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into the Shia revolution of aggression and apostasy. His world was sharply divided into black and white, he was not a political man; he never navigated; he stood clearly upright, called in no favors, reasoned with his interrogators, spoke with confidence, without guilt, and tried to benefit from his imprisonment by learning English, studying the Koran and understanding the new world of psychology that Dr. Hassan had explained to him.
    In contrast, Dr. Hassan lost twenty kilos in his three months of isolation. He imploded, his soul gnawed at itself, pride collapsed. He was caught in a paradox: his rank and party membership had not insured him against arrest and yet his position had mitigated his charges and allotted him a decent prison. Sometimes he saw it all as an overturned game, it didn’t matter to them what your credentials were or your position or merit. There were no rights, no right. It was a game of control but he saw that it had no rules. He had tried to follow the rules but he had been punished anyway. In prison his friendship with Kamel Sachet kept his spirits up and rebuilt some of his confidence but when he was eventually released after several months, this thin defense crumbled again. He went back to work at the Rashid Military Hospital, but he felt alienated. His colleagues distanced themselves and, like magnets repelling, he withdrew. For several months he was repeatedly called back to court as various aspects of his case came up for processing. He wanted to explain to his colleagues that in the end he had onlyfaced the minor formal charge of drinking in uniform; but he worried that they would not believe him. He was marked Shia, they were Sunni, they took care not to be included in his circle of suspicion. Before his arrest Dr. Hassan had been a confident extrovert, afterward he became quiet, lone and pensive. His Shia friends, who had also been arrested, came to see him once or twice at his clinic, but they did not dare to renew their friendships. The shadow of his dislocation was cold, but it was a place to hide. Over time this chill internal discomfort permeated his bones. Dr. Hassan said he never really recovered his old self. The moments of a smile, a small laugh that I saw, belied geniality, but he carried a weight of a life unlived, a handicap of circumscription. Abu Dhabi exile was no respite; it was a reduction, not an escape.
    Kamel Sachet was released without charge a few weeks after Dr. Hassan. He had been at home with his family only a day or two when he was summoned to Saddam’s presence. Saddam gave him money and another decoration and promoted him to full Colonel in charge of his own division. This was the recalibration of loyalty. Good patriotism could not be trusted, Saddam knew very well—he preferred rod and reward, the example of stripped and banished, followed by the prodigal relief of re-admittance. He created slaves and henchmen in one mind.
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    A MONTH AFTER his release Dr. Hassan was sent to attend an execution at a military training compound in the desert south of Baghdad. It was unusual for a psychiatrist to be assigned to such duty, but he could not refuse the order. Six young men, fit and healthy, were tied to stakes. Their sentence of death for desertion was read out to them. Six soldiers lined up opposite,each was given thirty bullets for his task. Their platoon commander stood to one side flanked by Dr. Hassan and a religious sheikh who had also been summoned.
    The men never stopped screaming and writhing in protest: “I am innocent…We are Muslims…Please believe us…We have children and wives who depend on us, we fought for our country, we defended Iraq, God help us, please.”
    Dr. Hassan bowed his head in the retelling.
    â€œThirty bullets,” he explained, “made an independent medical determination of death redundant. Their brains were spilled everywhere, their skulls were completely smashed.” For many years their