The Conference
Jul. 2nd, 2009 01:47 amMy flight into SF was easy. Got off at SFO, took the tram to the BART, BART to CalTrain, CalTrain to Palo Alto. I was silly drunk with being in Calif. It was good to be home. The hills were rounded, and there were degrees of brown, oaks and eucalyptus (the smell of Gum Trees is homely to me, as the smell of humus is to those who live in the mid-west). I hauled myself to Caffe del Doge, ordered a cappuccino and waited to be picked up.
I was being given the use of a car for Friday and Saturday, that I might not be dependent on others/cause them to be obliged to carry me. I thought this eminently kind of the organizers. So I was collected and in the course of delivering Diana to her home, was taken on a side trip, and given a gift card to REI. I had been asked if there was anything they could do to show their appreciation, and my first thought was, no.
I then recalled my day to day hat had disappeared a few months ago, and said “why yes, now that I come to think of it, there is a hat I wouldn’t mind.” Someone had been sent to find it, but the comment was, “they have a lot of hats”, and so I was dispatched to get my own. I did, and a membership to REI (since Maia and I had shared one).
Friday I went to a piece of the serial line of parks known as “Bayfront”. This was the same one I went to last year, when I was visiting Maia. The water wasn’t as red, but there were more birds. I also used the time to work some more on my general ideas for the conference opener.
It went, I think, well. Friday night was a panel. Each of us had about 10 minutes to talk, and then we did Q&A. I was first out of the box. I did not have a script, I did not have notes. I took the lapel mike and stood up. I explained how it was I came to be there. The arc of my journey from civilian, to interrogator to someone who spends too much of his time speaking out against torture. My best line might have been, “If you had told me, eight years ago, I’d be speaking at conference, in front of a church group, on the Friday and Saturday of Pride Weekend in San Francisco, I’d have laughed in your face.”
I was happy to know there were a few people who had come to see me. One of them from my Bn. A couple from Lj. The other speakers were good. Ray McGovern was pretty good. No, he was better than pretty good. He had props (printouts of the torture memos). He knew dates, and places. He was a lot like George Carlin; with less swearing.
Jean-Maria Arrigo, the woman who asked me to come to the conference was also very good. She’s a psychologist, and won’t come to a conference like this unless she has a person like me, who was in the military, there to make sure the subject isn’t gone into without someone there to prevent it going pear-shaped from ignorance. She spoke of other interrogators she knew, and the price they had paid to speak out.
The last speaker (whom, I must confess I forget the name of Ben something) is a minister, and he had his presentation scripted. It was good and moving, and something like a sermon.
After the Q&A (which was, blissfully, shy of most of the worst aspects of the genre; there was only one person who got up to rant, and only a few questions which were too loosely put together to be certain of subject), we broke. I went to dinner with Matt and Cristina. I was talking to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
commodorified as I headed for the diner, remembering the diner we ate poutine at in February. I’d said to go ahead and order an appetizer. Steak fries (i.e. chips) with parmesan and truffle oil may not be poutine, but it was damned fine.
Drove to my hosts in Mountain View. Got some sleep. In the morning I wasn’t up for going straight in, so I had a cup of coffee and chatted withvoidampersand (who was a splendid host. The hospitality I was shown was top-notch. Given the eccentricities of my schedule things were perfect; from my being late to arrive (because I’d forgotten to write the address out of my e-mail) to my wandering in late from going into SF on Sunday, I was never made to feel I was the least imposition. I could not have done half so well without the quiet support that lent me).
Drove to Palo Alto again, got to the church and spoke for an hour. The first forty minutes were, again, free form. Where the first night had been, “how did I get here (letting the days go by... )?", the morning was, “torture”. I gave them a handout with excerpts from the Palo Alto Online article. I stunned them with my hand hitting the table (next time, I’ll be smart, like Ray McGovern, and bring props). I quoted treaties. I gave them snippets of truth we teach to students. I was confident, and controlled, and, at times quietly arrogant in my assurance of my ability to do my job; of being able to get the information without torture. I took questions.
At which point we broke for lunch. While I was standing with my pasta salad, a woman came up and told me her husband has sent her the link to the Palo Alto Online article, and she was amazed at how brave I was (because I participated), because comments terrified her. I, being still a bit pumped up from the platform time, was, perhaps, a tad dismissive. I smiled, and told her that honestly, the comments in the Palo Alto Online were pretty mild.
Which they were. The people who were advocating torture were outnumbered; sadly that’s not usually the case in newspaper comment sections.
We had some breakout rooms after lunch and I had about ten people come in to ask me questions, and I answered them.
When the day was done I went to dinner with Jean-Maria and her husband, and we talked about the oddities of this sort of thing. I’m the first non-Regular Army interrogator she’s had to be present. She says it’s different. How I address the issues; the forcefulness of my opinions is not the same. I pointed out that even when I was in, I was; by and large, free of the sort of restraints and repercussions they faced. She pointed out they all joined the army right out of high school, and it was all they’d ever really known as adults.
