"They shut him up. Fast. You never even saw him. No footage of him coming off the plane, no flags or banners waving, no parade in his honor. He came home from Iraq in May, but there wasn't even a formal announcement. In fact, you're not supposed to know he's here. [...] He hasn't done any interviews or made any statements since it happened, hasn't talked publicly about what he saw in Abu Ghraib prison or what made him turn in those pictures on that January night in Iraq. All we know is that he did turn them in and that everything changed because of it. The rest is speculation. He's been under a gag order for three months. He wouldn't mind talking, actually; he wants you to know the truth. The desire to tell the truth was how he got into this thing in the first place. He was the guy who stood up to evil when everyone else fell silent, the guy who put himself on the line when nobody else would. No wonder they won't let him talk. [...]
But inside the little towns of Jenners and Somerset and Windber and Johnstown, many neighbors weren't so quick to celebrate. Abu Ghraib became a litmus test of the American mood; reactions split along political and economic lines. On campuses and in the halls of government, even within the upper echelons of the military command, few would question what Joe had done. But in his own hometown, plenty of people did. [...] He never wanted to see them. They almost literally fell into his lap. It was early January 2004, and his unit had been at Abu Ghraib for three months, when one of his unit members, a guy named Charles Graner, handed him a couple of CDs to duplicate. So Joe went down to the Internet café near the sleeping quarters and started duping the discs. Graner hadn't given him any warning about special files or secret folders, and Joe was sitting there scrolling through the images, mindlessly, when bam!, the first hideous photo came up. Then another. Then another. Then another. 'He said, 'What the heck is this?' ' remembers Janis Karpinski, the Brigadier General who ran Abu Ghraib. 'It was very innocent. He was absolutely shocked by this.' He was also unsure what to do about it. He took the discs back to Graner and told him what he'd found, but Graner just said, 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it,' adding, 'The Christian in me says it's wrong, but the corrections officer in me says, 'I love to make a grown man piss himself.'' Then the discs disappeared. Days went by and nothing happened, and Joe kept thinking about it. Well, how could he forget? [...] Late one night, he slipped a copy of the disc under the door of the army's Criminal Investigation Division. It was an act of conscience unobstructed, one of the most dangerous things in the world. [...]
The media blitz was bad, but at least it was in their faces. You could see it coming and knew what to expect, which was a total disregard for privacy. It was bad but predictable. By contrast, the rest of the community, from the cops to the checkout clerk at the grocery, had become a terrifying mystery. There was no way of knowing where anyone stood, how they felt, or what they might do. [...] Down at the gas station, Clay overheard some guys say that Joe was 'walking around with a bull's-eye on his head,' just casually, just like, oh, everybody knows Joe's dead. Some of Bernadette's family even let her know that other members of the family were against her now, that they couldn't support a traitor. [...] Within a few minutes, everything began to shift around Bernadette, and it was hard to tell what was happening. She found herself in the passenger seat of an unmarked government vehicle, speeding down the highway to some unknown destination, Clay's truck right behind her with Maxine and the kids packed inside, the whole group snatched up by military protective custody without any prior warning or even a clear idea of why. Bernadette called Virginia and said, 'We're in protective custody now. I don't know where we're going, but we'll call you when we get there.' [...] Within a few minutes, everything began to shift around Bernadette, and it was hard to tell what was happening. She found herself in the passenger seat of an unmarked government vehicle, speeding down the highway to some unknown destination, Clay's truck right behind her with Maxine and the kids packed inside, the whole group snatched up by military protective custody without any prior warning or even a clear idea of why. Bernadette called Virginia and said, 'We're in protective custody now. I don't know where we're going, but we'll call you when we get there.' [...]
You don't hear anybody explaining, for example, how Private Lynndie England, the woman in so many of those pictures, the one smiling and laughing and giving the thumbs-up, wasn't even supposed to be in the cellblock, how she didn't have any police authority and shouldn't have been dealing with inmates in the first place. You don't hear much of anything about her job, because the truth is, her job was something else entirely. Lynndie England was an administration clerk; not an MP like Joe but the equivalent of a secretary. [...] You don't hear anybody explaining, for example, how Private Lynndie England, the woman in so many of those pictures, the one smiling and laughing and giving the thumbs-up, wasn't even supposed to be in the cellblock, how she didn't have any police authority and shouldn't have been dealing with inmates in the first place. You don't hear much of anything about her job, because the truth is, her job was something else entirely. Lynndie England was an administration clerk; not an MP like Joe but the equivalent of a secretary. [...] And so, what Bernadette didn't know when the military escort came to get her—what she couldn't possibly imagine—was that she didn't need any help. All she needed was the truth. Because the irony of all this is that the people in Somerset County who turned their backs on Joe, well, those people would probably feel very different if they knew the rest of the story. That it really wasn't about softening prisoners, gathering intelligence, or trying to win the war. That it wasn't even about losing control in the heat of the moment. It was about getting up in the middle of the night and going somewhere you weren't supposed to go, then beating and raping people there. It was premeditated violent crime. And as long as that stays hidden, so will Bernadette and Joe, outcasts in their own community, two more victims of Abu Ghraib. [...]
Three months in protective custody have been a mixed blessing. The house has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a chandelier. That's all you need to know. That, and also that it's the nicest house they have ever had. They've made friends with the security detail and will probably stay in touch, and Joe changed his appearance, just a little, just to be sure. It's not a bad life, really, being swept off the floor of reality. The army provides a daily stipend for their groceries, and they've had more free time than you can imagine, almost enough time to make up for all the nights together they've lost. But the investigations into the Abu Ghraib scandal will be over someday soon, and Joe's gag order will be lifted, and they will emerge back into the world. The reporters will all come flocking to them again, and the phone will return to ringing, but this time Bernadette and Joe are ready. They've had three months to think about it, and they have a lot to say. There is still a lot more to know. They want you to hear it."
[GQ Magazine]
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