I do not work at UUSC because I can fulfill the obligations of my job description. I work at UUSC because I am passionate about human rights. I decided to attend the Call for Justice Weekend, not as a staff member, but as a person who believes that the killing, the torture, and the cruelty against human life must end.

I convinced my parents to fly from Florida and meet my husband and me in D.C. My father is a Vietnam veteran, strongly opposed to the war in Iraq, and a supporter of the troops. My mom is a school guidance counselor who works with the kids who have been forgotten on Bush’s “No Child Left Behind Act.”

My relationship to war stems from growing up with a dad who volunteered to go to Vietnam and who taught me to be aware of the lies of government. His gift to me in D.C. was a copy of the U.S. Declaration of Independence and Constitution. The parallels between the conditions that led to the Declaration of Independence and the actions of our government today are frightening. My mom is a child advocate and our home was a safe harbor for many children who found that life itself was a battlefront.

As you are reading this, my brother-in-law is living in one of Saddam’s torture cells in Baghdad, Iraq. Bobby is a staff sergeant in the 10th Mountain Division, whose duty it is to process detainees in the War on Terror. A year ago, he returned from Afghanistan and met his son for the first time. Every day, his son walks up to the window, pulls back the curtain, and says “Da-Da” to an empty street. At night, my sister falls asleep on her couch because it is too hard to sleep in an empty bed in a silent house.

I am against the killing in Iraq and the dehumanization of U.S. soldiers. Although Bobby came back physically from Afghanistan, it took him six months to return mentally and be able to talk to my sister about the horrors he saw and the people he killed in Afghanistan. Now he is in Iraq, and I know he will never be the same. He knows of the work of UUSC and he supports our cause because he does not want to be tortured, and he does not want to be a witness to such brutality. He also just wants to come home, and I pray that he does, so I never have to tell my nephew that his father was a brave, honorable man.

One of the hardest aspects of being a peace activist is that people think I am against the troops or that I support terrorism. I have never understood how human beings can agree that killing is the only way to peace. It makes me sick to think that some of us believe we have the right to kill and torture others, and that we are safer in doing so. Violence does not create safety, it creates lies and bloodshed that will haunt us for the rest of our lives.

Since my mom has returned to Florida and told family, friends, and coworkers about the weekend, she has received backlash for being against the troops, un-American, and unpatriotic. I believe there are many people who were at the Call for Justice Weekend who might be having the same experience, and I hope you find strength in the numbers of people who support peace and the end of violence.

Most of what I heard this weekend were things I’ve already been aware of, things that I learned while working at UUSC, protesting at the School of the Americas, or through my own studies. But I had never listened to a torture survivor speak in their own voice about torture. At one point I thought I would cry, but what good are tears? And then I felt anger, but what good can one do with anger? And so I listened with my heart, and understood that there is work to be done and I can be part of that work.

I looked into the eyes of the survivors, and realized that at one time they were not torture survivors. At one time, they were people who worked for a cause, and now they carried with them the burden telling the horrors of their life, so I can fight to end the practice of torture. There is nothing more to be angry about, I know that there is hope to struggle for peace.

For my parents, listening to the experiences by the torture survivors was affecting and challenging. Walking away from Sunday’s trial, we were left with mixed feelings. I wanted to go storm down the White House, my dad was pensive, and my mom had a sense of disbelief. Is it really true that our government could perpetrate such acts, and yet tell the country and the world its hands were clean, and the responsibility fell on a “few bad apples”?

I understand how my mom feels, because it is difficult to come to terms with such brutality and know your government is responsible. But she has come away with inspiration and hope for change, and is no longer complacent to the decisions of our government. My dad has decided to join Veterans for Peace, and both were thankful for the opportunity to be involved in a weekend that has changed their lives.

Sunday morning, my family and I went to Arlington National Cemetery. I don’t know if the other people there are against the war, or for the war, or feel any way about it. Looking at the rows of graves, I turned to my dad and asked, “Isn’t this enough?” I believe there has already been enough bloodshed and lost lives to the cause of war. It is time to begin acting for the right of peace.

The Call for Justice Weekend's formal mock trial was very powerful, and the entire six hours was riveting. It was done in panels of three -- actors represented Rumsfeld, Tenet, and Gonzales, then three people of Middle Eastern descent represented actual torture victims and related their stories as actors, and then three actual torture victims represented themselves.

