Friday, July 20, 2018






“I’ll be judge, I’ll be jury, ” said cunning old Fury; I’ll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.” 
–Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 
Lewis Carroll 

The warning shot fired at my head two days before Christmas. 

On M-1, one of the prison staff, Dr. Collin Vas, hustled up and thrust a paper in my hand. 

“Notice of a medication hearing?” 439 My hands started to shake. “What the fuck is this?” 

Drugs? But I knew at first glance. This was “extreme prejudice” for sure. If I understood the intelligence community at all, a serious attack was coming. 

And with sudden clarity, I understood why. I had to grimace. 

My upcoming release posed new threats to the so far successful cover ups of 9/11 and Iraqi Pre-War Intelligence. So long as the Justice Department locked me up tight in prison on a Texas military base, the truth got locked up with me. But once I got released and the indictment got dismissed, that truth would crash down like an avalanche on the political comforts of Washington. Republicans—and a few big name Democrats, too—had staked their reputations on a massive public fraud about the “effectiveness” of antiterrorism policy and Iraq’s phony lack of cooperation in the 9/11 investigation. They had adjusted to that lie most comfortably. I took that comfort away. 

My threat level had multiplied in prison. The abuse I suffered in their cover up—false arrest and false imprisonment on the Patriot Act— showed deliberate and calculated malevolence towards our system of political accountability. It suggested premeditated deception involving top ranking Republicans. My federal prosecutor, Edward O’Callaghan would later join the senior campaign staff of John McCain and Sarah Palin in the 2008 election. The man who covered up my team’s 9/11 warnings would brag of advising McCain’s Presidential campaign on anti-terrorism policy, according to his internet biography. 440 

If the corporate media woke up from its coma, this would be a hellacious scandal. 

Psychiatry had already whored itself once to the White House by pretending I was incompetent. As behaviorists, I’m sure they recognized that once they sold out their professional ethics, the second act of corruption came much easier—floating the idea that I should be drugged until I abandoned my claims about Iraq and 9/11. I doubt very much they stopped to consider how obscene their proposal really was. 

If they hadn’t considered it, I was ready to connect the dots for them. 

The internal “medication hearing” was scheduled for December 28, 2005 441— five days away. The hearing notice advised that I was entitled to present witnesses and evidence from outside the prison. I could also call prison staff. But with such short notice from Carswell, the week between Christmas Eve and New Years would be impossible to accommodate my rights, since witnesses would be traveling for the holidays. Adding to my difficulties, I had used up my phone time. So I could not contact witnesses until January 1st, when I got a new batch of minutes. Oftentimes an attorney flies in to attend prison hearings, as well—a role Ted Lindauer could have played. 

Without delay, I ran to Dr. Shadduck for an explanation, along with an urgent request for a one week postponement, so I could pull everything together. 

Shadduck explained that this “medication hearing” was the first of its kind in the federal prisons. 

As luck would have it, the 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals, which covers defendants from New York and New Jersey, had just handed down a crucial decision regarding the rights of federal inmates to reject drugs in prison. The 2nd Circuit had ruled that inmates must have the right to an internal hearing before drug recommendations are presented to the Court. Through this hearing, inmates would receive notification of what prison staff wanted to do, and they would have an opportunity to proffer a rebuttal. Above all, the Appellate Court stipulated at length that inmates have rights at these medication hearings, chiefly the right to call witnesses from outside the prison, and show any evidence that supports their cause against drugging. 

It was a critical tool for prisoner rights, and an outstanding appellate decision. I cannot express sufficient gratitude for the inmate who fought for all of us. It must have been a bitter fight. I was profoundly grateful for it, and I wanted to make full use of it. Indeed, I would be the first inmate anywhere in the federal prisons to invoke my rights under this decision. 

