Facing Iraqi detainees

The next few minutes will determine whether he goes free or vanishes into the Iraqi prison system.

The day began early at Forward Operating Base Warhorse, as a group of 17 men were led, a few at a time, into the back of armored vehicles for transport to the Baqubah police station. They wore light clothing, most in white or blue cotton shirts and green pants. Thick black blindfolds prevented them from seeing recognizable features of the base. Some carried plastic sandwich bags with personal effects – often nothing other than a Quran.

As the detainees walked by, Lt. Col. Theodore Sellers watched, bemused. "Every one of these guys did something to justify their being here," he said. "But, you know, they're all innocent. They'll tell you."

After a dusty ride to Baqubah, the American convoy pulled in at the police station. Sellers went inside to talk with the Iraqi authorities about the transfer of prisoners and came out with surprising news: purely by chance, representatives of Iraq's Ministry of the Interior were at the station as part of a province-wide investigation into alleged human rights breaches at local prisons.

The Ministry of the Interior official sat in a room at the end of a hallway in the police station. The facility, though clearly once well-appointed, shows signs of disrepair and deferred maintenance. The chipping paint and beaten-up doors of the station stood in stark contrast to the brand-new Chevy Trailblazers and Ford F-350 trucks parked outside – whatever funds paid for the new patrol vehicles apparently didn't cover improvements to the station.

The official said he was chosen for his post because he had first-hand experience as a political prisoner under Saddam Hussein – he ticked off an impressive stretch of imprisonments stretching back nearly forty years. He said that having seen the human rights abuses – from beatings to electrocutions and overcrowding - in Iraq's present prisons, the situation is no better than under Hussein's regime. Still, his very presence gave a glimmer of hope that Iraq's government is serious about reform. It's hard to imagine such an investigation in Hussein's era.

The Iraqi legal system is a subject Warhorse commander Col. Burt Thompson wishes he had devoted more effort to understanding early on. He hears it from all sides. "The Iraqi police are corrupt," he's told. "The judges, they're all bought off."

The colonel stressed that these are the views of others, not his. But it's a perception dividing many Iraqis.

"They really do want to move forward," Thompson continued. "I pray for my civilian leadership, I pray for the president, I pray for my military leaders, and I'm praying for the Iraqi ones too, because they've got huge challenges. I'll never be flippant and say, 'This is easy, why can't you figure this out?' In many ways, we haven't."

In the police station, the last detainee steps forward. He responds to questions about his name and place of residence. He dodges an inquiry about whether he knows an al Qaeda operative from that town, saying that he has been in prison for so long that he no longer remembers. Sometimes the questioner – a member of the jail commission - appears to be openly mocking him, but the prisoner doesn't look concerned. Without a warrant, the Iraqi police must release any detainee within 48 hours after their transfer from U.S. custody.

Getting the Iraqi authorities to comply with the 48-hour limit was initially a struggle for the U.S. forces. "The first couple times we did this, [the Baqubah chief of police] played some games with me," Col. Thompson said recently. "I said, ‘Hey, wait a minute. It's been two weeks, and you didn't release these guys. Where's the warrant? Release ‘em now.'"

Through persistence and relationships fostered with local officials, Thompson has prevailed, at least for the moment. It's unclear how the situation will be altered when he goes home with the rest of his 1-25th Stryker Brigade at the end of September.

The questioner finishes and the detainee walks back to his chair. Family members of the detainees file in to act as guarantors: the subjects will be released into their custody, and any terrorism-related arrests in the future will send both parties to prison.

Only one of the 17 detainees has been served with a warrant; he stands in a corner, forgotten by the rest of the room. His mother, wearing a black abaya, speaks to him. She cannot embrace him due to his handcuffs, and she goes to the center table to plead with the police to treat him mercifully. It's not clear whether her words have any effect on the officers, who appear anxious to end the proceedings. Plainclothes bailiffs lead her son out of the room.

After the hubbub has died down and most of the former detainees have departed, two remain unclaimed. Their guarantor is late to arrive.

The two men identify themselves as Ali Muslah and Nabil Abdul Razak. They have been in prison for nearly two years, they say, since they were arrested by coalition forces in Balad. They describe their treatment in prison as fair, but they're clearly happy to be free. They say they are students, excited to see their families and return to their studies. They don't know whether or not to fear for their safety after returning home, they say, because they've been in prison long enough that they're not sure about the conditions back home. After several minutes, their guarantor shows up, identifying himself as their brother. They pose for a picture and depart.

One of the American soldiers watches as the former detainees walk off. "I give it two, maybe three weeks before we're dodging their IEDs," he says, turning away with a shrug. "I'm a realist."