Zero tolerance for torture
FOR YEARS YOU'VE HAD TO STRUGGLE WITH THE TRAUMATIC AFTEREFFECTS of your abduction and torture. It must have been very difficult to write a book about this experience. Why did you decide to tell your story?
In part, the book is a result of a promise I had made in Guatemala to the people who were being tortured with me in the same building: that if I survived, I would never forget them and that I would tell the world what I had seen.
I also wanted to educate the public—at least the people who were willing to take the risk and read a story of a person's experience of surviving torture. Today more than 150 governments are engaged in torture, and it is estimated that there are some 500,000 torture survivors in the United States alone.
From my own experience and my work with other torture survivors I know that many survivors are both misunderstood and underserved. I feel strongly that we need to educate the world about the effects of torture, not only on the individual but on the family, the community, and the larger society.
Your own story shows how, in trying to care for torture survivors, even well-meaning people can do horribly wrong things. What do people need to know about the needs of torture survivors?
Frequently family members, friends, and communities don't really want to deal with the issue of torture. There tends to be an emphasis on the fact that the person survived. That you survived must mean that you are "strong" and therefore you should be able to put the past behind you and go on with your life.
Of course, ideally, that's what many of us would like to do. But in reality, the remnants of torture are with us every single day of our lives. We may put on a blindfold of denial and say, "I'm not going to think about what happened. I'm just going to take control of my life." But then certain things will trigger a memory, and with no warning we're back in the torture cell.
One of the objectives of torture is to destroy trust in the human family. Often the perpetrators are successful in that. In addition, the torturers destroy trust in one's self. Thus many survivors find themselves living in a world of total isolation.
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On October 16, Sister Dianna Ortiz received the 2003 U.S. Catholic Award for Furthering the Cause of Women in the Church from Father John Molyneux, C.M.F., the editor of U.S. Catholic magazine. The following is an excerpt from her acceptance speech: Being a teacher of Mayan children was a dream come true for me. In Guatemala I was the happiest I have ever been. I loved the children, the Mayan culture, and the highlands; even my bouts with head lice could not discourage me. In Guatemala I found myself, my mission in life. At the very same time it was in Guatemala that I lost myself in the darkness of despair. It was there that I saw evil at its worst. On Nov. 2, 1989, I was abducted by members of the Guatemalan security forces, whose boss was an American. I was taken to a clandestine prison, where I was raped, tortured, and forced to participate in the torture of a woman I now refer to as my "woman friend." What I endured is the suffering of millions of women around the world. That I live now is testament to my rebirth—death by torture followed by rebirth. Torture's ghost walks beside me every step of the way, reminding me that the past will always be there. Many women of faith have begun to share the dark secrets of their own past. I feel the need to give special attention to women who have suffered a fate similar to mine. Our faith calls each of us to live out the gospel, and that gospel insists that, like Jesus, we speak truth to power. To speak the truth about the horrors of torture, to challenge government, church, and other leaders to denounce torture is simply my moral obligation and, quite frankly, I believe it is the moral obligation of every human being on this planet. |
There's a tendency for people to be sympathetic about our experiences, and that's OK. But when it comes to a point where we are being pitied, that's destructive, although perhaps well-intentioned. Sometimes people want to take control of our lives and decide what is best for us. That was the case for me when, against my will, I was sent to a psychiatric hospital. People may have the best of intentions, but being forced or pressured into counterproductive "treatments" against our will is traumatic for torture survivors and can result in reliving our torture.
Is that a pattern you see with other survivors?
Yes. During torture, it's as if the umbilical cord that connects us with the human family is severed. Being part of a community or a family again means being able to trust again. If people then come across as being authoritative, which our torturers represented for us, then there's conflict. Sadly, torture has left no part of our lives untouched.
In your own journey toward healing, finding your way to the Su Casa community made a big difference. How so?
Su Casa, a Catholic Worker house in Chicago, hosted more than a dozen torture survivors who lived there while we were getting help at the Kovler Center, a treatment center for torture survivors. When I went there, I was hanging on a thin thread. I knew that, after my very bad experience in the psychiatric hospital, this was my last hope. At Su Casa I became part of a community of broken people—other torture survivors from Central America.
Knowing that I was not alone was very important. I realized that some of the behavior I had been exhibiting, which some thought was "abnormal," was actually a normal reaction to an abnormal situation. At Su Casa other people had similar reactions—having their lights on 24 hours a day, sometimes putting chairs in front of their doors for fear that someone would break into their room; and those of us who had been raped struggled with our feelings of being "dirty," so we showered and bathed often. Just knowing that we could be ourselves at any given moment was really freeing. Nobody would look at you funny or say anything.