The prosecutor, played by Margaret Montoya -- a law professor and the first Hispanic woman to graduate from Harvard Law School -- was superb and so into character that she and Rumsfeld (played wonderfully by actor David Clennon, who appeared in the film "Missing") or she and the judge (portrayed by Van Jones, a civil rights activist and lawyer), or she and the defense counsel (played by Jumana Musa, a Palestinian American attorney who works for Amnesty International USA) were shouting and talking across each other . . . all unscripted but powerful and occasionally funny . . . in the first panel.

Then it got serious, and one of the actors portraying a torture victim at Guantanamo Bay was so authentic that I found myself holding my breath to keep from letting out a sob.

When the last actor portraying a detainee was finished, everyone in the courtroom (filled to capacity of 450, with an overflow space holding 100 more) had absorbed into their pores how degrading torture is to the human spirit, all of our spirits, whether victim, torturer, or witness. I’ve been around this stuff for a long time and even treated victims of torture, but I was transformed by these events.

It shifted from deadly serious theater at that point to something even more profound that I cannot name, as Sister Dianna Ortiz was led through her testimony of torture, rape, and humiliation -- because the perpetrators of the torture filmed the worst of it and threatened to make it public if she ever spoke out. In her testimony, she related how to speak about it, to prevent it, to shine a light on it was to relive it again and again and again.

Her sisters and brothers from an organization called TASSC (Torture Abolition and Survivors Support Coalition International) did that as well -- in the trial; in the workshop on Saturday, which was conducted before and after the giant antiwar march; and in a hearing on Capitol Hill on Monday -- with dignity, pain, and courage. As difficult as these three days were for the victims, I think there was an element of healing for them as well, because they were fighting back to prevent what happened to them from happening to other people.

So although there was little publicity for these events -- because of the antiwar march, because of the trial being on Sunday, because Martin Sheen, our largest media draw, had to cancel at the last moment -- the power of what happened could not have been communicated by a newspaper article. Amy Goodman from Democracy Now was there for several hours of the trial, but I did not get to listen to her on Monday. She would have been preaching to the choir -- but I’m the choir, and I was not the same person on Monday afternoon that I was on Saturday morning.

Our board chair, Todd Jones, who has been involved with UUSC for 20 years, said, “This was UUSC’s finest moment.” I would suspect that almost a thousand people participated in our events on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, and I believe each of them was as affected as I was.

A Rabbi once told me that God has written a secret message of unconditional love inside every human heart. This message is hidden away inside your heart so that it may only be read when your heart is broken. I think many of us who attended the Call for Justice Weekend felt, even if just for a moment, that we could read those messages.

There was so much that happened that weekend that I want to focus on just a few of the memories that I know I will carry with me for a very long time.

I moderated the first panel on Saturday and admit that I was caught off guard when Adrianna told how her young daughters were taken from her by the Guatemalan military. As she spoke, she crossed her arms protectively over her chest and her fingers plucked nervously at the fabric of her jacket. As she described her search for the truth of the fate of her children – a truth she still seeks – her eyes filled with tears. And I sat next to her, trying to take deep breaths and maintain my composure so that I could continue to moderate. When she finished speaking the audience sat in stunned silence for a moment before giving her a standing ovation, as much for the courage she showed as for the words she shared.

This was the first moment of several during the course of the weekend when I was awed by the bravery of the survivors who had agreed to share their stories. We weren’t asking these women and men to share a historical or legal perspective but to share with us the darkest moments of their lives. As Adrianna memorably phrased it, there are no scars that grow over the wounds to the soul. And yet, every survivor seemed eager, even anxious, to tell us what they could about their lives and experiences.

During the trial, Sister Dianna Ortiz was the first survivor of torture to testify. It was at this moment that the trial shifted from being presentations by actors playing a role to being actual testimony by real people about the actual events of their lives. Sister Dianna is one of those quiet, self-effacing people of unimaginable strength. As she began her testimony, she seemed nervous but composed and sure of herself. When, however, she began to discuss her torture, she simply began to cry. Repeatedly asked if she wanted to continue and repeatedly assuring everyone that she did, she haltingly and with frequent pauses to collect herself, walked back into her torture cell with us and gave us a small glimpse into the very essence of nightmares.

