a pillar of a new democracy. But like the faltering effort to create effective Iraqi security forces, the system for detaining, charging and trying suspects has instead become another weak link in the rule of law in Iraq, according to an examination of the justice system by The New York Times.
The stakes are rising. The court has begun sentencing American-held detainees to death by hanging, 14 this year.
Almost every aspect of the judicial system is lacking, poorly serving not just detainees but also Iraqi citizens and troops trying to maintain order.
Soldiers who have little if any training in gathering evidence or sorting the guilty from the innocent are left to decide whom to detain. The military conducts reviews to decide whom to release, yet neither Iraqi detainees nor defense lawyers are allowed to attend, according to military documents and interviews.
Tens of thousands of detainees have been released by the Americans, often under political pressure from the Iraqis, but American soldiers complain they are apprehending many dangerous insurgents again and again. At the same time, detainees are held for long periods by the Americans without being charged, in some instances for as long as two years.
Even detainees who are formally charged and brought to the Iraqi court have little ability to develop a defense against evidence collected by American lawyers and soldiers. Most defense lawyers are appointed by the court and paid $15 per case. Even if they are so inclined, they are largely unable to gather evidence because of the threat of violence. One American lawyer said that in 100 cases he handled, not one defense lawyer had introduced evidence or witnesses.
The central court resembles the narrow end of a funnel crowded with suspects captured by American and Iraqi forces. No figures are available on prisoners held by Iraqis, but the Americans have held about 61,500 over the past three years and are now holding 14,000, military officials say. Roughly 3,000 have been charged and tried in the Iraqi court.
The court acquits nearly half of the defendants, but both Americans and Iraqis involved in the process say that political interference, threats from militants and the judges’ fear for their lives weigh heavily in many verdicts. The military has found housing in the protected Green Zone for only 12 of the 30 judges on the criminal court. The others commute to work.
“The most fundamental thing that we need to do in Iraq is establish the rule of law,” said Mark Waller, an Air Force Reserve major and deputy district attorney in Colorado, who spent four months this year in Baghdad helping to prosecute detainees. “It’s the cornerstone of a civilization. Without it you have anarchy. And we are falling short.”
Beyond the scandal at Abu Ghraib and the trial of Mr. Hussein, the system of holding and prosecuting detainees in Iraq has largely escaped public scrutiny. The day-to-day details of these government operations emerged from interviews with American and Iraqi officials, former detainees, a review of military records and a visit to proceedings in the Iraqi court normally closed to the public.
A classified Pentagon assessment completed in June of the American effort to strengthen Iraqi justice found one sign of progress: the prosecution of former senior government officials. Everything else, from training judges to building court capacity to minimizing civil rights abuses by Iraqi security forces, had fallen behind, according to the assessment by the National Security Council.
“Iraq’s judiciary is technically independent but unable and unwilling to assert itself or provide a balance to Iraq’s powerful political parties,” it said. “The criminal justice system is overloaded and lacks the capacity to consistently process those arrested and/or detained.”
Even though the American military helps to prosecute cases in the court, it does not always release detainees whose cases are dismissed, officials acknowledged in interviews. Maj. Gen. John D. Gardner, the commander of American detainee operations, orders those defendants held if the military believes they remain a threat. According to military officials, this has happened approximately 60 times, or in about 4 percent of the dismissed cases.
American officials said that within the confines of the nascent Iraqi justice system they were striving to protect American troops, while promoting due process. “Our goal is to balance detaining the people who are the real threats, and releasing those who are not, and that’s a fine line,” General Gardner said.
The justice system is most troubling for people like Intisar Jaafar. Her 29-year-old son, Laith al-Ani, was taken from his home in Baghdad by American troops in October 2004 in a search for weapons his mother said they never found. The military said he was a “security detainee” but would not elaborate.
Mr. Ani, a women’s clothing merchant, is being held at Camp Bucca in the desert of southern Iraq, his relatives said. They have made the daylong trip to visit him, but it brought them no more information about when he might be charged, released or brought to court.
In a recent letter he drew a caged heart reaching out to his wife and two children, and wrote, “I hope I can be dust in the storms of Bucca so that I can reach you.”
A Grand Vision
At 9 a.m. on a recent Monday, two United States Army trucks guarded by seven Humvees pulled to a halt in central Baghdad, just outside the protected Green Zone.
The soldiers fanned out with their rifles ready as a man in a black hood and yellow prison garb emerged, followed by more than 30 others, their hands and feet shackled.
The men shuffled down two flights of stairs into the Central Criminal Court.
The courthouse did not exist before the war, with most criminal cases left to provincial judges. In 2003, the Bush administration decided Iraq also needed a central court — like the American federal judiciary — for major national crimes like significant corruption or violence.
The vision was grand.
“Evil doers will face justice in honest and fair Iraqi courts,” L. Paul Bremer III, the administrator of the Coalition Provisional Authority, said in an address to the Iraqi people in November 2003.
Zuhair Maliky, an Iraqi lawyer tapped by the Americans as a chief judge, said: “It was to be a model for all of the courts around the country, where students would come to read the records and learn how courts work. There was to be a library, a conference room where judges would give lectures, and computers where court records would be kept.”
But that vision has run into the realities of Iraq — the insurgency, a lack of resources and politics.
Security concerns have effectively closed proceedings to the public. Court records are not kept on computers, but mostly in paper files held together by yarn. And the daily proceedings, observed by a reporter, are hardly a model of deliberative justice.
That day’s defendants came from two American detention camps and from sundry Iraqi jails.
Shortly past 10 a.m., two American soldiers escorted Hussan Lotfi Abdulla upstairs to a judge’s office for a preliminary hearing. Mr. Abdulla, who had been in detention for nearly two years, sat next to his court-appointed Iraqi lawyer, whom he had never met.
Facing them in front of the judge’s desk was Capt. Lisa Gorog, a military lawyer who had come to Baghdad to help the military unit that runs the American detention operations in Iraq.
The unit is doubling its legal staff to more than 100 lawyers and aides, drawn largely from the military and prosecutor’s offices throughout the United States.
Even for experienced prosecutors, identifying strong cases among the mass of detainees is difficult given the quality of the evidence. Capt. Matt McCall, who focuses on men like Mr. Abdulla who have been detained in the volatile Anbar Province in western Iraq, said he had to sift through the files of 50 detainees to find 2 that he thought could be convicted. The rest were left in detention either because the soldiers who captured them were not readily available as witnesses or because the evidence was too weak, he said.
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