As a result of your experience of torture, you also had a crisis of faith. What happened?
Talking about my "crisis of faith" is like opening a can of worms. I well realize how destructive torture was to my faith. I still remember one of my torturers whispering into my ear after he had raped me that my God had died. And it's always painful and in a sense shameful for me to say, but there was truth to what he said. The God I had known did die, and along with God, I also died. Everything that I had believed in just vanished.
I have difficulty remembering much of my past from the time before I was tortured. But based on what my family and the sisters in my community and friends have told me about how I viewed God, I placed God on a pedestal. God was perfect. I trusted in God taking care of me, and I felt under God's special protection.
After the torture, all of that was just gone. I felt very alone: Here I was an Ursuline Sister who had committed my life to God. And now, in my mind and in my soul, I was saying I did not believe or I couldn't with certainty say that I believed in God's existence.
One evening at Su Casa we gathered with a priest. The gospel was the reading that has Jesus asking, "Who do you say that I am?" I think that was the begin-ning for me to really have the courage to be very angry with God and to say to God, "I don't know who you are. You died in that clandestine cell with me." But at the same time it was the revela-tion for me that God really had not died. It was my image of God that had died.
How has your image and experience of God changed?
It was almost a transfiguration. The God I came to know at Su Casa, and the God I continue to know today, is the God who believes in peace and justice, the God who acts for the good of humanity.
I also see God more clearly in children. There are still days when I question God's existence. And for me to re-experience that doubt is like having my soul ripped out of me. Luckily, I live in a community where there are also children. Just seeing the children is like a reaffirmation to me that, yes, God is alive.
In your case, the U.S. government not only did not help you in your search for the truth but actually engaged in a smear campaign and slander against you. Why?
Part of my struggle after the torture was to believe that there was good in people, including people who work for the U.S. government. In my quest for justice and truth I wanted to be able to trust people again.
But I had to learn that governments, in order to hide their involvement in crimes against humanity, will do anything to discredit their victims. I have felt the wrath of my own government. I was branded a liar, a lesbian who was involved in kinky sex (that is how I got more than 111 cigarette burns on my back), a political strategist trying to influence Congress to cut off U.S. aid to the Guatemalan military—among other things.
The same thing happened in 1980 with the four U.S. church women murdered in El Salvador, whom our government accused of supporting the rebels. It took me far too long to learn that justice in the United States was a mirage.
You are currently the director of the Torture Abolition and Survivors Support Coalition. What are your group's aims?
TASSC is the only organization founded by and for survivors of torture. We were established in 1998 on the guiding principle that torture is a crime against humanity. Our ultimate goal is to end the practice of torture wherever it occurs.
Every single member of TASSC is a survivor of torture. We come from many countries around the world. We are men and women, different colors, different religions, different political ideologies, different sexual orientations. But we're united by one terrible fact: that we each have been tortured.
We advocate and work toward the abolition of torture, trying to prevent others from having to experience what we went through.
I like to think of TASSC as an organization of hope. For many of our members, it's the first time that they've come together in a community, the first time that they've talked about their experiences. We're not a traditional treatment center, but what makes TASSC unique is that we believe that in coming together we can help each other heal.
We have created communities of healing in a number of cities in the U.S. and in several other countries. Each community is different. One might consist of a couple of survivors coming together to share a cup of tea, while another might be planning an event to raise awareness about torture.
What is your main message to people?
We're telling our stories to help break the silence that surrounds torture. For survivors, torture is not a political issue. It is first and foremost a moral issue. Torture is wrong. Absolutely wrong. And we want people to realize that ending the practice of torture is not just our responsibility, it's the responsibility of everyone.
Torture is the plague of the 21st century. The more than 150 governments that are engaged in torture include the United States. I used to think that torture happened only in Third World countries, and that only people who were politically active were tortured. But I was not politically active. I was a teacher, I taught Mayan children. How can that be a threat to a government?
But I learned a hard lesson: It doesn't matter who you are or what you do, no one is immune to torture.
Since 9/11, there has been a public debate in this country about the legitimacy of the use of torture in interrogations of suspected terrorists. What's your position?
TASSC's position is zero tolerance for torture anytime, anywhere. One of the things that has restored my faith in God and humanity is that among the members of TASSC none has ever wished torture on his or her torturers. That makes me realize that the torturers were not successful, they couldn't destroy the innate sense of believing in the goodness of people.