Most significantly, it afforded me the opportunity to prove my authenticity to the wider staff at Carswell, and debunk the stupidity and dishonesty of psychiatry’s attacks on the superior caliber of my witnesses. On those grounds, I explained to Shadduck that I wanted Ian Ferguson and Parke Godfrey to testify by speaker phone. I reminded Shadduck that he’d already spoken with both men, and they confirmed the salient points of my work with Dr. Fuisz and my 9/11 warnings. 

There was nothing delusional about any of it. 

Whatever crooked scheme Carswell hoped to achieve with this “medication hearing, ” I intended to wreck. Other prison staff would be forced to confront what Shadduck already knew. My story was easily verifiable. Carswell was up to its eyeballs in a vicious cover up scheme. 

Oh yes, high caliber witnesses would always be my best protection, in Court or in prison.I just had to cross my t’s and dot all my i’s to show that I met the highest standards of proof. They were playing games. Obviously I could not afford to. I had no intention of relying on the integrity of the psychology business after what I’d suffered at their hands already. 

As for my “mental health” status per se, Parke Godfrey had been a close friend in Maryland since 1990, visiting my home every week, and speaking with me by telephone two or three times a week. By December, 2005, he’d known me 15 years. Godfrey was ready to testify that he saw no evidence of mental illness or instability of any kind in my behavior. 442 That would certainly make “involuntary drugging” difficult to justify over my strenuous objections. And I had no intention of going along with such a thing. I abhor drugs of any kind. I would take this fight all the way to the Supreme Court if I had to. Even then, I would never agree. 

This testimony mattered enormously. 

My request for a one week delay was justified to guarantee fairness in the proceedings. After the 1st of January, when I got my new batch of phone minutes, I could send for the Andy Card letters to show my communications to Andy Card and Secretary Colin Powell had been professional and respectful at all times— never threatening or hostile. Finally, I would submit the 12 months of observation notes from Family Health Services in Maryland, 443 which documented that Dr. Taddesseh saw nothing wrong with me— “no psychosis, ” “no depression, ” “no mood disturbances, ” “no reason for additional psychiatric intervention” That was pretty definitive. 

I was confident Shadduck already had copies of Taddesseh’s notes from Maryland. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I had to go into this “medication hearing” with all my ducks in a row. 

It meant a one week delay, and no longer. 

Shadduck refused the postponement. 

I was shocked, frankly — and worried. This new “medication hearing” had been crafted to protect inmates in circumstances exactly like mine. By refusing to accommodate a legitimate request to call witnesses and present evidence, Shadduck was deliberately thwarting the 2nd Circuit’s intentions. A one week delay would hardly drag down the system—not after three months in prison, with no action at all. 

For his part, Shadduck recognized the critical importance of what Ferguson and Godfrey would say to his colleagues. He wanted their statements shut out of the prison record for the same reasons I wanted them in. He understood that rejecting my request for a short delay would violate the spirit of the 2nd Circuit decision. 

He did so anyway. 

Not for the first time I was reminded how reality terrifies psychiatrists, and how fiercely they fight against it, desperate to protect their authority in the courts. Reality goes right out the window, while psychiatry labors hard—and violently— to deny it’s there. 

At Carswell, I coined a phrase for this phenomena. I call it “delusional psychiatry.” It’s the elephant in any courtroom. 

I was right to be paranoid. 

On the morning of the “medication hearing, ” I was ready to rumble. Even so I was aghast to discover the full macabre horror that Carswell had schemed up for me. 

Waiting for me was Dr. Collin Vas and Dr. William Pederson. Shadduck was not present. 444 

Immediately I was handed an internal document titled “Notice of Medication Hearing and Advisement of Rights, ” and instructed to sign it. The paper left large blanks under the names of witnesses that I desired to speak on my behalf. 445 Carswell wanted to pretend that I had not requested testimony by Ferguson and Godfrey. Dr. Vas grabbed the paper out of my hands when I declared my intention to insert their names under the blank witness list. 

