Thursday, May 02, 2013

Guantanamo’s Hunger Artists


Would shutting the detention camp satisfy them? 

By Clifford D. May
May 2, 2013

Guantanamo Bay
A photograph released on 11 January 2002 shows detainees accused of being Taliban and al-Qaida fighters in Guantánamo Bay prison. Photograph: Getty Images

The detention camp at Guantanamo Bay was established in 2002 to hold the most dangerous of those captured in what the Bush administration called the Global War on Terrorism. Controversy over the facility has simmered ever since. In recent days, it has begun to boil. One hundred detainees, at last count, are staging a hunger strike.

Their lawyers, along with self-proclaimed human-rights activists, are insisting that the U.S. respond by closing Guantanamo, something President Obama has long been eager to do. The questions seldom asked: How would that be accomplished? And what would it solve?

Closing Gitmo would, fairly obviously, require moving out those now detained. But where would they go? We could transfer them to prisons in the U.S., but is there anyone who seriously believes that once on American soil these detainees would become hearty eaters and happy campers?

More likely, having learned that refusing food brings concessions, they would use that strategy again and again. U.S. prison officials would respond as have U.S. military authorities at Gitmo: letting the prisoners protest by not eating (that’s their right), but not letting them die — instead, restraining them, if necessary, and administering the nutrition their bodies require. The not-so-nice term for that: force feeding.

In any case, the option of sending detainees from Gitmo to American prisons is moot for now because Congress, on a bipartisan basis, is adamantly opposed. Four years ago this month, the Senate voted 90 to 6 against spending the money necessary to close the facility in Guantanamo.

A second option: Let the detainees go. A little background may clarify why this, too, is not feasible. The Bush administration brought 779 prisoners to Guantanamo. By the time Obama became president there were 240 left — about two-thirds had been transferred to their home countries or to a third country willing to take responsibility for them. But in some cases, neither of those options was available because it is U.S. policy not to turn detainees over to regimes that might summarily execute or otherwise abuse them. (Remember the Uighur detainees who ended up in Bermuda because U.S. authorities would not send them to China?)

During Obama’s tenure in office, additional detainees have been shipped out. Of the 166 who remain, 46 are considered too dangerous to release or transfer. That leaves 86 detainees who have been “designated for transfer if security conditions can be met.” There has been confusion — and disingenuousness — about what that means. It does not imply that they are innocent. It does not even imply that U.S. authorities are convinced they no longer pose a threat. On the contrary, of those released from Gitmo to date, an estimated 27 percent have returned to terrorist activities.

Of the 86 “designated for transfer” about 50 come from Yemen. As the New York Times has reported, “Mr. Obama himself has indefinitely barred further repatriations [to Yemen] . . . because of Yemen’s active al Qaeda branch.” That branch, al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, targets both Americans and the Yemeni government that we’re attempting to support. You’ll recall it was AQAP that gave us the Christmas 2009 “underwear” bomber.

Obama’s decision seems sensible to me but not to the Washington Post’s Max Fisher, who calls the situation “almost Kafkaesque in its cruel absurdity.” He asks if there isn’t something “distasteful and unsettling about imprisoning people not because they’ve done anything wrong but because they might in the future?” He does not appear to understand that he’s talking about members of al-Qaeda, the Taliban, and affiliated groups apprehended on foreign fields of battle — not goat herders who were on their merry way to a cousin’s wedding in Afghanistan when they got caught up in the malevolent maw of the U.S. military.

In times of war, presidents have the authority to kill the enemy. In the past, those captured rather than killed were considered lucky. Those doing the capturing rather than the killing were considered humane. It makes no sense — legally, morally, logically — to say that an enemy whom the president can kill with a drone or a SEAL team suddenly undergoes a metamorphosis — speaking of Kafka — transforming into an innocent-until-proven-guilty suspect in a criminal investigation if he is handcuffed rather than buried. Never in the history of armed conflict have prisoners been given such a privilege.

And should our troops come to understand that anyone they capture rather than kill is likely to be pointing a gun at them again before long, they will be incentivized to use lethal force with increased frequency. Would that be preferable from a human-rights perspective? From an intelligence perspective? From any perspective?

