Robert Sharp

Pupil Barrister

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Notes on Torture

Late last month, the US Congress approved a bill which would give the President power to ‘reinterpret’ the Geneva Convention with regards to the treatment of detained foreign terror suspects, and authorise interrogation techniques that the convention declares illegal. In the past few days, I have been pondering the implications of this, and the wider moral debate about whether we can, in some circumstances, justify torture.
I wrote last year that I thought that the “‘ticking bomb scenario’ is an unhelpful hypothetical construct.” Clive Davis resurrects this argument with a pertinent, real life scenario from Mark Bowden, at a Carnegie Council symposium:

There was an article in The New York Times about a crime in Germany where a kidnapper had taken a 12-year old boy, and had buried him alive. He went to collect the ransom, and was caught. He was in custody, and refused to tell the police where he had buried the child. The police chief in this case threatened the kidnapper with torture, and he promptly told him where he buried the boy.

A powerful story indeed. However, what Clive doesn’t quote is the insight from the director of B’Tselem, who Bowden mentions later in the symposium. She said she would torture… but expect to be prosecuted for it:

But it has to be that I broke the law. It can’t be that there’s some prior license to abuse people.

I think we should call this the McClane Mitigation. No, that is not a mis-spelling of ‘McCain’, as in Senator John McCain (R-AZ), the presidential hopeful who was tortured in Vietnam. I do mean John McClane, the maverick cop from the Die Hard movies. The Bruce Willis character is the epitome of that brand of fictional policeman, who perpetually have to circumvent normal procedure, in order to stop some catastrophe or other. They of course gets an earful from their superiors, and we assume (though never see) some kind of post-credit inquiry, in which the transgressions are investigated and accounted for. Laws that most certainly have been broken, but the urgency of the situation, and actual lives saved, are taken in mitigation during sentencing. The jury convicts, but the judge is lenient, and some form of justice is served.
But even this is a slippery slope. The ‘ticking bomb’ could first be defined as a long-term threat to national security. “We might prevent another 9/11” becomes a catch-all excuse for routine torture. What a wonderful legacy for the victims.
There are several other moral objections to the tack taken by President Bush and his supporters. The first is the explicit xenophobia which runs through the legislation. It only applys to non-US citizens… which does beg the question of what would happen if an American were arrested on suspicion of terrorism. Ticking bombs don’t have nationalities.
When we make laws (and indeed, provide services), we expect them to be carried out uniformly throughout the land. This is not possible in the case of torture. The final problem with the scenario as outlined by Bowden, concerns the unreliability of the agent of torture. In his example (above), it was fortuitious that the policeman in question had the nerve to threaten torture at all (it was also lucky that it appears he did not actually have to carry through with his threats, but that is beside the point here). Torture, we are told, dehumanises everyone involved. What if a person, who finds themselves obliged to torture, discovers that they do not have the stomach for it? I forsee a situation where they are sued by the families of victims, on the basis that they did not do whatever was necessary to prevent the tradgey.
We are reassured that torture would be permissible in limited, unusual circumstances. But it is probable that in these same circumstances, those tasked with inflicting pain will have done nothing like it before! There would have to be guidelines, and we would have to endure a sickening public debate over what exactly was allowed (the euphemism-heavy debate in the US is already pretty horrible). Do they try the classic ‘electrodes to testicles’? At what amperage? Or should they opt for the more retro ‘removal of toenails’? What if the pliers are not available? With the state of UK public services as they are, it would be worse still, with the Right Hon. Dr John Reid MP having to declare Britains torture facilities “unfit for purpose”.

WOMAD moves

Another photo from the summer festivals. That’s my self portrait in the reflection.
[photopress:womad2.jpg,full,centered]
I hear today that WOMAD will not be at the Reading Rivermead Centre in 2007:

we have reluctantly come to the conclusion that the festival has now outgrown the available land at the Rivermead site … WOMAD implemented substantial changes to the festival site in 2006. However, despite these improvements, a perception of overcrowding remains.

Persoanlly, I did not find it too crowded, and always found a place to sit or stand to watch the acts. But in any case, isn’t a bit of bustle part of the fun of festivals? The alternative is a lengthy trek between music tents… which would at least be consistent with the nomadic theme which characterises this particular event.