Even in the moments when Sister Dianna could not speak, we all sat silent. Not one foot shuffled, not one person coughed. Several people unashamedly had tears running down their own faces as they listened. The sorrow for what had happened to this soft-spoken and dignified woman seemed unbearable. Then she described how a man speaking American English walked into her cell and gave instructions and orders to the torturers and was obeyed. And my skin began to crawl as I realized that in a very real sense we were in that torture cell with her. Our government knew what was happening to people and was providing assistance to the torturers.

When Sister Dianna finished, she stepped out of the witness stand and into embrace after tearful embrace from the other survivors present as the crowd gave her a standing ovation. It was clear that the five hundred people present had felt not just the power of her story, but also the power of her willingness to step forward and speak the truth.

Another survivor, Anthony, gave everything we heard a different and powerful perspective when he said that he was symbol of the power of the human spirit because he survived. That he could endure and stand with us told us that there is a power inside us that is stronger than the power of the torturers. That power, that spirit, that strength, he said, was in each of us and we could use it to end torture forever.

Col. Ann Wright, a former State Department official, testified that she resigned from her position in protest over the administration’s continued efforts to circumvent to Geneva Conventions. She used the final words of her testimony to explain that many people have asked her why it took her so long to resign in view of everything that has happened. She then said as her voice broke and tears welled in her eyes that when she hears testimony like that given during the course of the day, she is forced to wonder the same thing. You could almost hear the entire audience wonder why we haven’t done more … expressed more outrage … worked harder against the normalization of torture as a part of U.S. policy.

I have a new understanding of courage today. I have a renewed commitment to the total and unconditional abolition of torture. I have a new sense of how important it is that the United States live up to its promise to be a place when torture is entirely inconceivable. But more than anything, as I listened to these torture survivors speak and watched them care for one another during three highly charged, emotional and exhausting days, I found myself with a profound respect for the ability of people to overcome even the most horrific circumstances and transform their own experience of unspeakable pain into a genuine and moving love for others.

Washington, D.C., Sunday, September 25, 2005

I wake up this morning with my legs feeling just as they had when I went to bed: heavy, exhausted, and stiff. I feel old and creaky after nearly 15 hours on my feet yesterday taking photographs for UUSC at our Call for Justice Weekend.

My muscles relax a bit in the hot shower, but my mind does not: "I am so lucky" is all it can think. While the hot water can soothe away my minor aches, not even years can wash away the emotional and physical pain suffered by the survivors of torture whose stories I heard yesterday and which still haunt me.

Bearing witness

I am here in D.C. for UUSC’s Call for Justice Weekend, which is shining a bright light on the issue of U.S.-sponsored torture. Yesterday, we listened to the stories of several people who had been brutally tortured, most of them from Central America. I’m in tears now as I write, just as I was yesterday when these courageous individuals related the details of the unspeakable and inhuman acts they suffered at the hands of their torturers — who, in the cases of the Central Americans, had a U.S. agent present in their torture cells, often giving the orders. The survivors, who were from various countries, each spoke of a man in their cells with an American accent. "When I came to the United States," said one survivor, "I recognized that accent."

From the dogs used against the civil rights activists in the 1960s in the South, to the rapes and cigarette burns and drownings and re-drownings used against the Central Americans, to the brutality we’ve recently witnessed against prisoners in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo, the United States has a long history of government-sponsored torture — a long, ugly history that includes training Latin American torturers at the School of the Americas.


A wonderful grassroots organization, the Torture Abolition and Survivors Support Committee (TASSC), supported the survivors who testified during the Call for Justice Weekend. There were so many stories, each of them heartbreaking, deeply shocking, unbelievable. As a person, I found it difficult to hear the details of torture perpetrated by one human being on another. As a mother, I could not even imagine the pain of the woman who told how her two young daughters, ages 9 and 10, were kidnapped several years ago, along with her father and brother, none of whom were ever seen or heard of again. This woman searched for years for clues to her daughters’ fate. Were they alive, maybe adopted, maybe sold? Were they dead, and if so, where were their bodies? Were they eaten by animals or buried somewhere? These are some of the questions that haunt the woman daily. “Not all torture is physical,” she reminded us.

As much good as there is in this country, I’m finding it increasingly hard to locate. I’m very often so ashamed to be American and through no deed of my own be associated with the brutal policies of my government. The good that I do find is very often in the spirit of people — those, for example, who came face to face with evil and yet still kept love in their hearts and spread it out to make it grow; those who live lives of compassion and kindness and peace; those who are committed to holding this country accountable for its behavior and making it a more compassionate member of the global community; those who summon the courage to speak truth to power.

