THE CAPTIVES

I have been a prisoner in this camp for more than one year. Many of us have died, mostly at the hands of our captors, but some from disease and trauma. Somehow, I have survived, but it hasn’t been easy.

They beat us mercilessly today with leather straps. At least four men surrounded us and whipped us. They yelled at us, “Move, you stinking beasts!” They made us run into a wooden structure, then locked us in. I was afraid they would light the structure on fire with us locked inside.

But whipping is not the worst. One of the men used a red hot iron on one of us. I will never forget the screams of agony from that poor chap. It left him with horrible burns. He died soon after.

I would estimate there are about 100 of us in this part of the camp. There is a big turnover, with new inmates showing up daily. About every five days about ten inmates “disappear” and ten new ones are brought in. We are given very simple food to eat, usually either a slurry of corn or a bucket of fetid mush. The captors often walk back and forth laughing at us as we try to eat. Most of the time we have to squeeze our heads through the bars on our cells in order to get to the food.

The beatings and torture are bad, but there is something worse. Several female inmates came into the camp pregnant. When they gave birth, the men in charge immediately took the little one away, not even giving the mother a chance to see or bond with it. I can’t think of anything more cruel.

A few days ago, they came into our barracks and grabbed four unfortunate inmates. They used handheld electrified clubs and drove these four chaps out and into a separate building. We heard them screaming, but soon after that there were four loud thuds, and then there was silence. One of our informants claims he witnessed the goings-on in there. He said he saw our compatriots hanging upside down by their legs with their throats slit from one ear to the other. When word of this spread through the camp, there was a palpable wave of horror and panic.

Detailing all the brutality and torture we have experienced seems like wasted energy. No one listens to us. There doesn’t seem to be any end to this existence or hope for the future. Many of the inmates show signs of depression and severe anxiety. One inmate had been very quiet, but suddenly threw himself against the electrified fence, dying right there. The captors left him standing in his death, leaning against the fence with the full current flowing through his body, his legs twitching and spasming. We suspected that leaving him there was a message to us, not to disobey or try to escape, or that same type of destiny awaited us.

Yesterday morning, a very important man visited the camp. We knew he was important because of the way he was dressed. Most of the workers in the camp wear casual clothes or military-style tactical outfits. This fellow was decked out in a three-piece suit and had a leather overcoat slung loosely about his shoulders. He carried some type of cane or stick. A rumor spread quietly amongst the gathered that this man might be the one they call ”the Angel of Death.”

He had us line up for inspection. Any inmates not accurately in line met with an electrified club, ensuring obedience. While we were at attention, he strolled up and down the row, pointing his cane at a few of the inmates he favored. His assistant wrote down the chosen inmate’s number, and once he left, those selected were taken away and led into the back of a large truck, never to be seen again.

I sometimes stand quietly outside the barracks, and I can see life way off in the distance. There is a park not far from here. One can see people walking their dogs, picnicking, or bicycling happily. I can even hear the laughter of children as they run through the park with their parents chasing after them. How beautiful, I think, would it be to stroll in a park, saunter down to a babbling brook up in the hills, or eat peacefully without the fear of violence.

I know it’s just a matter of a brief time until my life comes to an end. I’ve lived this nightmare existence longer than I expected. When I first arrived, other inmates told me I probably wouldn’t last a month. But I have seen many come and go, to a fate unknown. It would be all too easy to give up all hope.

But when all seems lost, one still has the right to dream. That is something they can never take away from us. My dream is to live long enough to see an end to this incarceration and torture, and perhaps even get home to my family, if they still exist.

There doesn’t seem to be any hope of escape. The camp is too cleverly constructed for that. In fact, in some inmates there seems to be almost a sense of resignation and acceptance of their tragic existence. I believe they call that Stockholm Syndrome.

Generally, our captors do not engage us in conversation or ask us anything. They usually just walk by as if we don’t exist. When we moo, they don’t seem to understand what we are saying. I suspect they would at least try to communicate with us if we were human beings rather than cows. 

But today, uncharacteristically, one of my captors stopped at my cage to chat with me. He was one of the youngest of the men, and sounded sensitive and caring, as strange as that may seem. But what he said really confused me. He mentioned that he doesn’t eat meat, and that he doesn’t agree with the use of animals for food. I really didn’t understand what he meant by that. After all, what is meat?