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Chapter One
DYING
Jim Thompson I don't really know how far they would havegone, whether they would have killed me or not. I don't really know.But from the 21st of July 1964, my most recent escape attempt, untilThe 18th of August that year, I knew one of two things was going to happen.I would either go insane or I would die. Either my mind or my bodywas going to crack.
One thing they harped on was "This isn't worth dying for." That morethan anything preyed on my mind. I had some intelligence training, so Iunderstood what they were doing. But even knowing, I couldn't change it.That was the hell of it. I couldn't change it. When they control your environmentso completely, your morale can be manipulated at will. You canfight it to a certain point; you can minimize the effects of it. You can'tcompletely get away from it.
Longer interrogation sessions, less and less sleep. The simple task ofcutting wood became almost insurmountable. To pick up an ax, to benddown and blow on a fire, was enough to make me pass out. Just fromweakness. They placed all manner of frustrating situations in front of me.Interrogation would last until well after dark. Then I had to scroungearound for wood. Or they waited to end a session until it was raining andthe wood was too wet to build a fire. They took my boots and made me gobarefoot in the jungle. They woke me up in the middle of the night andearly in the morning and forced me to cut brush around the hut. Anythingto cause me physical pain, to lose rest. It was a series of little things thattogether made daily life miserable.
Longer and longer interrogation sessions, more and more pressure, andfinally the physical torture. Beatings, mostly, with bamboo across my back,legs, arms. An interrogator would stand in front of me and a guard behind.He would nod, signaling the guard to punctuate his remarks. Not an outrightbeating. Just punctuation. "You must answer!" Snap!
One day he said, "You must abide by regulations of the camp." I said Iunderstood. He said, "The regulations are that you must not leave yourhut without permission. You must obey the guards. Do you agree?"
"Yeah," I said, "I understand."
The next day he called me out and blandly said, "All right. Now we'reready to take your statement."
"What statement?"
"You agreed yesterday to answer all our questions."
"I never agreed to that!"
"You agreed to obey camp regulations! One regulation is you must doeverything you're told! Now write a statement!"
"I refuse" Snap!
Far more severe than the physical abuse was the constant mental pressure.It's hard to describe in a meaningful way. I've racked my brain to figurehow to portray this. But without the threat of death, you can't recreateit. I sincerely felt the end was within sight. I didn't think these people weregoing to stop and I didn't think I would crack. I was absolutely determinednot to crack. And I believed they would continue until ... until I died.
Excerpted from GLORY DENIED by TOM PHILPOTT. Copyright © 2001 by Tom Philpott. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
