Grievability and Violence: The Spectacle of America’s War on Terror in Abu Ghraib

“If and when a population is grievable, they can be acknowledged as a living population whose death would be grieved if that life were lost, meaning that such loss would be unacceptable, even wrong – an occasion of shock and outrage” – Judith Butler (105).

What makes an image memorable? Is it the beauty that we see in the vibrant shades of joy, or smiling faces full of life? Or perhaps is it the opposite – dimly lit rooms in shades of gray concrete and the stark contrast between brown skin and an orange jumpsuit versus white skin against camoflauge and military green? Considering the horrors of American invasion in Iraq, and the horrors of Abu Ghraib, I would propose the latter. As such,this paper will analyze the intersections of grievability and violence in relation to marginalized bodies, focusing on the spectacle of America’s “war on terror,” specifically looking at the 2003 invasion of Iraq (2003-2011), and the scandal that followed as a result of the inhumane mistreatment and abuse of Iraqis by U.S. troops at Abu Ghraib, which became revealed and spectacularized through the media.

Some of the most prolific images to come out of Abu Ghraib include Iraqi men being attacked by dogs, stripped (either in their undergarments or nude) and piled on top of each other, covered in feces, or handcuffed and/or hooded. Though disturbing, these images articulate a clear culture of violence, rooted in pro-war rhetoric and spectacularization that deems certain bodies less valuable than others. As such, two particular images[1] will be critical to my analysis, as they led me to the following question: why did we need to see these images to decide that Iraqi lives were worthy of living or to be angered by this occupation? To respond to this question, I will be looking at the concept of pedagogic violence and how it is practiced in conversations surrounding war and terror in the American context, as well as a logic of disposability/grievability and casual brutality that is assigned to those living outside of the West – the “terror” / “terrorist” or the “other.” In doing so, I hope to critically, yet thoughtfully, examine the underlying systems of state-sponsored violence that have allowed places like the U.S. to negatively shape public perceptions of the “other,” while working to unravel the complexities of power and violence that have allowed the U.S. to be perceived as a global superpower despite their own performance(s) of brutality and terror.

Despite now being closed, Abu Ghraib remains one of the world’s most notorious prisons. During the reign of Saddam Hussein[2], those considered to be traitors/political opposition were often subject to torture and sometimes even execution within the prison. However, many of these prisoners were also just unlucky civilians (Hersh). In an article by Seymour M. Hersh in The New Yorker[3], it is alleged that “as many as fifty thousand men and women – no accurate count is possible – were jammed into Abu Ghraib at one time…” (Hersh). However, once the U.S. entered Iraq and took over Abu Ghraib, it then became a U.S. military prison (ibid), in which approximately 70 to 90 percent of the prisoners were innocent and mistakenly detained (Hilal). Posters were put up in Abu Ghraib that read “America is the friend of all Iraqi people” (Percy), and a reserve brigadier general has been quoted saying “living conditions now are better in prison than at home. At one point we were concerned that they wouldn’t want to leave” (Hersh). It is ironic, then, that the idea of friendship was being sold to (but likely not bought by) those already living under the brutal regime of Saddam Hussein. If the Iraqi prisoners were “agent(s) of Satan” in this twisted friendship, what would America be? (ibid). As someone with ancestral and familial ties to Iraq, I am choosing not to name those deemed guilty in the brutality against the Iraqi people at Abu Ghraib. They have been named enough[4], their images plastered in the media as they perform acts of brutality and abuse; they deserve no further notoriety, especially not in this Iraqi’s paper.

When former president George W. Bush declared that U.S. troops would finally be pulled from Iraq at a press conference in Baghdad, Iraqi journalist Muntadhar al-Zaidi threw his shoes[5] at the president, while shouting هذه قبلة الوداع من الشعب العراقي يا كلب, which translates to “this is a farewell kiss from the Iraqi people, you dog” in Arabic.[6] From the moment that the U.S. troops entered Iraq in 2003, until they were withdrawn in 2008 and officially left the country in 2011, their presence was purely a spectacle for the viewership of those witnessing the horrors of war second-hand at home. According to the Council on Foreign Relations (CoFR), the 2003 invasion of Iraq was meant to 1) destroy weapons of mass destruction, 2) end the rule of Saddam Hussein (CoFR), and 3) establish a link between Iraq and the 9/11 attacks (Percy). Despite their success in capturing and overthrowing Saddam, no weapons of mass destruction were ever found – they likely did not exist. However, it is the spectacle of this invasion and the devaluation of Iraqi lives that led many to believe that the real terror was came from those who participated in the abuse at Abu Ghraib.