Something else you should know: Since taking office, Obama has not sent a single al-Qaeda or Taliban member captured in Afghanistan to Guantanamo. Instead, those captured rather than killed in that country have been detained at a facility that was recently given over to Afghan authority. How do you think the living conditions in Afghan prisons compare to those at Gitmo?

Final point: When Max Fisher referred to Kafka, he was doubtless thinking of The Trial, the story of a man arrested by a shadowy authority that conceals the nature of his crime. But Kafka also wrote “The Hunger Artist,” about a performer who sits in a cage for weeks on end without eating. Eventually, the public loses interest in his “art,” and he dies unnoticed and unmourned. I’m not suggesting that should influence U.S. policy. I am suggesting that Fisher read it.

— Clifford D. May is president of the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, a policy institute focusing on national security.

Wednesday, May 01, 2013

Book Review: ‘Bunker Hill’ by Nathaniel Philbrick


By David M. Shribman
The Boston Globe
April 27, 2013
Heroic death of Joseph Warren at Bunker Hill was immortalized in this painting by John Trumbull.
MUSEUM OF FINE ART
Heroic death of Joseph Warren at Bunker Hill was immortalized in this painting by John Trumbull.

Everyone in these precincts knows this story, or apocryphal strains of it: that the Battle of Bunker Hill really was fought on Breed’s Hill, that June 17 forevermore would be a red date on local calendars, that the heroic Joseph Warren died in battle as a nation was being born. Yet this is but the skeleton of the story Nathaniel Philbrick tells in “Bunker Hill,” a masterpiece of narrative and perspective by an author who has helped us look anew at the voyage of the Mayflower and the passage of George Armstrong Custer.
This time he has produced a Boston book, about a revolution that started in Boston and spread, about a battle that changed the city even as it changed the country, about men who came of age in Boston and in turn prompted Boston to come of age.
There are several unforgettable characters in this book — Warren, immortalized in portraits by John Singleton Copley and John Trumbull, along with Sam and John Adams, British generals Thomas Gage and William Howe, and many others. And seminal events: the fighting in Lexington and Concord, occupation of Boston, Battle of Bunker Hill, and British withdrawal. But the central focus is Boston itself: besieged, beleaguered, brave.
Philbrick portrays the city in vivid terms. “Boston had always been a town on tiptoe,” he writes in a beautiful and evocative sentence that has the little-cat-feet whiff of Sandburg. He says that “the town was just one in a huge amphitheater of humped and jagged islands,” and he explains that “[w]hether it was from a hill, a steeple, or a cupola, Bostonians could plainly see that they were surrounded by two deep and endless wildernesses: the ocean to the east and the country to the west.”
Then he establishes the truth on the ground, that America was growing and would soon outgrow Britain, and he sets forth the fundamental and fateful conviction of many in Massachusetts, where 300,000 people were dispersed in 250 towns:
“There were no unintended consequences in the eighteenth century. If something had happened, someone caused it to happen, and Boston was now the victim of a more-than-decade-old plot on the part of the British ministry to enslave America, to drain this bounteous land of all her resources so that England, an island lost to luxury and corruption, could sustain the fraudulent lifestyle to which it had become accustomed.”
No one really expected war in the period we now regard as the run-up to the conflict at Lexington and eventually Bunker Hill. But gradually much of Massachusetts rose up against the British. At the same time the British army presence in Boston was growing, and Boston was witnessing what Warren called “the power but not the justice, the vengeance but not the wisdom of Great Britain.”
And this, of real importance: The country people outside Boston were becoming radicalized.
What stirred so many wasn’t any specific grievance, but a general sense of diminishing freedom and possibility.
What followed at Lexington — really, a skirmish more than a battle — and then at Concord, and then elsewhere, threw much of New England into tumult.
Boston itself was occupied, a city under siege. “A city had been turned inside out: flushed of its inhabitants and artificially stuffed,” Philbrick writes, “as if by a taxidermist, with a British army that, as military transports continued to arrive in Boston Harbor, eventually approached 9,000 men.”
As the British prepared an offensive on Dorchester Heights the patriots prepared an assault on the high ground above Charlestown, unoccupied and thus impossibly alluring. They ascended Bunker Hill and traversed a ridge over to Breed’s Hill. Charlestown lay empty beneath them. The movement to Breed’s Hill was far more provocative, as it put the rebels in range of British shipping.
With axes and shovels they built a roofless fort that couldn’t stay undetected for long. Cannonballs began to rain in on the patriots, an amateur army without even a horse, with artillerymen not quite sure how to fire a cannon. Warren was killed, along with 114 other Americans. The British, whose dead and wounded numbered 1,054, were the victors, but, as Howe wrote, “The success is too dearly bought.”
At the heart of this volume are two abiding opposites that are not irreconcilable: how isolated, and how central, Boston was during this early period of the Revolutionary War.
For the enduring meaning of Bunker Hill was that it awakened both sides to the breadth and depth of the struggle unfolding in and around Boston. And it prompted one of the most remarkable stories of warfare on this continent or any other, the transport of 42 sledges carrying 59 cannons and other pieces of artillery from the mountain fastnesses of New York to Boston in the dead of winter.
Permit the reviewer to linger on this for a moment, as Philbrick does, for there is hardly any story of New England grit and grandeur to match this one. The hope was for snow (the easier to slide the sledges), but there was more than hope involved. There was Yankee ingenuity: piercing the surface of the Hudson River, for example, so small gushers of water leaked upward, resulting in much-thicker ice. There were great dangers, especially on downslopes of the Berkshire Hills (the cannons outran their escorts).
Many of these weapons ended up on Lechmere Point, with a growing patriot threat in and around Dorchester. Eventually the British determined their position was perilous and indicated they would refrain from razing Boston if the patriots let them escape, which they did. Off to Halifax they sailed, no goodbyes, many good-riddances.
So here the story comes full circle. “By purging itself of loyalists,’’ Philbrick argues, “Boston had, in a sense, reaffirmed its origins.’’ The original settlers were alone on these shores because they wanted to pray as they liked. The later Bostonians now also were alone, to govern themselves (or to tax themselves) as they liked.
“They were no longer fighting simply to preserve their ancient liberties,’’ Philbrick writes, but “were fighting to create a new nation.’’ Thus this is not only a story about Bunker Hill (which in truth occupies only about 15 percent of the book), nor is it only the greatest American story. It is also the American story.
David M. Shribman, executive editor of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, can be reached at dshribman@post-gazette.com.