When I first heard people were advocating for the legalization and use of torture in this country, I was very angry. It was almost like what we had experienced was irrelevant and that they were saying it was OK for us to have been tortured.
In this new debate about the legitimacy of using torture, we at TASSC have struggled with how to educate people to understand the severity and danger of legalizing torture. If we are willing to engage in torture, how are we different from people like Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Milosevic, or Marcos—people who committed crimes against humanity?
Officially the U.S. government has made it very clear that it does not support torture. Just this past June 26, President Bush issued a statement on the occasion of the United Nations International Day in Support of Victims of Torture. He called freedom from torture an "inalienable right" and mentioned the United States' signing onto the U.N. Convention Against Torture. He said the United States was committed to the elimination of torture worldwide, and that "we are leading this fight by example."
Rather than focusing on converting those who are advocating torture, we're working to make sure the U.S. government complies with its own official policy and the treaties we have signed.
Some make the argument that officially we should keep this position against torture, but that in certain situations, like the war on terrorism, where many lives may be at stake, the use of "coercion" should be tolerated and legitimate.
I totally disagree with that and with redefining what has been known as torture.
The phrase "torture lite" is used.
I cannot tell you the extent of survivors' feelings when we hear the obscene term "torture lite." Yes, people are promoting the use of inhumane treatment on those who are thought to pose a threat. They dismiss it as interrogative techniques—just a little "smacky-face," just making prisoners stand for a couple of hours, things like that.
Try standing for 24 hours, try being blindfolded for 24 hours, try enduring the various isolation, deprivation, and psychological techniques, and then come back and tell us it's just "torture lite." Once used, torture spreads like a plague over the land. The surgical approach to torture—we will torture just this one or that one—is an illusion. Instead, it legitimates the spread of this crime against humanity throughout the population.
Torture is itself terrorism. If we legitimize it, we will be using terrorism to com-bat terrorism, and there's no logic in that.
What do you know about whether and to what extent torture is being conducted by the U.S. government?
There are very credible reports that the U.S. government is torturing suspects being held at the Guantánamo Bay military prison and other locations. And there are equally credible allegations that, in violation of the covenants we have signed, our government is "exporting" prisoners to governments that are known to torture.
Now we have a case of a Canadian citizen, in transit to Canada, who was abducted by U.S. officials during a stopover in the U.S. He was sent to Syria, where he was tortured for more than 10 months.
Some time ago, the president promised an investigation into these reports and allegations. But we have been unable to find anyone in the White House who knows who is doing this investigation, its current status, or when a report will be issued.
You've expressed disappointment that people of faith, particularly church leaders, generally don't seem to view the abolition of torture as a high priority. What does our faith ask of us on this issue?
Ours is the only faith that was founded by a victim of torture. The cross is a very explicit example of torture. When I read the gospel accounts of the Passion, I feel very close to Mary and the friends of Jesus. I understand much better now what they went through in seeing Jesus tortured and ultimately killed.
My ministry today is focused on preventing torture, and I find it painful, as do other survivors, that the church has been so silent on this issue.
A fellow survivor from the Philippines, a political prisoner, once recounted to me his experience with the church during the Marcos era. He still vividly remembers seeing the bishop come into the military installation where he and his fellow prisoners were being tortured. The bishop just strode past and ignored the prisoners and then had cordial meetings with the commanders. To this day, he does not want to have anything to do with the Catholic Church.
Sometimes we—and I include myself—don't really want to see the part of our faith that makes us more connected to the human family: the experience of oppression and brokenness that permeates our world. Perhaps we need to look closer into the heart of what the gospels are about. The gospels are a sign of hope in the midst of darkness. They are a constant challenge to live as Jesus lived—speaking truth to those in power, no matter the cost.
What's the significance of the crucifix for you?
The crucifix is at the core of our faith. Each time we look at the tortured body of Jesus, we should ponder what torture is and does. We should whisper a prayer for those being tortured and the torture survivors in our own communities.
Its message is both one of death and of resurrection. As people of faith, we partake in that death and resurrection experience. To me there is also an experience of death in being complicit in the evil that is happening in our world.
As Catholics, as Christians, we're called to participate in the gospel message of truth and justice. And that also means confronting the death experiences that plague our world today and that are rooted in violence.
We torture survivors feel a moral obligation to speak the truth about the horrors of torture and to challenge government, church, and other leaders to denounce torture. But we recognize that we cannot do it alone. It will take all of God's people working together to rid our world of torture.