According to Jasbir K. Puar, “the torture of Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib is neither exceptional nor singular, as many…would have us believe. We need think only of the fact that so many soldiers facing prosecution for the Iraqi prisoner situation came from prison guard backgrounds, reminding us of incarceration practices within the prison industrial complex…” (Puar 13). Considering the prison industrial complex that Puar refers to, there is also a relationship and intersection between the military industrial complex and the mobilization of pro-war rhetoric, casual brutality, and spectacularized violence that is alluded to throughout this paper. When there is a terrorist attack (or the threat of an attack) in the Middle East, the response is to engage in immediate war efforts, sparing no civilian or terrorist, though the West tends to group them together anyways. When there is a terrorist attack in The United States (such as the daily mass shootings in schools), the response is to engage in half-assed public prayer(s) and televised mourning events, broadcasted and spectacularized on the news until the next attack. According to Henry Giroux, “the mythic threat of terrorism and violent crime provides the state with the legitimating power to increase its security and militaristic directions” (Giroux 28). Perhaps this is because as a society, we have become conditioned to believe that terrorist is synonymous with brown, Middle Eastern, or Arab. It is these perceptions that have led to people cringing (or even apologizing) when I mention that my family comes from Iraq, or the silly comment disguised as racism – “did you know Saddam Hussein?” With the media spectacle that ensued following the 9/11 attacks on U.S. soil, it seems as though the Western world has assigned themselves the same kind of tyrannical power(s) as those that they are at war with. This seems to be incredibly problematic, as we witness different systems of power and governance appropriate and instill a sense of fear in their population to excuse themselves of overstepping the boundaries of protection into a place of sheer and utter abuse, destruction, and torture. The threat of violent crime or terrorism has attempted to make a case for those responsible for the war crimes committed at Abu Ghraib. It is difficult to measure the value of accountability taken for these crimes. On one hand, eleven soldiers were convicted for their crimes. On the other, there is no value in accountability when the survivors of Abu Ghraib are quoted saying things such as: “To this day I feel humiliation for what was done to me. The time I spent in Abu Ghraib – it ended my life. I’m only half a human now” (Sherlock & Altaie).

These industrial complexes, along with the institution of education, all engage to legitimize and enforce a state-sponsored violence against the globalized “other,” rooted in a discourse of elimination[7], which in this case is the Iraqi population. However, outside of this population, we see these spaces take form in the West, working collectively to form an alliance of domination against the marginalized other. Considering these institutions – the prison, the military, and the school[8] – they share a specific commonality, which is a pedagogy of violence. What this pedagogic violence entails, especially when considering the commonalities between these three institutions, is that they all seem to suggest that the rhetoric/propaganda they share is meant to convince the individual(s) on the receiving end of the information that what they are suggesting is important or necessary. The prison industrial complex suggests that incarceration is a necessary part of atoning for one’s guilt, whereas I posit that, ethically, it should be a site of rehabilitation of the offender. The military industrial complex suggests that war is necessary, and that there is often an objective that must be met in order for the war to end, which often leads to mass loss – justified disposability. Lastly, the education industrial complex suggests that students need to meet certain targets through a set curriculum, which has been developed as part of a bureaucracy with certain objectives that must be met between the institution, the government, and other stakeholders. To further contextualize the pedagogy of violence, one could refer to Lynn Worsham’s “Emotion and Pedagogic Violence,” which suggests that pedagogic violence must consider the effects of both teaching and learning, and the ways in which a discourse of emotion can become intertwined in this complex web of absorbing violence in its various forms, which then shape and skew both individual and societal perceptions of those whom the violence is targeted towards (Worsham 122). She expands by suggesting that pedagogic violence becomes “…authorized by and implied in education,” while referencing “…the power, held by dominant discourses, to impose meanings that maintain and reinforce the reigning social, economic, political arrangements as legitimate when in fact they are entirely arbitrary” (124). Worsham continues:

“…both the forms and effects through which violence is lived and experienced and its objective or structural role in the constitution of subjectivities and the justification of subjection… No longer (or not only) does it occur at the very limit of the social order to display the fragility of all meaning, identity, and value; violence arises increasingly from within the authority of existing social, political, and economic arrangements to assert and reinforce their legitimacy” (120-1).