The big march


D.C. was awash in that spirit yesterday. I’m so grateful that UUSC’s Call for Justice Weekend coincided with the giant antiwar protest organized by United for Peace and Justice. Hundreds of thousands of angry people — including a large UUSC contingent— filled the streets for blocks and blocks, as far as the eye could see. They marched to the White House. There were drummers and dancers; a bagpiper with a lobster hat; marchers of all ages, from people in strollers to people in wheelchairs; people carrying hundreds of clever signs; people chanting all sorts of slogans, many of them directed at President Bush. This from an elderly woman standing in front of the White House: "Get out of our house!" I’m pretty sure this wasn’t her first antiwar protest. This from a great swell of people as they marched: [Person with megaphone: “What does democracy look like?] “THIS is what democracy looks like!” came the roaring response time after time. The march was rowdy and solemn, energized and wonderful.

I talked to Jacob, Simon, and Nicky Tanenbaum, from Tappan, N.Y., as they marched near the White House, with Nicky up on Jacob’s shoulders. “We’ve come to lend our voice to this wonderful work, letting George Bush, Congress, and the rest of the world know that this kind of crime is not acceptable,” said Jacob. “We’ve come to tell Bush that he’s created these toys of destruction and that every time he lies, someone dies,” said Simon, who’s 11, almost 12. Nicky, on the shoulders, is 9, almost 10; he has the best view.

I talked to some people from West Virginia Patriots for Peace, who were carrying immense panels upon which were written by hand the names of U.S military personnel who have died in Iraq; the person who carefully writes each name has to keep adding new ones all the time. There are 24 panels right now; more will surely follow.


There was so much to see and absorb and be angry about and be thrilled about all at once in this great march. I walked most of the way with Rev. Fred Taylor of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, who had spoken about the 1960s U.S. civil rights struggle on a panel at the Call for Justice Weekend. “This is wonderful!” he said about the march. “This is a great witness.” He was in his element, having participated in civil rights marches alongside Martin Luther King Jr. He wouldn’t have missed this protest for the world.


Finally

Yesterday was an incredible day. I could go on and on, telling about the courage of the torture survivors, not only in facing down evil and living but also reliving their pain by telling their stories to us. What they did was so important. I hope the people who listened to these stories learned something that they will keep in their hearts and take with them and share with others.

If it is possible to be physically and emotionally exhausted and completely energized at the same time, then that’s how I felt last night at the end of that extraordinary day. From the beautiful spirits that remained even after immense suffering to the collective spirit of angry citizens demanding justice with one united voice, I felt the best of humanity washing over me — which is better than a hot shower any day of the week.

Couldn't make it to the Mock Trial in DC yesterday? No problem. We've got the entire 6-hour trial available to watch online. You can see it in sections (WMV streaming format) by clicking on the following links:

PART ONE
Opening statement by Judge Jones
Opening statements by Prosecution and Defense
Examination of Defendent Rumsfeld

PART TWO
Examination of Defendent Tenet
Examination of Defendent Gonzales

PART THREE
Testimony of Iraqi dtainee Mr. Aboud
Testimony of Afghan detainee Mr. Parkhudin
Testimony of Guantanamo detainee Mr. Habib

PART FOUR
Testimony of Sister Dianna Ortiz
Testimony of Marcos Arruda
Testimony of Jennifer Harbury

PART FIVE
Testimony of Dr. Michael Yellow Bird
Testimony of Col. Ann Wright
Closing comments by Judge Jones

The court room is absolutely packed here at the Holiday Inn on the Hill, where the formal mock trial of Donald Rumsfeld, George Tenet, and Alberto Gonzales is being held. It kicked off early this afternoon with a stirring blessing delivered by Rev. Joseph Lowery, cofounder of the Southen Christian Leadership Conference.

"Donald Rumsfeld" has just finished his testimony. Our audience, serving as the "jury" for this trial, could barely hold back their contempt when he characterized the acts of torture performed on detainees at Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo as "stressful." Margaret Montoya is a spirited prosecutor, not letting the witnesses off the hook for a minute. David Clennon -- who many of you may know from movies such as "Missing" (but for me will always be the inimitable Miles Drentell from "thirtysomething") was a confident, arrogant Rumsfeld. Everyone is getting into the spirit of the day.