On the paper, Dr. Vas wrote for me, “Ms. Lindauer refuses to sign, ” with an X on the signature line. 446 

There was no time to express outrage over such critical dishonesty. My attention quickly shifted to the section of the paper marked “Reason for Treatment: Restoration of Competency, Treatment of Delusions.” 447 

And above that: “Proposed Treatment: Antipsychotics, Benzodiazepines, Antidepressants and Mood Stabilizers.” 448 

My jaw hit the floor. 

Seizing on the most important aspects, the list of drugs for “treatment, ” I launched my defense with a strong offensive, pounding the irrational nature of proposing treatment for non-existent conditions. 

“I want the record to show that I have requested a delay to get witness testimony, and that has been refused.” I started off. 

“Let’s take a look at this. I see here that some of these drugs are for treatment of delusions? Are we here to talk about drugs for me? Or drugs for you? I ask, because you’re the ones who appear to be denying reality in my case.” 

My voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“What’s this drug for delusions?” I demanded. 

“Haldol.” Pederson was tight lipped. 449 

“Haldol? To treat delusions, I see. A rhinoceros tranquilizer, I’ve been told.” I forced a smile. 

“If you’re really so worried, Dr. Pederson, I suggest that you delay this meeting for a week, so we can get these folks on the phone. You can ask them yourself. Nobody has to take my word for anything. I’m quite confident that you’ll find there’s nothing delusional about any of it.” 

Indeed, testimony by Parke Godfrey and Ian Ferguson, via speakerphone, would have smashed this “diagnosis” in seconds flat. Session reports by Dr. Taddesseh at Family Health Services in Maryland would have provided another knockout punch. 

“Perhaps you’re not aware that your colleague, Dr. Shadduck, has already interviewed these witnesses. He’s already verified my story. 450 Dr. Vas, here, knows that very well. So I cannot imagine why you think I’d go along with this.” 

“Here’s some “reality” for you, Dr. Pederson. The Justice Department is pretending that I’m incompetent because Republican politicians in Washington don’t want to take responsibility for their mistakes in Iraq. They want to blame Assets, as if it’s our fault that the U.S. marched soldiers into Baghdad.” 

“You’ve got to love Washington, though. First they arrest me for telling them the war would be disastrous. Now they’re up on Capitol Hill holding press conferences, complaining that I never spoke up to warn them off the invasion. They’re nothing but god damn cowards.” 

“I think that’s the “real” reality, Dr. Pederson.”

“Well let me set you straight: I would never agree to put psychotropic drugs in my body to help out a Republican politician who got himself in trouble in Washington. I’m not going to put poison in MY body to help out George Bush or John McCain. No fucking way.” 

I started lecturing them at that point: 

“Whether you talk to my witnesses today or not, your staff has already verified my story.” 

“If you go into court, and submit a falsified report saying my story was not authenticated while I was at Carswell, you would be committing felony perjury in a federal court of law.” 

“You would be lying to a senior federal judge. And I swear before God, I would make sure you pay for that. Perjury is a federal crime. You could go to prison. And I would not hesitate to prosecute.” Then I laughed. “A lot of women are at Carswell today, because THEY LIED to a federal judge or the FBI, too. So you had better stop and think about what you’re doing.” 

“If you want my witnesses to repeat what they’ve already told Shadduck, we can make that happen. I have no problem with that. I’d love to do it, in fact!. I wanted to delay this meeting until next week, so you could hear what they have to say.” 

“But I’ve already made them available to your staff, Dr. Pederson. It’s too late for you to deny my authenticity. At this point, if you falsify claims to the contrary—if you lie to a federal judge—you could face prosecution. Do I make myself clear?” 

They looked at me, stone-faced and silent. 

“Now that we understand each other, let’s see this list of drugs you’ve got. Oh my, antidepressants!” I started reading the list of proposed drugs. 

“Prozac.” Dr. Pederson shot back. 

“Prozac! My, my! That’s a serious antidepressant alright! How extraordinary that you think I should take a very powerful drug like Prozac when I don’t suffer from depression at all!” 