It is through the normalization of such violence that both Iraqi prisoners and civilians experienced a casual brutality at the hands of the U.S. military. With this in mind, it is important to recognize that this kind of normalization of violence starts somewhere. It is a structural failure, though some may suggest the opposite, that it has made room for personal objectives and ideologies to become rooted in the effort(s) of various institutions, which turn them into spaces of authoritative injustice and discrimination, reinforcing the marginalization and violence of the those at the bottom of the hierarchy, or as Worsham suggests, the social order. This can be seen with the aforementioned institutions that I have named – education, prison, and military. They are socially, politically, and culturally legitimated sites of power and authority, pushing a particular agenda of dominance onto those deemed worthy of subjection and subjugation, which must be upheld and abided by in order to avoid conflict and violence perpetuated by these forms of authority.  Often, this kind of oppressive rhetoric and ideology is bred within the very institutions that uphold its freedom to spread – the spaces which uphold the power dynamics of white supremacy and the inferiority and subjugation of the marginalized other.  For example, in an article by Jennifer Percy, titled “The Priest of Abu Ghraib”, she recalls a notable encounter between a U.S. interrogator and prisoner:

Casteel asked the jihadist why he’d come to Iraq to kill. The jihadist looked at Casteel but didn’t answer. Instead, he asked the same of him. “Why did you come to Iraq to kill?” …Casteel’s left hand was in his pocket, gripping the crucifix on his rosary. The prisoner counted prayer beads in his right hand” (Percy).

 Part of this state-sponsored violence also encourages “othering,” which ascribes the marginalized other as inferior, welcoming systemic subjugation onto an already oppressed population. However, the above encounter depicts the similarities between the alleged terrorist and the very person waging the “war on terror.” What the U.S. failed to realize, or perhaps chose to ignore, is that many Iraqi civilians and prisoners had already been suffering as a result of Saddam Hussein. It is rather twisted that in a war against terror, and an alleged attempt to free the Iraqi people from Hussein’s rule, that the U.S. occupiers would contribute to the ongoing oppression and brutality against this same population. As they both clutched on to symbols of their faith, they were both reminded of the similarities they shared – the fact that in some way, they would both contribute to the death(s) of the other.

In Henry Giroux’s “The Politics of Disposability,” he states: “In earlier eras, imagery of racist brutality and war atrocities moved nations to act and to change…in the interests of global justice. These contemporary images moved all of us, but only, it seems, for a time. Why is that? The answer lies in the politics of disposability…” (Giroux). Many who were alive to witness the horrors of the Abu Ghraib and the invasion of Iraq have also witnessed (or were familiar with) other wars that America had a role in. However, it seems that people only start to care once the civilians who are caught in the crosshairs of war are humanized through the publication of images and video. Perhaps part of this politics of disposability comes from the innate need to see the marginalized-other in a position of complete and utter hopelessness to grieve their pain and suffering. There is a sense of dehumanization that surfaces, though many may argue that it has always existed. This dehumanization, especially considering what has been exposed of the time spent by U.S. troops in Abu Ghraib, demonstrates a sheer loss and erasure of one’s identity – the disposability of their personhood and the violation and attack against one’s agency.

Today, the survivors of Abu Ghraib are interviewed and photographed by journalists, continuing the cycle of capitalizing on those who have already endured such deep-rooted psychological pain and suffering. The stories that follow often share the horrors of their experience, and the trauma that they continue to live with as a result of U.S. detainment within the prison. Again, they become part of the spectacle, though perhaps in a different way. The Iraqi people have, in many ways, been failed by Saddam’s regime. Their own government, the Ba’ath Party, determined that many Iraqis were already considered disposable, even before the U.S. invasion of Iraq and the reinstatement of Abu Ghraib. Many civilians lived in fear of the “what if” as they witnessed and endured the spectacle of Hussein’s dictatorial rule. The removal of Hussein, however, did not relieve this population of their fears. They found themselves balancing on a delicate rope – on one side, trying to avoid persecution and abuse at the hands of the fascist leader, and on the other side, trying to avoid persecution and abuse at the hands of the fascist invader. The Iraqis, then, found themselves balancing at the center of this rope, both sides viewing the civilian’s life as disposable. The loss of balance, or the cutting of this delicate rope, led to same place – Abu Ghraib. A place where they would either go to die, or where their will to continue living would die after the horrors that they endured. Their life before the prison has been decimated. The disposable subject, then, is reduced to just that – decimation and disposability. A life rendered invaluable, grieved only by those with shared identities and/or experiences.