Book Review: 'Bunker Hill' by Nathaniel Philbrick


Monument to a Rout


The British won the 1775 Battle of Bunker Hill, but sustained so many casualties that the Americans also claimed victory.

The Wall Street Journal
April 26, 2013

After writing lapidary narratives about Americans facing disaster and death at sea, Nathaniel Philbrick turned to telling twice- and even thrice-told tales of bravery and ordeal on land. His books on the early Pilgrim settlers and on Custer's Last Stand breathed new life into their dramas, with fresh research and a readiness to admit the worst as well as portray the best about history's heroes and heroines. With "Bunker Hill," Mr. Philbrick turns to one of the most retold tales in the American historical lexicon—how Boston started the American Revolution.
The book opens in June 1775, with 7-year-old John Quincy Adams standing beside his mother, Abigail, in Braintree, Mass., while the thunderous battle of Bunker Hill is in bloody progress 10 miles away. Roughly seven decades later Adams remembered his family's fear that the victorious British army might sally out from Boston and slaughter everyone in its path. An even more painful memory was the later report that their beloved family physician, Dr. Joseph Warren, was among the battle's dead.

Bunker Hill

By Nathaniel Philbrick
Viking, 398 pages, $32.95
Pyle, Howard/Private Collection/Peter Newark American Pictures/The Bridgeman Art Library
Redcoats Howard Pyle's 'The Battle of Bunker Hill' (1898) depicts British troops marching up the smaller Breed's Hill, where most of the actual fighting occurred.
Boston-born Mr. Philbrick, during his years of education, wandered to Pittsburgh and Providence, R.I., but he has been a resident of a Boston outpost, Nantucket Island, since 1986. Such propinquity no doubt accounts for the enthusiasm with which he tells how the hotheaded Yankees launched a revolution that would change the rest of America and the world. He views the Yankees' flaws from all angles, not all of them flattering.
There are vivid descriptions of the brutality of the Yankees' favorite form of public ridicule, coating those whose politics they disliked with bubbling-hot tar and feathers. There is a terrorist named Joyce Jr. who roams Boston wearing a ghastly death mask, warning those who continue to resist the gospel of revolutionary righteousness that they will be the next to writhe beside the tar barrel. There are patriot leaders, like Dr. Benjamin Church, who are in secret correspondence with Gen. Thomas Gage, the British commander of Boston's occupying army. Even the book's hero, Dr. Warren, writes Gage conciliatory letters that might have won him a visit from Joyce Jr. if his words had ever become public.
Only with Boston's chief agitator, Sam Adams, does Mr. Philbrick relent a little. He is content with telling us about Adams's secret determination to win America's independence, long before anyone else dared to utter the word. He plays down the rest of Sam's less than charming persona, which won him the nickname "Judas Iscariot" in the Continental Congress. High on his list of dislikes was George Washington, against whom he plotted tirelessly.
Fame-hungry young George III and his pea-brained advisers chose to magnify Sam's act of defiance, the Boston Tea Party, into virtual treason. They inserted Gen. Gage and his regiments and tried to delete self-government from the colony's charter—a move that united the rest of the colonies on Boston's side. Mr. Philbrick's masterly narrative takes us swiftly through the ensuing 14 months of rising rage to the deadly confrontation on Lexington's green. This bloodshed was followed by more sudden death on Concord's bridge and on the British retreat to Boston. Much after the fact, Ralph Waldo Emerson claimed that Concord's shots were heard around the world. "Bunker Hill" makes it clear that Emerson was not a historian. The shots that reverberated were yet to come.
Dr. Warren displayed reckless courage leading men against the flanks and rear of the retreating British column. With Sam Adams and John Hancock in Philadelphia at the Second Continental Congress, the handsome 34-year-old physician became the patriots' spokesman as musket-toting volunteers from all over New England rushed to Boston to besiege the outnumbered Redcoats.
