Prisoners of War: Iraq's Horror Picture Show

By Jill Smolowe

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.

With reporting by Christopher Ogden/Washington and Lisa Towle/Cherry Hill