October Blogroll

A new month, and a long over-due hat-tip to other writers.
First, some friends and colleagues. Fay Young is an Edinburgh-based journalist, getting to grips with the blogging medium after being given a blog for her birthday…
Polish-Canadian emigre Michelle K also resides in Scotland’s capital city. She is the programmes director at New Media Scotland, and chronicals the merging of art and technology over at The Hive. She also highlights some very interesting stuff on the concepts of public space and urbanism, and its through her I’ve come accross sites like Spacing Wire, the web-log of a Toronto based magazine. There is a lot of overlap between the ideas expressed there, and those explored on Demos, which has by far the best website of the UK think-tanks.
Its appalling that I haven’t managed to blogroll The Sharpener until now, given that I am now on their list of writers. My output so far has been meagre. I think this is partially to do with the intimidating weight of their collected knowledge and years, but more to do with the worry about ‘letting the side down’, thoughts that do not really arise when I post something here.
That’s not to say that I don’t think before publishing something here. One feature of recieving regular comments from the likes of hard-nosed libertarians such as DK, PG and Longrider (who also, belatedly goes onto the blogroll) is that one starts to pre-empt and address their arguments. I hope it makes for better, conciliatory writing, but it often comes at the price of spontaneity. I have never managed the fire-and-forget funniness Pigdogfucker, for example, whose less-than-tactful one-liners often hit the target in a way I would never have the nerve to do.
Harry Hutton’s blog is called Chase Me Ladies, I’m in the Cavalry. Deep down, we all wish we were Harry Hutton, and that we were in the calvalry. Also recommended are the cartoons at Bearskinrug, by US-based illustrator Kevin Cornell. Mojo the sock-monkey is endearingly obnoxious.

[murmur] in Leith

Hilaire Belloc, On London and the Houses in it:

There are so many strange doors that should be familiar doors. Turning sometimes into some street where one has turned for years to find at a very well-know number windows of a certain aspect and little details in the drab exterior of the house, every one of which was familiar as a smile, one is (by mere association of years and of a gesture repeated a thousand times) in the act of coming to the steps and of seeking an entry. The whole place is as much one’s friend and as much indicative of one’s friend as would be his clothes or his voiceor any ohter external thing. He is not there, and the house is worse than empty. London grows full of such houses as a man grows older. Most of us have other losses sharper still, which men of other cities know less well, for most of us pass and repass the house in which we were born, or where as children we gathered all the strongest impressions of life. It is impossible to believe that other souls inheriting the effect of those familiar rooms. It is worse than a death; it is a kind of treason.

Coles Corner, the Mercury nominated album by Richard Hawley, taps into this melancholy. Coles Corner is a spot in Sheffield where people come to meet, hang-out, date, fall in love.
Those private stories which take place in the bustling city, is the subject matter of a Toronto art project, [murmur], which is coming to Leith later this year. Interesting things, ‘the stuff of life’, do not just happen on communal street corners, but sometimes behind the closed doors and curtains that Belloc walked by, and that we walk by every day. The [murmur] team records the stories of ordinary citizens, then places a small plaque near the place where those stories happened (similar, I suppose, to the blue signs we see on buildings around the country which signify the birth-place or death-place of famous residents – I wonder if there is one to Belloc?) However, the [murmur] plaques have a telephone number and a code on each plaque, so passers-by can call the number, and listen to a true story about the street-corner, pub, shop or tenement in front of them.
In a way, [murmur] is the reverse of Hilaire Belloc’s complaint. You are not on the outside, looking into an alien present. Instead, you are the present, and the stories allow some connection to those who have gone before.
Here I sit, tapping away at my keyboard, listening to MP3s, in a flat that is one-hundred years old. I wonder who else lived, ate and loved here?

London Mist

Battersea Power Station
Saturday morning, 7.35am.  This hasty phone-photo doesn’t quite capture the sight of London’s iconic buildings awakening out of the mist.  There is something quite serene about the damp chill you get on these misty mornings.  It is part of that time of day when you can walk alone through places that will be thronging with people in just a few hours.  Joggers and postmen know just what I mean. 
It is a source of great worry to me that I am not really a “morning person,” and rarely see this time of day.  I should do it more often.

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