Simultaneously, Mr. Philbrick informs us, widower Warren, while proposing marriage to the woman who was caring for his four children, may have impregnated a 17-year-old "vixen" whom he frequently visited at a nearby country inn. Here Mr. Philbrick may have carried his fondness for flaws too far. The evidence of Warren's guilt he presents seems weak—mostly second-hand, without a single eye-witness statement from anyone, including the principals.
And so we come to the book's climax, the battle of Bunker Hill. Mr. Philbrick tells the complex story superbly, from the American and British points of view. Again there is that emphasis on the flaws that afflicted both sides. The British commander, William Howe, planned to outflank the Americans by sending his light infantry up the Mystic River beach, on the northern side of the Charleston Peninsula on which Bunker Hill was situated. They would then attack the Americans from behind. But Howe could not persuade the mutton-headed British admiral who controlled Boston harbor to risk one of his sloops-of-war to clear away the 150 New Hampshiremen defending the beach. The light infantry were driven back in slaughterous disarray, and Howe was forced to commit his remaining troops to a costly frontal assault.
The three American colonels in command were from different colonies and barely on speaking terms. A dire shortage of gunpowder loomed with every volley. While the men in the fort on Breed's Hill fought for their lives, several hundred others skulked on nearby Bunker Hill and did nothing to prevent the battle from ending in a rout. In the final melee, with desperate defenders wielding their powderless rifles as clubs, Joseph Warren died from a point-blank gunshot in the face. He had arrived late in the day and made no attempt to give any orders, beyond encouraging the men to stand their ground. It was hardly the performance of a gifted military leader.
There seems little doubt that Dr. Warren was deeply ambivalent about the decision to march men onto Bunker Hill. He knew it was an act of war. Mr. Philbrick tells how, on the morning of the battle, he was stricken by a migraine, which left him disabled for hours. Thomas Jefferson frequently succumbed to this malaise when he confronted a duty he wished he did not have to perform.
Newly appointed Gen. George Washington arrived in Cambridge, Mass., two weeks after the battle. By that time the Yankees had discovered the horrendous British casualties and were calling their rout a victory. Mr. Philbrick appraises the new commander coolly, noting the military disasters of his early career and his less than enthusiastic reaction to the haphazard New England army he had acquired. He quotes with seeming approval a Bostonian who said that if Gen. Warren had "conquered" at Bunker Hill, Washington would have remained in obscurity.
Nevertheless, Mr. Philbrick notes Washington's intention to create a disciplined "Continental" army. Unlike many Bostonians, the general had no illusory hopes of reconciliation with the Mother Country. Mr. Philbrick more or less admits that it was Washington who saw the direction that the revolution must take to win a struggle that would consume seven more see-saw years. Washington's determination to attack finally persuaded the British to negotiate a humiliating, bloodless evacuation that ended the siege of Boston on a note of triumph.
Mr. Philbrick attempts to sum up the past and future by returning to John Quincy Adams. An immense crowd is celebrating the 1843 erection of a monument to the battle of Bunker Hill. The 85-year-old Adams has refused to attend. He denounces the chief orator, Daniel Webster, and his colleague, President John Tyler. Adams considers both of them soft on the issue of slavery. "My life must be militant to its close," he tells his diary. The scene omits a great deal about Adams and the intervening decades, but like most of this gripping book, the core of truth is powerfully evident.
—Mr. Fleming has written more than
a dozen books about the American Revolution and many more about America's other wars.
A version of this article appeared April 27, 2013, on page C7 in the U.S. edition of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: Monument to a Rout.