I have an invitation to come up and speak to another group when I get back to California. I’m going to take it. Given the chance, to be honest, I’d be willing to go just about anywhere to speak on this. It matters.
Torture is a moral issue.
If not me, who?
If not now, when?
(comments at Better than salt money)
I was being given the use of a car for Friday and Saturday, that I might not be dependent on others/cause them to be obliged to carry me. I thought this eminently kind of the organizers. So I was collected and in the course of delivering Diana to her home, was taken on a side trip, and given a gift card to REI. I had been asked if there was anything they could do to show their appreciation, and my first thought was, no.
I then recalled my day to day hat had disappeared a few months ago, and said “why yes, now that I come to think of it, there is a hat I wouldn’t mind.” Someone had been sent to find it, but the comment was, “they have a lot of hats”, and so I was dispatched to get my own. I did, and a membership to REI (since Maia and I had shared one).
Friday I went to a piece of the serial line of parks known as “Bayfront”. This was the same one I went to last year, when I was visiting Maia. The water wasn’t as red, but there were more birds. I also used the time to work some more on my general ideas for the conference opener.
It went, I think, well. Friday night was a panel. Each of us had about 10 minutes to talk, and then we did Q&A. I was first out of the box. I did not have a script, I did not have notes. I took the lapel mike and stood up. I explained how it was I came to be there. The arc of my journey from civilian, to interrogator to someone who spends too much of his time speaking out against torture. My best line might have been, “If you had told me, eight years ago, I’d be speaking at conference, in front of a church group, on the Friday and Saturday of Pride Weekend in San Francisco, I’d have laughed in your face.”
I was happy to know there were a few people who had come to see me. One of them from my Bn. A couple from Lj. The other speakers were good. Ray McGovern was pretty good. No, he was better than pretty good. He had props (printouts of the torture memos). He knew dates, and places. He was a lot like George Carlin; with less swearing.
Jean-Maria Arrigo, the woman who asked me to come to the conference was also very good. She’s a psychologist, and won’t come to a conference like this unless she has a person like me, who was in the military, there to make sure the subject isn’t gone into without someone there to prevent it going pear-shaped from ignorance. She spoke of other interrogators she knew, and the price they had paid to speak out.
The last speaker (whom, I must confess I forget the name of Ben something) is a minister, and he had his presentation scripted. It was good and moving, and something like a sermon.
After the Q&A (which was, blissfully, shy of most of the worst aspects of the genre; there was only one person who got up to rant, and only a few questions which were too loosely put together to be certain of subject), we broke. I went to dinner with Matt and Cristina. I was talking to
commodorified as I headed for the diner, remembering the diner we ate poutine at in February. I’d said to go ahead and order an appetizer. Steak fries (i.e. chips) with parmesan and truffle oil may not be poutine, but it was damned fine.Drove to my hosts in Mountain View. Got some sleep. In the morning I wasn’t up for going straight in, so I had a cup of coffee and chatted with
voidampersand (who was a splendid host. The hospitality I was shown was top-notch. Given the eccentricities of my schedule things were perfect; from my being late to arrive (because I’d forgotten to write the address out of my e-mail) to my wandering in late from going into SF on Sunday, I was never made to feel I was the least imposition. I could not have done half so well without the quiet support that lent me).Drove to Palo Alto again, got to the church and spoke for an hour. The first forty minutes were, again, free form. Where the first night had been, “how did I get here (letting the days go by... )?", the morning was, “torture”. I gave them a handout with excerpts from the Palo Alto Online article. I stunned them with my hand hitting the table (next time, I’ll be smart, like Ray McGovern, and bring props). I quoted treaties. I gave them snippets of truth we teach to students. I was confident, and controlled, and, at times quietly arrogant in my assurance of my ability to do my job; of being able to get the information without torture. I took questions.
At which point we broke for lunch. While I was standing with my pasta salad, a woman came up and told me her husband has sent her the link to the Palo Alto Online article, and she was amazed at how brave I was (because I participated), because comments terrified her. I, being still a bit pumped up from the platform time, was, perhaps, a tad dismissive. I smiled, and told her that honestly, the comments in the Palo Alto Online were pretty mild.
Which they were. The people who were advocating torture were outnumbered; sadly that’s not usually the case in newspaper comment sections.
We had some breakout rooms after lunch and I had about ten people come in to ask me questions, and I answered them.
When the day was done I went to dinner with Jean-Maria and her husband, and we talked about the oddities of this sort of thing. I’m the first non-Regular Army interrogator she’s had to be present. She says it’s different. How I address the issues; the forcefulness of my opinions is not the same. I pointed out that even when I was in, I was; by and large, free of the sort of restraints and repercussions they faced. She pointed out they all joined the army right out of high school, and it was all they’d ever really known as adults.
I have an invitation to come up and speak to another group when I get back to California. I’m going to take it. Given the chance, to be honest, I’d be willing to go just about anywhere to speak on this. It matters.
Torture is a moral issue.
If not me, who?
If not now, when?
(comments at Better than salt money)