Right now, we're listening to the testimony of "George Tenet," portrayed by Steven Volk, a history professor from Oberlin College. When I talked to him earlier in the day, Volk -- a longtime activist and himself a survivor of the Pinochet coup in Chile -- talked about how important it is to tie the lessons of the past and present together:

"For those of us who do work around Latin America, these are issues we've been working on for 30 or 40 years," he said. "There are certain threads here in particular in regard to U.S. policy."

He continued, "I welcome events that tie together issues. It can provide further information and ammunition in terms of organizing efforts. For people who do not know of these connections, they can begin to see it in a dramatic way."

UUSC's Call for Justice Weekend is in full swing. We've had a huge attendance at our panel discussions and are looking forward to tomorrow's 6-hour Mock Trial, which, by the way, will be available to watch online within the next few days.

I came to DC primarily to help with videography, to edit photos, and to manage this blog. I filmed the panel discussions on torture, held all morning and afternoon, and can testify to the personal strength and integrity of torture survivors and others who spoke, as well as to the overwhelming sense of empowerment this interfaith initiative inspired in everyone present. From testimonies of terrible suffering came a unifying message of hope, faith, and the integral necessity for hands-on activism -- an activism based more on feelings than on intellect or impersonal politics. By this I mean that we were encouraged to become angry. As people who had come to hear the stories of torture survivors, their family members, educators, political activists and faith leaders, we had a right to be outraged, to be naturally upset by the atrocities these speakers have lived through as well as the crimes perpetrated by the U.S. administration, past and present.


The key is to turn this anger into a mobilizing inertia, from hopelessness and fear to understanding, unity, and power. What we were left with was the plea of every panelist to take their stories with us as we demonstrated in the street, as we wrote our members of Congress, even as we talked with neighbors or family members about politics and nationalism and torture and human dignity. Whether or not you made it to DC, your individual efforts matter in this collective struggle, and it's our responsibility as thinking Americans to stand up and audibly disagree with U.S. policy instead of sitting around feeling bad about the world.

During a break between panel discussions, many people attended the huge march to the White House. I walked with several UUSC staffers and volunteers and was amazed not only at the sheer number of people marching (I wouldn't be surprised if there were a half a million) but at the diversity of attendees -- babies, seniors, families, students, people of color, white people, Christians, Muslims, Americans, non-Americans, etc.


The other thing that struck me about this march was its feeling of positivity -- sure, it was an anti-war protest; there was an overwhelming anti-Bush sentiment -- but instead of outright resentment, many signs declared "Love your enemy", "Love eachother", and other faith-based and rights-based messages. It was a long but uplifting day. I feel like there very well might be some hope for this country after all.

Stay tuned for a full report on UUSC's Mock Trial after it happens tomorrow...

Last Saturday night, Cindy Sheehan and the Bring Them Home Now Tour addressed a packed audience at Boston University's School of Law.

Members of military families took turns giving gut-wrenching testimony of the anguish they have experienced over their sons' and daughters' (and, in one case, grandmother's) undoing in Iraq. Some of the families, like Cindy's, will have an empty seat at the holiday table, now and forever. Others have a family member suffering post-traumatic stress disorder. One Vietnam War veteran tells us, "When you 'break' a soldier, you can't fix 'em. They're like fine crystal. If you drop 'em, there's no putting 'em back together. Not ever."

One mother and father huddled together at the microphone and told the story of their son's safe return from Iraq. He moved home. Something about him was different, they knew, but they felt helpless, daunted by the enormity of his psychological damage. While they were out running errands one afternoon, he hanged himself from the garden hose.

I honestly don't know how they can address these crowds of strangers, day after day, on this month-long bearing of witness. But they have a mission. The parents close with a bang: "This war not only entered our home, it stole from our family. We should never, ever let this happen to another parent again."

Brushed aside in a nation that goes on largely as if there is no war, these families suffer these emotional tolls mostly alone.

A Marine veteran recently returned from Iraq tells us what his commanding officer drilled into his unit's heads their first day there. "Don't think you're going to be heroes. You're not here to find weapons of mass destruction. You're not here to find Saddam. You're here for one reason and one reason only: oil. And don't even think you're getting out of this because of two things. First, you signed a contract that said you'd follow the orders you were given. Second, your friends are going to be out there with you. You cannot -- I repeat, cannot -- abandon your friends."