Rick Atkinson's new book looks at Pa.'s 28th Infantry, war in western Europe



In a famed photograph, members of Pennsylvania's 28th Infantry Division triumphantly march down the Camps Elysees in Paris, with the Arc de Triomphe in the background. (Submitted)
It's one of the most enduring images of World War II ... for Pennsylvania residents, at least.

The photo of Pennsylvania's own 28th Infantry Division triumphantly marching down the Champs Elysees in Paris past cheering crowds was so inspiring it ended up on a postage stamp.

According to a new book by Pulitzer Prize-winning military historian Rick Atkinson, the decision to have the 28th march through the French capital was made solely by a "bemused" Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander.
In "The Guns at Last Light: The War in Western Europe, 1944-1945," Atkinson explains that French President Charles De Gaulle pleaded with Eisenhower for two American divisions to be sent to Paris as a "show of force."
Instead,
Author Rick Atkinson, whose 'The Guns at Last Light,' is the third of his World War II 'Liberation' trilogy. Part of the book focuses on Pennsylvania's 28th Infantry Division. (Submitted)
Eisenhower diverted the 28th through Paris en route to the front. The division was trucked to Versailles on Aug. 28, 1944, and it spent the night preparing their uniforms before marching 28-abreast through the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Elysees the next morning.

"I don't think he put a lot of thought into what unit was chosen," Atkinson said in a phone interview. "I think it was a target of opportunity. The 28th was nearby. De Gaulle had pressed him for two divisions for security in Paris. Eisenhower decided to divide the baby in half. He wasn't going to have two divisions. The 28th was told to get spiffy. They went to the Bois de Boulogne, a big park outside Paris, and then spent a rainy night getting ready."

The photo is ironic, Atkinson said, because while it appears the 28th is marching victoriously through the French capital at or near the war's end, they actually went on to participate in some of the fierecest fighting in the European Theatre, including the Battle of Hurtgen Forest and the Battle of the Bulge.

"It is ironic because proud as they are, glorious as they look, their destiny is very harsh," Atkinson said. "The Hurtgen Forest and the Bulge, among other things, await them.


"The Guns at Last Light", which will hit bookstores on May 14, is the third book in Atkinson's "Liberation Triology" about World War II. The first book in the series, "An Army at Dawn: The War in North Africa, 1942-1943," won a Pulitzer Prize for history and was a New York Times best-seller. The second book, "The Day of the Battle: The War in Sicily and Italy, 1943-1944," also was a New York Times best-seller.