This politics of disposability that Giroux names is similar to what Judith Butler suggests in The Force of Non-Violence, which considers the dichotomy of which populations are and are not grievable based on the markers of their identity. More specifically, grievability looks at “…whose lives ought to be preserved and whose can be expunged or left to die” (Butler 116). With such a large population of Abu Ghraib’s detainees being wrongfully detained (Hilal), I argue that the men and women held in this prison were deemed unworthy of the preservation of life by the “friendly” invading forces, based on the crime of their dark skin, dark features, and for living in a country that no one was seeking to protect. In their text, Butler states:

“…this claim that some are more grievable than others – that some are, within certain frames and under certain circumstances, safeguarded against danger, destitution, and death more tenaciously than others – is to say precisely… that the incalculable value of a life is acknowledged in one setting but not in another” (107).

This quote is particularly thought-provoking when considering the invasion of Iraq and the intersections of disposability and grievability. The “war on terror” was not exclusively a fight against terrorism – it became a war against an entire nation of people. More specifically, a group of people who were scapegoated by one of the “strongest” countries in the world, and then brutalized in ways that are unimaginable – that is, until you see the photos. In an attempt to perpetuate the disposability and non-grievability of those “terrorists” being detained, they also perpetuated the disposability and non-grievability of those wrongfully detained. Those who experienced the barbarism and sadism of the occupying forces in Iraq, in the context of their own lived experience(s) and relations within community, deserved the right to life – and if they did live, they deserved the right to safety and to justice. Though this chasm between innocent and guilty – the grievable and the ungrievable – is complex, it is reinforced through a politically-rooted and sanctioned perpetuation of disposability onto varying populations. It is baffling that the unproven possibility of dangerous weapons encouraged one of the world’s global superpowers, The United States of America, to commit heinous and unwarranted war crimes against a population that likely was not involved in Saddam’s planning of a nuclear weapon program. Judith Butler poses the following: “…some populations are targeted by modes of sovereign power and that there is a “letting die” orchestrated…how do we account for the differential ways in which lives and deaths matter or fail to matter?” (Butler 114). Maybe the account would happen through and/or engage with a pedagogy of violence that would determine that what happened within the walls of Abu Ghraib was (un)warranted, if in relation to a threat of terror. Maybe it was never really about the threat of weapons and terror, but rather about the validation of one’s power and agency and the lack of the others.

At the beginning of my paper, I posed the question: why did we need to see these images to decide that Iraqi lives were worthy of living or to be angered by this invasion/occupation? Is it the sight of battered bodies covered in various bodily fluids that disturbs and moves us? Or is it the brown-skinned prisoners of Abu Ghraib, piled atop of one another in the nude, with a smiling U.S. soldier that does? Perhaps it is the same thing that we see in the media today, manufactured, and performative anger and accountability to ease the burden of our individualized guilt – the guilt that we carry by allowing these state-sponsored systems of violence and oppression to operate that exists only as long as we have access to the image(s). According to the American Civil Liberties Union, there are thousands of photos from Abu Ghraib, many of which were leaked online (Relman). Of the photos that I have reviewed, there will be a focus on two specific images. The first image (figure 1), which is particularly haunting and remains one of the most infamous photos from Abu Ghraib, where the individual is hooded and tied up to wires while balancing on a small cardboard box, which would cause him to be electrocuted if he fell. The second image (figure 2) includes an unnamed prisoner who is handcuffed at the ankles, covered in an “unknown substance” that resembles feces, as a U.S. soldier stands guard, holding a baton (CBS News).

