No Comment — November 16, 2010, 5:01 pm

Interrogators Call for the Elimination of Appendix M

In response to sharp public criticism, the Department of Defense modified its Field Manual on intelligence interrogation, (PDF) taking pains to note that many practices associated with Abu Ghraib and Guantánamo were illegal. Observers have, however, continued to criticize the manual’s Appendix M—a series of harsh measures that may be authorized under special circumstances for limited periods of time by senior commanders. Now fourteen prominent figures from the intelligence community, each well known for his expertise in interrogations, have written to Defense Secretary Gates raising objections to Appendix M. The authors argue that the Appendix conflates a legitimate and useful technique called “separation” with a number of abusive practices that were recently used in association with it. As a result, “separation” itself has been placed on the list of techniques that can only be employed with special authorization. The writers argue that Appendix M should be “deleted in its entirety” but that the use of “separation” should be given a green light.

Stuart Herrington, a retired Army colonel, notes that “separation” appears to have been confused with “isolation”:

In all the interrogation centers that I have worked in or run, we separated the “guests” from one another. Most welcomed this. A prisoner might cooperate if decently and cleverly treated, but only if we could provide a discreet environment where he could feel comfortable spending long hours talking with us. That meant each “guest” had to have a private room, and could not be exposed to any other detainee (encounters in the hallways, for example). This was Rule #1 in our centers. Iraqi general officers housed in our “guest center” did not want to be seen by other Iraqi officers and were grateful for the comfortable, compartmented environment that we provided.

By contrast, Appendix M appears to contemplate that severely abusive techniques may be associated with “separation,” including the use of earmuffs and pitch-black goggles for periods of up to 12 hours, as well as a sleep-deprivation regime under which a prisoner is allotted no more than 4 hours of sleep a day for up to 30 days. The interrogators call these techniques “ineffective” and “counterproductive.” “The use of sensory deprivation techniques, extreme isolation and stress positions is likely to lead to false information, facilitate enemy recruitment, and further erode the reputation of the United States,” they write. The group includes, in addition to Herrington, retired Generals Harry Soyster, the former head of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and David Irvine, former FBI interrogators Ali Soufan and Jack Cloonan, former CIA agents Frank Anderson, Bob Baer, Vincent Cannistraro, Joe Navarro, and Haviland Smith, and military intelligence officers Pat Lang, Steve Kleinman, and Malcolm Nance.

Matthew Alexander, a former senior military interrogator who developed the information that led to the killing of Al Qaeda in Iraq leader Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi, told me that he had not signed the letter, but said, “I’m in complete agreement with the letter–separation is not solitary confinement, it rests on the prisoner’s consent, and it can be an extremely effective technique.” Alexander also called for the elimination of Appendix M, which he said placed undue restrictions on the senior interrogator and contemplated the use of techniques that were ineffective and counterproductive.

The letter is also drawing support from human-rights advocates. Calling Appendix M a “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Human Rights First has issued a report (PDF) backing up the interrogators. “In addition to opening the door to abuse, Appendix M also takes a valuable interrogation approach, ‘separation,’ and puts it out of reach in situations where it could be employed effectively (and humanely),” the human-rights organization states.

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

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 Some names and identifying details have been changed. 

“Big, fat zero, unfortunately,” Degen said, making a 0 with her fingers. The last doctor who provided abortions in Rapid City retired in 1986, three years before Ashley was born.

The baby was due in November, when Ashley, who was a nurse, hoped to be enrolled in a graduate program to become a nurse practitioner. Getting pregnant as a teenager had forced her to put that dream on hold, but she had thought that she was finally ready; she had even submitted her application shortly before the March 15 deadline. For the first time in her adult life, Ashley felt as if her plans were coming together. Then she missed her period.

It would be too difficult to attend school as a single mother of two, Ashley knew. She had made an appointment for three weeks from now at the nearest abortion clinic, in Billings, Montana, 318 miles away. But just a week and a half ago, her husband had said he wanted to get back together and offered to raise the child as his own. Was it a sign that she was meant to continue the pregnancy? As a rule, Ashley approached her problems with resolve. She was capable and tough; she liked shooting guns and lifting weights. She kept track of her stats and checked off her goals as she achieved them one by one. Yet the dilemma before her had shaken her confidence. She leaned back and turned to watch the ultrasound screen. The black-and-white image danced. A sharp, fast thumping emerged from the machine. As Degen removed the wand, Ashley wiped the corner of her eye.

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