An images of the cover of the book "The Guns at Last Light' by Rick Atkinson. (Submitted)LightLight," which will hit bookstores on May 14, is the third book in Atkinson's "Liberation Triology" about World War II. The first book in the series, "An Army at Dawn: The War in North Africa, 1942-1943," won a Pulitzer Prize for history and was a New York Times best-seller. The second book, "The Day of the Battle: The War in Sicily and Italy, 1943-1944," also was a New York Times best-seller.
His new book covers the Western European campaign, starting in May 1944 with the planning of Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion of Normandy, and ending on Victory in Europe Day, or V-E Day, in May 1945. The book comes in at a whopping 851 pages, but notes and a source list account for more than 200 pages.

"The war gets so much bigger," Atkinson said of the Western European campaign. "It's really industrial-strength by this point. There's roughly 60 American divisions in Western Europe. I started in North Africa with company-sized engagements."

In addition to the battles, Atkinson said he is always drawn to the characters in war, including Eisenhower, Gen. George Patton and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill.
"The thing I enjoy the most about writing about war are the figures, and they're pretty extraordinray in this book," he said.

Another character from the European campaign that does not get much credit is Maj. Gen. Norman Cota, the 28th ID's commander, Atkinson said. Cota is a great example of the "fickleness of fate," he said.

"He's a guy who leads a parade through Paris, and then he's in a hellhole that is the Hurtgen Forest and essentially shot to pieces," Atkinson said. "The next thing he knows he's got the Fifth Panzer Army falling on his division, and the division is fighting for its life. Here's a guy who's really extraordinary at Omaha Beach, he's extraordinary at St. Lo, he's doing all the things right ... then life turns on a dime, and he's fighting for his career."

The 28th ID also deserves more credit than it sometimes gets, Atkinson said.

"I think their performance in the Battle of the Bulge was quite remarkable," he said. "I think the 28th, as difficult as the war is for them in the Hurtgen and the Ardennes, is really to be lauded."

Atkinson, who lives in Washington, D.C., was a staff writer and editor at The Washington Post for more than 20 years. He spent about 14 years researching and writing the Liberation Trilogy.

In addition to the triology, his other books include "The Long Gray Line," "Crusade" and "In the Company of Soldiers," about the invasion of Iraq in 2003, during which he was embedded with the 101st Airborne Division.
He said he plans to continue to write about the military, but he said his next book will probably be about a war other than World War II.

"I think 14 years in World War II is probably enough," he said.

bradrhen@ldnews.com; 272-5611, ext. 145

Buying the book
"The Guns at Last Light" will be available May 14. The 851-page hardcover edition will cost $40. The audio version will be $29.99.

Today's Tune: The Gaslight Anthem - Here Comes My Man

What Should We Do about Guns?

NRO Interview: John R. Lott

http://www.nationalreview.com
May 1, 2013



Tuesday, April 30, 2013

How true is 'Pain & Gain'?