Dr. Vas spoke up. “Maybe someday— in the future— you might suffer depression. So this way you won’t suffer it. You could be looking forward.” 

I reamed him: “Wait a minute. I don’t suffer depression in prison, which has to be the most stressful and awful experience. Here, I’m active and motivated. I work on my case at the law library. I walk 4-6 miles a day on the track. I suffer no symptoms of depression of any kind. But maybe— someday in the future— years from now— we don’t know when— I might suffer depression. Someday I might. So I should start taking anti-depressant drugs now?? Do I understand you correctly?” 

Dr. Vas got all puffed up: “You admit that you suffered a period of depression 20 years ago, when you lived in Seattle. So you admit that it happened before.” 

I had forgotten all about that. But I didn’t let up: “Twenty years ago!?! You’re not serious? Twenty years ago I was a kid right out of college, trying to figure out my life. I lived in Seattle, where it rains nonstop. All the time! Yes, I got depressed. So I left Seattle. And I grew up. And guess what? I stopped feeling depressed.” 

I turned to Dr. Pederson: “You cannot seriously think that I would agree to take Prozac today because 20 years ago I got gloomy when it rained in Seattle? That’s not going to happen. No. You can forget about it.” 

Dr. Pederson pouted: “So you are opposed to drugs. We call it medication, by the way. And you’re telling us that you don’t believe that you need that, and you’re not going to take it.” 

“That’s right, ” I replied. “I’m not going to put drugs in my body for non-existent conditions. Not Prozac or anything else! I consider it irresponsible for any “doctor” to suggest it, and I won’t do it.” 

“Let me repeat: I will not put drugs in my body for non-existent conditions. Now what’s this other stuff?” 

“Ativan. That’s a mood stabilizer, ” Dr. Pederson replied. “It’s for stress.” 

“Well, considering that my only stress comes from prison, I’m sure I’ll be just fine once I’m released on February 3rd . So the answer is no. I don’t intend to stick around long enough to need Ativan. I haven’t needed it in the three months that I’ve been at Carswell. And I certainly won’t need it when I go home. I repeat. I am not going to take drugs for nonexistent conditions. Not to save a bunch of crooks in Congress afraid of losing the next election. It’s not going to happen.” 

“My witnesses have already verified my story for Shadduck. After the first of January, I’d be happy to hook you up. That’s not a problem at all.” 

I don’t remember what else was said, but I’d swear on a stack of Bibles this accurately recounts our battle engagement at this “medication hearing.” I was tough all the way through. 

Friends, this was as bad as it gets. I went back to my cell shaking in fear, as I crawled into my bunk. 

Haldol? Prozac? Ativan? 

I finally understood what three months locked in prison on a Texas military base had not convinced me. The Justice Department, the CIA and the White House seriously wanted to destroy me. They had no intention of letting me go. I didn’t know how they could rig the system to hold me. But this was scary stuff. I gave thanks that I’m a tough street fighter, and fast thinking on my feet. 

But that day I was blinded by the light. 

I confess there’s something about “extreme prejudice” that doesn’t sink in until you face the brutality of it full force. “Extreme prejudice” shoots for absolute physical destruction and spiritual annihilation of the Intelligence Asset—the death of body, mind and soul. 

Trying to chemically lobotomize an Asset certainly qualifies as “extreme termination.” 

When they come at you like this, they pull every dirty trick in the book. You have to take every dirty punch. And you have to fight. And fight. And fight. 

Because if you stop for anything— to cry or complain that it’s not fair— they will take you out. That’s the whole point. 

And they are bigger, better financed, more powerful and absolutely fucking corrupt. More than anything, they are unashamedly corrupt. 

It’s a dirty fight until you’re down. 

But you have advantages, too. You are small. You can pivot in your strategy. And the old intelligence rule still holds: Everything that comes at you is either a weapon or a tool. 