The first image, which some say is of an unnamed detainee and others say is of a man named Abdou Hussain Saad Faleh (figure 1)[9], is particularly haunting. The similarities between the hood and cape worn in the image to that of the Klu Klux Klan ensemble led me to wonder – is what happened in Abu Ghraib a re-enactment of what happens in the American prison industrial complex? Or within the institutions which maintain the systems and dynamics of power? Beyond a performed violence, this hood and cape (which are both ironically brown versus white) suggests a racialized violence as well, through the aesthetics of the image. Those in the white hoods have the ability to walk freely, and those in the brown hoods balance on cardboard boxes or fear electrocution and/or other forms of torture and abuse. The second image (figure 2)[10] clearly depicts the imbalance between lives deemed grievable versus ungrievable, disposable versus non-disposable. In Iraqi culture, there is a particular stigma around nudity, and things that are and are not appropriate to talk about – one’s feces being inappropriate, though this is likely common among various cultures. It goes without saying, but the purpose of this image was to completely humiliate and dehumanize the subject in the photo. Not only is the individual completely naked, but he is also standing in a corridor between rows of cells on both sides of the wall, covered in a brown substance resembling feces as a soldier looks on, proudly, holding a baton. The similarity in both photos, besides the blatant torture and abuse of these men, is that they are hooded. Only a small number of people know what happened prior to, during, and following the capturing of these images. Along with that, only a small number of people actually know who the two hooded men are. This act of hooding the victim(s) and not the U.S. soldier suggests that their identity does not even matter – they are seen as non-human subjects worthy of vile acts. American patriotism and the alleged friendship between the Iraqi people and the United States did not exist in Abu Ghraib. Instead, a reproduction of state-sanctioned crime and terror through the reinventing and reproducing of Saddam’s prison proves that the occupying forces did not intend to seek justice or build relationships with the Iraqi people. Rather, the intention was to further humiliate, ridicule, and violate their agency and reduce them to a people deemed unworthy of life. However, anyone who has access to the images will know that regardless of the stage in which the photo was taken, there was absolutely no regard for human life – despite so many of Abu Ghraib’s prisoners being wrongfully detained. Ironically, it appears as though they got rid of Saddam just to do the same thing to the same people. Their mission of American patriotism and white saviourism suggested they would liberate the Iraqi people, but instead introduced them to a kind of abuse that Saddam Hussein could only imagine in his wildest dreams.

To refer back to and answer my question – what happened in Iraq is not unique or a one-off experience, not through the prison industrial complex nor the military industrial complex. The difference is that the photos were leaked to the public. This leads me to wonder – if these images never surfaced, or surfaced pre-Google or Facebook, would we care about Abu Ghraib, and for how long? Would we even know, or would we label these men and women as patriotic, all-American heroes? Though I would like to say no, my instinct tells me yes. In a world that has so deeply intertwined the spectacle into everyday life – where the spectacle is needed to influence our ethics and morale – we must consider that war itself is a spectacle, with or without photos on the internet. What is particularly striking, however, is that those fighting the “war on terror” have behaved in such barbaric, sadist ways, proving themselves as the true terrorists. Though maybe this isn’t striking at all – maybe the behaviour of those guilty for the horrors at Abu Ghraib have been so deeply conditioned by the culture(s) of violence which has shaped and formed the spaces and institutions that have, in turn, shaped their character. When we have access to war, either through print or through a screen, the spectacularization of this accessibility leads us to say “never again,” but how do we guarantee that it never happens again? Can we? What Henry Giroux’s “Beyond the Spectacle of Terrorism: Rethinking Politics in the Society of the Image” does, that I believe is critical in the analysis of the images of Abu Ghraib, is contextualize the spectacle of terrorism and how it becomes (re)produced, sparked by “the post-9/11 world” (Giroux 20), which made room in the media for the viewership of terrorism and collective fear. I would also argue that the images that came out of Abu Ghraib became justified by those behind the camera because of 9/11. Giroux suggests that this event gave a new power to the image, and the act of taking the photos was a form of Western governments and militaries “taking back” the power from the perpetrators of the attack. However, it also demonstrates a blatant abuse of power (and of human life) through which has been justified and normalized through pedagogic violence and the spectacle of it all.

            What happened in Abu Ghraib is not an isolated incident. In fact, we should have expected it to happen when U.S. troops arrived in Iraq and claimed to be their friends. Foreign interest and the respect of life deemed “other” simply does not exist, especially under the moniker of “the war on terror.” There are so many systems at play, in which have allowed this dynamic of power and sadism to make its way into the institutions that are meant to serve and protect. Looking at this dichotomy of populations deemed worthy and unworthy of life and justice, whilst analyzing the atrocities witnessed during America’s “war on terror” at Abu Ghraib, I hope to have thoughtfully examined the ways in which the intersections of grievability, disposability, and violence have contributed to the tyranny and spectacle of dehumanization that occurred against the Iraqi people by U.S. forces. I have reiterated the following question throughout my paper: why did we need to see these images to decide that Iraqi lives were worthy of living or to be angered by this occupation? Perhaps it is because the photos which have emerged, those of brutality and sadism, serve as a reminder of the permeating culture and normalization of casual (and pedagogical) violence and the rhetoric of war in the West. Post-war rhetoric and discourse, as well as the spectacle of war – the before, during, and after – encourage us as a society to say, “never again.” As such, I believe that it is time to engage in a critical reevaluation of Western morale and ethics in order to prevent another Abu Ghraib, and to resist institutions and systems of state-sponsored violence and power in a way that reinforces accountability and condemnation. The marginalized other is worthy of life – they are grievable, and the images and spectacularization of these crimes have allowed many to grieve both the unnecessary loss and dehumanization of a population, as well as the shortcomings of Western systems of power. I know this to be true, because what is most memorable about these images to me, is that the victims of Abu Ghraib resemble the familiar – they resemble my family, those who come from and managed to escape Saddam’s Iraq prior to America’s Iraq, and have determined that America’s Iraq was worse.