Cindy explained how she felt when she saw her son off to Iraq, how she wished he would renege on his contract, how he said he could do no such thing. "On January 5, 2004, I said goodbye to Casey for the last time. I think I knew in my heart that day that I would never see him again." Three months later, Casey died from a gun wound to the back of his head. He was wearing his standard-issue helmet. Cindy explained that the riot gear worn by the Boston Police Department the night the Boston Red Sox won the World Series is better than that worn by our troops in Iraq.

Like a lot of the military families on the tour, Cindy was fed up not only with the poor equipment but also with the rationale for the war. She investigated the original claims and found that the framework of assumptions, promises, and dangers had blown away like a house of cards. After Casey's death, she began her quixotic campaign to shed light on these issues. In August 2005, a stroke of genius brought her to set up the now-famous Camp Casey outside the then-vacationing Pres. George Bush's ranch in Crawford, Texas. She asked for a meeting with the president. He declined. She said she'd wait. She sat outside his vacation home until Hurricane Katrina brought an early end to his vacation.

Cindy Sheehan and other military families decided to take their plea to their people by starting the Bring Them Home Now Tour. They find no justification for the continued U.S. military presence in Iraq. They want to stem the tide of human suffering, a suffering they know better than anyone, and which they never wish to share.

My initiation

It is hard to believe that the Call for Justice Weekend is almost here. I remember many, many months ago when Jennifer was telling me about her initial idea to organize a mock trial — one of the three pillars of the Call for Justice weekend. We were at our annual Coalition Missing meeting. (Coalition Missing is a group of U.S. citizen survivors and family members of victims of state-sponsored violence in Guatemala.) Some of our loved ones have been disappeared, some brutally murdered or tortured.

Each of us have for many years, faced a wall of impunity — for in all of our cases, no one has ever been criminally prosecuted. Nor has it been easy, if at all possible, to get documents about such incidents from the U.S. government. If it is one thing we have learned: There can be no justice if there is no accountability. And this is one of the many things that flashed through my mind as I read in horror about the torture being carried out in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo.

The long road from impunity to accountability

Because of our own experiences with impunity, and the pain, frustration, and sense of hopelessness it can bring, we immediately understood the importance of this mock trial — and the Call for Justice Weekend. We instantly could see the similarities between what had happened in Central and South America, and what was unfolding in front of our eyes with regard to the detainees in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo.

What is so amazing about the Call for Justice Weekend is that it is truly a challenge to the institutional and political impunity that permeates our entire system; and all who will be coming to the CFJW are in a very real way demanding an end to such impunity.

For me, there is nothing more heartening than seeing more and more people register every day for this event — because that means more and more people are saying no to impunity. And, equally heartening has been to work with some very incredible people here, who have put so much of their hearts and souls into making this event a real success.

The numbers keep growing

So far there are 425 people registered for the event and more keep coming in. It is likely that many more will register at the door. There is an amazing buzz all around — people are coming in from all over the country. Others have heard about it from friends or relatives across the country and want to inquire how to participate from afar or if it is too late to register.

For at least some of the people who will be coming, this will be their first time to Washington, D.C., and to an event such as this. Many people must leave work early on Friday and miss an entire day of work on Monday in order to participate. In other words, people are making real sacrifices in order to come — and I am incredibly moved by this.

It may sound a bit corny, but I really do feel so lucky to be just a tiny part of this weekend. I am looking forward to meeting all of the people I have spoken to over the phone or communicated with through email -- and of course all those who I have yet to meet. I am very confident that this is going to be an amazing and unforgettable weekend for all of those able to attend. And hopefully, the beginning of the end of U.S. impunity.

The national emergency proclaimed by President Bush on September 8 removed the Davis Bacon Act wage supports for workers in Louisiana, and portions of Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida. If enacted, this proclamation would mean workers whose homes and families were ravaged by Katrina would now be further ravaged by reductions in the so-called prevailing wage.

However, a report of the Congressional Research Service updated September 15 concludes on page 19, “The propriety of the President’s action in this case may be ultimately determined in the courts.” Thanks to Steven Aftergood and the Federation of American Scientists for Secrecy News which made this report public.

In addition, on September 14, 2005, Rep. George Miller (D-Calif.) introduced H. R. 3763 which would “reinstate the application of the wage requirements of the Davis Bacon Act to Federal contracts in areas affected by Hurricane Katrina.”