Standards and Practices

Standard Operating Procedure
One of our greatest filmmakers tackles one of our greatest shame

“When you’re in war, things change.”
      — Spc. Jeremy Sivitz

Amid the unending controversy and contention surrounding the United States’ military occupation of Iraq, the revelations in early 2004 of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib prison remain the longest, darkest shadow over our continuing presence in the Middle East. While opinions about the war and prosecution of war crimes vary from person to person all over the world, the reaction to the Abu Ghraib photographs was unified: In the humiliation of these men, whatever their crimes, was the humiliation of an entire nation already struggling (and struggling to this day) to convince itself and others of the righteousness of its task.

 Perhaps as tragic, though, was the whimper with which American society eventually edged Abu Ghraib out of its consciousness. After months of soul-searching and hand-wringing on the public’s part (and no small amount of posturing from every corner of the political sphere), the Bush administration won the day by doling out prison stints and dishonorable discharges to the low-ranking soldiers involved, brushing off any notion of further culpability. Simply a matter, we were told, of the proverbial bad apples.

 Such a blithe dodge to such a monumental issue is, of course, fertile ground for the sort of fluffy, finger-pointing activist documentaries Bush has so generously inspired these past eight years, which makes Errol Morris’
Standard Operating Procedure that much more important: America’s most distinguished, inspired nonfiction filmmaker, Morris engages on a moral and intellectual level here rather than a political one, and remains steadfastly inquisitive in the face of an inconceivably bleak subject.

Morris is fascinated by the reality that Lynndie England and her compatriots are both victim and perpetrator, and is cognizant that the circumstances of their monstrosities have deep roots and broad implications — while the endgames of scapegoating and political maneuvering are certainly worthy of scrutiny, Standard Operating Procedure is far more interested in the grander narrative of war and humanity.

Not unusually for Morris, the film hinges around a series of interviews. We hear from former Brigadier Gen. Janis Karpinski, insistent that ever-present U.S. intelligence operatives set the tone for the treatment of prisoners; from Tim Dugan, a non-military interrogator working at the prison and attesting to lack of useful intelligence emerging from its chambers; from Brent Pack, a special investigator tasked with interpreting the photographic evidence and, in one of the film’s most chilling sequences, delineating the thin legal distinctions between “criminal acts” and “standard operating procedure.”

Most illuminating, though, are Morris’ sit-downs with the offending soldiers who speak candidly despite an almost visible weight of regret and even confusion. Spc. Sabrina Harman explains the big smile and thumbs-up she sports in a frame with a dead interrogation subject as a reflexive snapshot pose. Spc. Jeremy Sivitz speaks of his family’s good military name dragged through the mud because he was unwilling to voice his objections to the orders of the superior officers involved, while Sgt. Javal Davis describes spending his days guarding Iraqi detainees as the fruits of their countrymen’s labor sent U.S. soldiers home in boxes draped with flags, and how the manifestation of the resulting anger and confusion erupted when military intelligence officers encouraged the guards to “soften up” the detainees.

We even hear from Lynndie England herself (looking now somewhat less like a stoned teenage boy) as she discusses spending the early hours of her 21st birthday in the throes of an Abu Ghraib all-nighter, and distantly of a love (for ringleader of the abuse Cpl. Charles Graner) that blinded her to the ramifications of her actions, which included posing for or taking many of the infamous photographs.

If there is more than the suggestion of apology or rationalization in these soldiers’ words, it has been left on the cutting room floor. Instead, the film’s participants seek only to clarify — to take the opportunity to speak their piece. It is devastating, but we see in the end they are ordinary people put in extraordinarily horrible circumstances for which there is little context. We do not forgive, but we inch toward understanding.

All of this and more are contained in Morris’ savagely lucid film, which is every bit as hypnotic as 2003’s Fog Of War or indeed any of his other works. His sense for structure remains impeccable, and he even ups the visual ante with striking graphics and evocative, bleached-out “reenactment” footage that leaves an impression without upending the film’s harsh reality.

In the end, though, it’s not his considerable gifts as a stylist or technician that make Errol Morris such a force in nonfiction film — it’s his knack for extracting the truth, whether from images, words or even faces. And while Standard Operating Procedure may be necessarily short on objective answers about the horrors of Abu Ghraib, it remains encouraging for us all that there is that much more light cast on a dark hour.