By David Haglund and Forrest Wickman
http://www.slate.com
April 26, 2013



painposter
At the opening of Pain & Gain, the new Michael Bay movie starring Mark Wahlberg, we are told that, “unfortunately,” what follows is a true story. It’s meant as a joke, of course, but it calls your attention to the movie’s supposed fidelity to the facts. Later, during an outlandishly gruesome scene, some superimposed text says, “This is still a true story.” During the credits, we get where-are-they-now photos of the principals, reminding us that these are all real people. And the movie’s poster declares flatly, in all caps, “THIS IS A TRUE STORY.”
Is it? By Hollywood standards, perhaps. In late 1994 and early ’95, a crew of thugs led by bodybuilder Daniel Lugo (Wahlberg) did kidnap a Miami businessman and get him to sign over all his worldly possessions. What follows in the film more or less adheres to a very rough outline provided by the novella-length, three-part, highly detailed series written by Pete Collins and published in the Miami New Times over a decade ago. Not surprisingly, many details, and a number of significant characters, are dropped from the movie. A lot of new, fictional detail—and one largely made-up character—takes its place. When the movie first tells us that it’s a true story, we’re seeing something that didn’t happen. When we’re told it’s “still a true story,” we’re watching one invented character watch a semi-fictional character do something that sorta kinda took place.
In addition to the usual Hollywood streamlining and the amping up of certain scenes, the changes seem largely designed to make the central criminals more sympathetic. Whether you think that’s a respectable thing to do will depend on what you think of their actual story—and, perhaps, of the movies in general.
Obviously, lots of spoilers follow.
Daniel Lugo
Daniel Lugo.
(L) Daniel Lugo by Metro Dade Corrections, (R) Photo courtesy of © 2013 Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
The then 30-year-old from New York, played by Wahlberg, rose quickly up the management chain at Sun Gym, got the gang together—which, in real life, included several bit players—and spearheaded their violent schemes. His criminal activities were more various than the movie depicts: In addition to his prior fraud conviction, he was running a lucrative Medicare scam, in which he bought information about Medicare recipients and bilked the government for bogus medical services. Movie-Lugo appears to be single; the real Lugo was married—twice. Both his wife and his ex-wife played tangential roles in the gang’s crimes, as did Lugo’s girlfriend (about whom more below). Most notably, unlike Wahlberg’s character, the real Lugo was not stupid. He “was a smart-ass criminal,” according to the P.I. who helped take him down. “He wasn’t some brute street guy.” He did not, as far as I can tell, attend any self-help seminars, nor have I found instances in which he cited Rocky or Michael Corleone as role models. If he ever wore vanilla-scented cologne, Pete Collins doesn’t mention it. The victim of his first kidnapping recognized him by the sound of his voice.
Adrian Doorbal
Adrian Doorbal.
(L) Adrian Doorbal by Metro Dade Corrections, (R) Photo courtesy of © 2013 Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
Doorbal (Anthony Mackie), whose given first name was Noel, was a handsome bodybuilder whose steroid use had indeed rendered him impotent. He saw a doctor for hormone injections to fix that problem, but he did not meet his future wife, Cindy Eldridge (called Robin Peck in the movie), at those appointments. (She did recommend the doctor, though.) The need to fund those injections did not motivate Doorbal’s crimes; he was reportedly in good shape financially, because Lugo had given him a cut of profits from the Medicare scam. The movie depicts Doorbal as fairly timid, but, according the gang’s first target, “Doorbal just loved violence,” and seemed like “the kind of guy you’d imagine had fun killing cats and dogs as a kid.” It was Doorbal, not Lugo, who murdered Frank Griga, the gang’s second target. Doorbal and his wife did not have a whirlwind romance: She turned down his first proposal of marriage, and he began dating a stripper; later he and Cindy got back together and married at a courthouse. Cindy helped Doorbal clean up the blood in his townhouse after the Griga murder, though she apparently did not know exactly what had transpired at the time. As in the movie, she divorced Doorbal during the trial and testified against him.
“Paul Doyle” - Carl Weekes (and others)
(L) Metro Dade Corrections, Carl C. Weekes by Mugshots.com, (R) Still from "Pain and Gain"/© 2012 - Paramount Pictures
(L) Metro Dade Corrections, Carl C. Weekes by Mugshots.com, (R) Still from "Pain and Gain"/© 2012 - Paramount Pictures
