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Thursday, Apr 24, 2003

iraqi prison blues

"And I was right. Out of the five of us picked up hours earlier from our Baghdad hotel by Saddam Hussein's security police, I was the second to be called into a cell that was the reception area of this wing of the vast prison. I was the second to have all my possessions registered and stored, and I was the second to be told to strip to my underwear and put on the same type of pajamas the broken man in the corner was wearing.

By that stage, within my first hour in Abu Ghraib, I already had lost the possibility of resistance and the power of self-determination.

"We're in the worst prison in the Middle East," I had whispered to Molly Bingham, a freelance photographer from New York who was rounded up in my group. We sat on the floor in the corridor outside the processing cell."

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