I am a 32-year-old Army reservist stationed at Fort Bragg N.C, working for two- and three-star generals. I received orders to deploy to Iraq in September 2006, my first deployment to a combat zone. Even though I was a single mother, I greatly believe in the importance of serving my country, and I made certain that my daughter was safely situated with a family friend upon my deployment.
I wrote this letter to Breanna, my daughter, that was published in the Army Times: "I take pride in knowing that my daughter will grow up realizing how important freedom is and how hard my fellow soldiers and I have fought for her freedom." In fact, since Breanna's mother, father and stepfather were all deployed to Iraq at the same time, my daughter became a bit of a local media celebrity; Governor Easley even mentioned her in last year's "State of the State" because she was maintaining excellent grades while all parents were deployed.
But Iraq wasn't the experience I had imagined. At the very least, I expected to be safe among my comrades in the Marines and with the private contractors who the U.S. military hired to aid us in our work. But Wackenhut Services Inc (WSI) firefighters, who were private contractors in Iraq, betrayed that trust. We were often invited to attend WSI hosted celebrations together in Iraq.
While attending a barbecue shortly after Thanksgiving, I laid down on a couch in the public day room and fell asleep, partly due to prescribed medication. That's when the Wackenhut Firefighters duct taped my legs together. When I woke up I was completely immobile. The firefighters carried me to a chair where they duct taped my upper torso, legs and arms. I was completely helpless.
The firefighters took turns humiliating me by stuffing a Christmas bulb in my mouth, decorating me like a Christmas tree and then they applied red Easter egg dye on my face. At one point, a firefighter stood over me on a chair and pretended to be ejaculating on my head and face with honey. Several breaks were taken so that the crew could pose for photos. Among those who participated in her hazing was the captain employed by Wackenhut. The Fire Chief, also employed by Wackenhut, watched.
After the hazing incident occurred, the crew laughed about it and said that you are one of the lucky ones, we don't do this to just anyone. To them it was a privilege, a right of passage in their circle of male camaraderie. They expected that I would just brush it off as fun and games but I couldn't.
The Wackenhut crew had become my friends. I thought I could trust them. Before this, my roommate and I made and filled stockings for the entire crew and decorated the firehouse with leftovers from our own care packages we received from back home. The firehouse was our home away from home. It allowed us to get away from the military side just for a little bit. After the hazing incident, I found it hard to visit the firehouse, but at times I had to, so that I could fulfill my military duties in Iraq.
Now that I am back in North Carolina, I am having a hard time with trusting anyone. A simple hug scares me because of the inability to move. I can't enjoy the holiday season because all I can think about is "Why?" I was in therapy through August, but because my benefits stopped, so did my therapy. Now I am left to deal with this on my own.
Wackenhut needs to change their policies and the U.S. needs to control the private security companies' behavior in Iraq. I found out later that the perpetrators only got a letter of reprimand. When I contacted Wackenhut, I was sent a form-letter email reply saying that Wackenhut is proud of the relationship they have with the military.
It is hard to tell a 10-year-old daughter why her Mommy cries all the time, why her Mommy has no interest in anything. My daughter was proud to have a mother serving her country in Iraq. She became a spokesperson for all military children. What is this going to do to her? My daughter expected me to come home safe. What she got was a mother who came back damaged...not by military combat, but by the hands of human beings.