Jewish grandmothers are now enemy combatants locked behind razor wire, McQueeney thought. What comes next?
CHAPTER 32
No buses this time. The 1164th Transportation Company of the Massachusetts Army National Guard pulled up at the loading dock of the Agganis Arena with its fleet of five-ton trucks, plus three tractor trailers. With barely a half-hour’s notice, the 4,000 people who inhabited the basketball stadium picked up what few belongings they had, mostly items purchased for them by host families in their brief period of freedom, and were loaded into the trucks.
The job was a simple one for the seventy-five Guardsmen. They were trained to move thousands of soldiers across long distances. This time, their drive was just an hour and a half to Camp Edwards on Cape Cod.
The camp commander was Army lieutenant colonel Ted Dancer, who served briefly as deputy commander of the detention facility at Guantanamo Bay. After the last truck was unloaded, an announcement over the public address system said there would be an assembly of all detainees on the parade ground at four that afternoon.
People interrupted their settling in process to attend the meeting. It was a warm, sunny day. Breaking surf could be heard above the slight breeze. Children were anxious to explore along the shore. The former passengers of the Iliad and the Ionian Star were relieved to move from the oppressive stadium. They were anxious about what would come next.
They noted the rows of freshly-painted barracks buildings, the mess hall, and the collection of buildings surrounded by barbed wire fencing. This facility had a distressing sense of permanency to it.
That fear was driven home by the camp commander.
“Ladies and gentlemen, by order of the president of the United States, you have each been declared to be an enemy combatant subject to the exclusive jurisdiction of the United States military,” Dancer announced. “It is the intention of the United States to detain you in this facility, or any other facility the United States so desires, for the duration of the present hostilities, however long they may last.
“You are entitled to all of the rights of persons holding the status of enemy combatants. Those rights include the following:
“You have the right to receive reasonable meals sufficient to maintain minimal good health.
“You have the right to reasonable medical care for life-threatening illness and injuries.
“You have the right not to be subjected to life-threatening torture or mistreatment.”
A murmur started up from the rear of the assemblage. Someone near the front of the crowd began shouting.
“Ah’m not doing shit until ah see mah lawyer,” a man shouted, his Southern accent out of place. “Ah demand to see mah lawyer, now.”
The crowd became louder, others joining the man in the front demanding to meet with their lawyers—not that they actually had lawyers.
BANG!
The crowd was startled into silence by the shot fired into the air from the pistol in the camp commander’s hand.
“Let’s get something clear from the start,” Dancer said into the microphone. “This is a military camp, a detention camp. You people are military detainees. You don’t get lawyers. You don’t go to court. You don’t even dream about suing me or anybody else. You don’t like how we treat you, then tough fucking shit. The president declared you enemy combatants. He did that because you killed American military personnel. And sank our vessels. And then ran into hiding. You are enemies of the United States of America. You will be treated like enemies.
“Get used to it. That is how life is going to be. This meeting is concluded. Troops, see that this crowd disperses to their barracks.”
Dancer stepped down from the platform and walked to his office, accompanied by his second in command.
“I thought that went quite well,” Dancer said.
“I was not briefed about carrying firearms, sir,” the second in command said. “It certainly did get their attention, though.”
“There will be no firearms carried. I wanted to make a point, that’s all. We won’t need firearms to keep these people under control. Didn’t carry firearms at Gitmo and we had some tough people there—some of them, anyway. We worked things out on our own.” He smiled, as if remembering his introduction to detention of enemy combatants fondly. Dancer placed an arm around the young captain’s shoulder. “Let me tell you about E-R-F-ing, Captain. Do you know what ERFing is?” Dancer saw the puzzled look on his assistant’s face.
“A little method we came up with at Guantanamo. E-R-F. Emergency Reaction Force. Pick the ten biggest goons we’ve got. Dress ’em up in black, from ski mask to boots. Give ’em body armor, the full suit, and Kevlar shields, helmets, batons. They’d scare the shit out of a sumo wrestler. Ten of them come screaming into a room, waving their batons, clanging on their shields, the detainees shit their drawers, they do. That’s ERFing. Pick the men. I’ll train them myself. And if our guests don’t like it, let them cry to the lawyers they won’t be meeting with.”
“Guantanamo? That must have been quite an experience.”
“That’s one way of putting it. But I learned some lessons there. Kind of ironic, though. Arabs there. Jews here. Will be interesting to see if there’s any difference between them. My money is on them all being the same.”
CHAPTER 33
Abram Goldhersh sounded excited on the telephone. “Chaim, we need to meet, right away. I’m sending somebody to pick you up. His name is Mr. Gimel. Remember that. He won’t introduce himself. You ask him his name. He’ll say Gimel. If he doesn’t, don’t get in the car.”
Levi told Debra Reuben about the telephone call.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Levi answered.
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who will you be with?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why does he need to see you, at least?”
“Debra, I just don’t know. I don’t know anything more than I’ve told you. Please, enough with the questions.”
“If you don’t know anything, why are you going away? I don’t understand. It could be dangerous for you out there.” Levi sensed the concern in her voice. He answered carefully.
“First, it isn’t dangerous for me. I’m nobody out there. Nobody has the slightest idea who I am. What I am. Why I’m here. It’s perfectly safe for me to leave this house.
“Second, why am I going? Because I’m bored out of my head sitting around here all day watching television and waiting for something to happen. At least other people are doing things, even if they are childish things like parades that will be forgotten in a week. Debra, with all that’s happening, what are we doing? Bubkes, that’s what.”
She smiled at the Israeli’s use of the Yiddish word for “nothing.” Secular Israelis avoided Yiddish just as African-Americans avoided Amos-and-Andy-isms like “massuh.” Reuben enjoyed dropping the occasional Yiddish into her speech. It reminded her of her grandmother.
Levi must be softening up.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe I’m paranoid. But be careful. Anyway, I’ve been thinking of going to Washington with Sarah.” A smile spread across her face. “It’s going to make history. A million American Jews in one place. What a trip it would be to be there.”
Levi looked at her. Stunned.