The character played by Dwayne Johnson is a composite, based primarily on Carl Weekes, with shades of Jorge Delgado (bottom left in the photo above) and Mario Sanchez (top left). Weekes was a recovering addict and ex-con who’d found Jesus and moved to Miami to get help from a cousin who worked at Sun Gym. (He never went to work at a church; no elderly gay priest came onto him.) Both were roped into Lugo’s scheme, but they only helped out with the kidnapping of the gang’s first victim. They declined to participate in subsequent crimes. Weekes, like Doyle, was much kinder to that first victim than the other men. He was also quite small—unlike Mario Sanchez, a weightlifting instructor Lugo paid to serve as an intimidator during the first kidnapping, and who appears to be another inspiration for Doyle. In real life, the third key member of the gang was Jorge Delgado (about whom more below). Like Doyle in the movie, Delgado testified against Doorbal and Lugo and received a 15-year sentence. (Lugo and Doorbal got the death penalty.) Pain & Gain shows a mugshot of “Doyle” at the end of the movie; it’s not clear to us who that mugshot is. (It does not resemble the three men pictured above.)
“Sorina Luminita” - Sabina Petrescu
sabina2
Bar Paly.
Paramount Pictures.
The Romanian stripper in Bay’s film comes off as a busty, blonde cliché, but her character is taken faithfully from the pages of the Miami New Times. A former runner-up for Miss Romania, Sabina Petrescu—portrayed in the film as Sorina Luminita, by model and actress Bar Paly—snuck into the U.S. across the Mexican border, in the trunk of a car. By the time Lugo approached her to (as Lugo said) appear in a music video, when she was about 25, she had become an exotic dancer and had modeled for Penthouse. Lugo pawns her off on Doyle in the film, but the real-life Petrescu stuck with the married Lugo through the bitter end, even fleeing with him (and his parents) to the Bahamas. And Lugo really did convince her he was in the CIA, asking her to work for them as a “honey pot” to lure their prey. Why did she believe this crazy story? Collins writes that “she was … dim.” One of the prosecutors, after the scheme, made a similar assessment: “You see, God blessed Sabina Petrescu with a beautiful face and a beautiful body,” the prosecutor said, “but not with any book smarts or common sense.
“Victor Kershaw” - Marc Schiller
kershaw
Tony Shalhoub.
Paramount Pictures.
Tony Shalhoub’s character is more superficially detestable than the man in the Collins articles who inspired him, Marc Schiller. Unlike the man we meet in those pieces, Kershaw is a scrawny slimeball who’s arrogant about his money. Kershaw drives a BMW with a license plate that says “Miami Bitch,” while Schiller drove a Toyota 4Runner. Kershaw meets Lugo at the gym; Schiller never went. He was targeted first not by Lugo, but by a former employee and associate named Jorge Delgado, a Sun Gym member who had fallen under Lugo’s sway (one of the reasons Delgado and Schiller had a falling out). But Bay leaves out the real story’s final twist: After testifying against his assailants, Schiller was arrested by the FBI for organizing his own Medicare scam that siphoned off about $14 million. He pled guilty, and served 46 months in jail—though he now insists he was innocent, and just too exhausted to defend himself. (For what it’s worth, the judge from the Lugo case made the highly unusual gesture of testifying on Schiller’s behalf in that trial.) Schiller also believes he’s been unfairly depicted in the media before. As for Pain & Gain, There is no resemblance to me at all,” he said, after watching the trailer. “I was always a humble, family person.” He has written a book about the ordeal.
Ed Du Bois
dubois2
Ed Harris.
Paramount Pictures.
Portrayed in the film by Ed Harris, the real-life Ed Du Bois was not retired with his beautiful wife when he got the call from the Sun Gym gang’s first victim, Marc Schiller. Rather, he was working for the NFL as a security consultant for Super Bowl XXIX in Miami, in addition to operating his P.I. firm, inherited from his father. As in the movie, Du Bois wasn’t sure whether to believe Schiller at first, but soon proved instrumental in compiling evidence against the gang, while the police remained skeptical. “How does it feel,” he later asked one police investigator, “to have blood on your hands?” Though the movie does not show this, Du Bois also had a leg up in investigating the case because he knew the owner of Sun Gym, John Mese (played by Rob Corddry), who conspired with Lugo. According to the New Times, Du Bois is still working as a private investigator.
Their Crimes and Capture
The Sun Gym gang carried out the Schiller kidnapping in much the way the film depicts, though the movie borrows their ridiculous costumes from an idea they never carried out: posing as trick-or-treaters and nabbing him on Halloween. The real gang does not seem as bumbling as the movie’s trio for the most part, though they did try and fail to carry out their missions on several occasions. They held Schiller for weeks not because he was resisting, but because the paperwork took time. Their failed attempt to finish him off is portrayed pretty accurately in the film—though there is no indication in the Collins story that either Lugo or Doorbal felt squeamish about killing him.
The movie murders of Frank Griga and Krisztina Furton also seem fairly true to life, though, as noted above, Doorbal killed Griga—and not, as far as we know, accidentally. The Sun Gym gang disposed of their bodies roughly as they do in the movie. Lugo (not Delgado) briefly incinerated the bodies outdoors, but he did not use a grill, and no one saw him.
None of the men were involved in shootouts with the cops. No one lost a toe, and no dog walked around carrying the toe of a Sun Gym gang member in its mouth. Doorbal and Delgado were arrested at their homes; Lugo was tracked to a hotel in the Bahamas. He was handcuffed and returned to Miami on a commercial flight.