[1] Figure 1 and Figure 2 – found later in this paper.

[2] Saddam Hussein (1937 – 2006) is the former dictator of Iraq and the leader of the Ba’ath Party (1992 – 2006). He served as the Prime Minister from 1979 to 1991, and then again from 1994 to 2003.

[3] Article: Torture at Abu Ghraib

[4] The Taguba Report: Article 15-6 Investigation of the 800^th Military Police Brigade by Major General Antonio M. Traguba.

[5] See page 14 for image.

[6] Clip: Shoe Thrown at President Bush

[7] A discourse of elimination relates to Henry Giroux’s “disposability” and/or Judith Butler’s “grievability.”

[8] Though perhaps this is most applicable to secondary and post-secondary institutions.

[9] See page 13 for image.

[10] See page 14 for image.

Figure 1

One of the most infamous photos from Abu Ghraib, a hooded detainee balancing on a cardboard box while attached to wires. Retrieved from Al Jazeera.

Figure 2

Image of an unnamed Iraqi prisoner hooded and covered in “unknown substance” resembling feces. Retrieved from CBS News.

Figure 3

Image of Iraqi journalist Muntadhar al-Zaidi throwing a shoe at former president George W. Bush. Retrieved from France 24.

Works Cited

“Abuse Photos II.” CBS News, CBS Interactive, 21 May 2004, www.cbsnews.com/pictures/abuse-photos-ii/2/. 

Butler, Judith. The Force of Non-Violence. Verso, 2021.

Gallagher, Katherine. “Voices from the Ground: Abu Ghraib Torture Survivors Speak in Geneva.” Center for Constitutional Rights, 26 Sept. 2016, ccrjustice.org/home/blog/2016/09/26/voices-ground-abu-ghraib-torture-survivors-speak-geneva. 

Giroux, Henry A. “Beyond the spectacle of terrorism: rethinking politics in the society of the image.” Situations: Project of the Radical Imagination 2.1, 2007, pp. 17-42.

Giroux, Henry. “The Politics of Disposability.” Dissident Voice, 1 Sept. 2006, www.dissidentvoice.org/Sept06/Giroux01.htm.

Hersh, Seymour M. “Torture at Abu Ghraib.” The New Yorker, 30 Apr. 2004, www.newyorker.com/magazine/2004/05/10/torture-at-abu-ghraib. 

Hilal, Maha. “Abu Ghraib: The Legacy of Torture in the War on Terror.” Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera, 1 Oct. 2017, www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2017/10/1/abu-ghraib-the-legacy-of-torture-in-the-war-on-terror. 

Javaid, Osama Bin. “Abu Ghraib Survivor: Taking the Hood off 20 Years after Iraq War.” Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera, 20 Mar. 2023, www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/3/20/reporters-notebook-taking-the-hood-off-20-years-later. 

Percy, Jennifer. “The Priest of Abu Ghraib.” Smithsonian.Com, Smithsonian Institution, 1 Jan. 2019, www.smithsonianmag.com/history/priest-abu-grahib-180971013/. 

Puar, Jasbir K. “On Torture: Abu Ghraib.” Radical History Review 2005 (93), 2005, Pp. 13-38.

Relman, Eliza. “Pentagon Releases 198 Abuse Photos in Long-Running Lawsuit. What They Don’t Show Is a Bigger Story.” American Civil Liberties Union, 27 Feb. 2023, www.aclu.org/news/national-security/pentagon-releases-198-abuse-photos-long-running-lawsuit-what-they. 

Sherlock, Ruth, and Awadh Altaie. “He Says U.S. Troops Abused Him in Iraq’s Abu Ghraib and His Life Is Still Ruined.” NPR, NPR, 11 Apr. 2023, www.npr.org/2023/04/11/1167341565/us-iraq-war-abu-ghraib-survivor. 

Worsham, Lynn. “Emotion and Pedagogic Violence.” Discourse 15.2, 1992, Pp. 119-148.

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