To fight back, you have to keep hold of your wits, and you have to build a counter-strategy and take them on proactively. You cannot afford to be reactive or passive. 

One thing more, not everybody opposes you. In an intelligence war, there are always factions. In “extreme prejudice, ” one faction holds superior force — for the moment—like the pro-War camp in the Republican Party, which supported the selfish and malicious Iraqi Exiles on Capitol Hill. And they take no prisoners. 

However, they are most likely to shoot the hostage in “extreme prejudice” when they are going down or about to fall. That’s when they fight dirtiest. That’s when they’re most sensitive about their vulnerabilities. They’re still at peak. So they can attract weak allies, like corrupt prison psychiatrists willing to prostitute their credentials for a few bucks, and get their hands dirty. 

For a moment those psychiatrists got to play in a real intelligence game. But that’s not their world. They are pawns. They don’t recognize how the pendulum swings back the other way— the sword of Damocles, as I call it. When it comes back, they’re out in the open, and the forces that gave the kill order have left them high and dry. 

Other factions hone in on that. So you’re out there, fighting alone, and somebody behind the scenes recognizes the tides are turning, and they throw you a wrench, so that you can wage a stronger battle.

You keep fighting alone. But now you’re fighting with a wrench. Even so, you can’t flinch. You have no choice but to take every dirty blow. 

Once extreme prejudice came into play, I was fighting for my life and to protect myself from a chemical lobotomy, which this cocktail of super potent psychotropic drugs (Haldol, Ativan and Prozac) definitely intended to inflict. Secondarily, I was fighting for my freedom, to get out of prison. Protecting myself from drugs was my greatest priority, however, without question. 

Calling me “incompetent, ” ironically, meant nothing to me. Sticks and stones, baby. Smear tactics don’t work on me. Notoriety doesn’t frighten me, or I could never have dealt with Libya and Iraq— or the CIA— in the first place. No insult by a psychology freak ever mattered to me. Reputations are for sissies in games like this. 

What terrified me was the threat of forcible drugging. I abhor drugs. I consider that my brain and my consciousness are precious gifts, and I would not destroy or alter my thinking and the magnificent working of my mind or soul for anything in the world. 

That was unacceptable to me. 

I would come out of this fight standing or dead. There was no middle ground. 

That first morning, I made a critical decision. I would not allow them to kill me. And I would not accommodate them on any level in this terrible game. As the fight continued, my strength would ebb and flow, but my knowledge and confidence of who I am would grow stronger, because to wage this battle, I had to know who I was. I had to believe in who I was. And from that moment, the illusion of their power to decide who I was, was lost. They couldn’t take away my identity, because so long as I stayed alive, I was my identity. 

Deep in my gut I understood that if I could survive this brutality, once the pendulum swung back, I would be resurrected. The truth that I carry would stay constant and unyielding, no matter who controlled the White House. This truth mattered—or Republican leaders would never have fought so violently to destroy it. 

Many times at Carswell I murmured a prayer by the great Rev. Martin Luther King. “The arc of the universe bends towards justice.” Over and over again. 

A chemical lobotomy, however, would be living death for me. It was too grotesque to contemplate. 

And so, while I waited, tense and frightened, for Carswell’s internal decision on “involuntary drugging, ” as they were now calling it, I could not help but consider the powerful forces arrayed against me. My adversaries were powerful, indeed. 

My own cousin, Andy Card served as Chief of Staff to President Bush all the time I was locked up at Carswell. I often thought of Secretary Colin Powell, stumping on CNN to wash the blood and dirt off his reputation. 

The only thing more dangerous than “delusional psychiatry” turned out to be “delusional” White House officials and Congressional leaders so desperate to hold onto power that they denied responsibility for their own hellacious stupidity. They lacked the courage and integrity to take responsibility for their own decisions. They had to destroy me to obliterate evidence of their weakness. 

Shortly after my release, John McLaughlin, a powerhouse Washington journalist and host of the McLaughlin Group, lamented how the White House and Congress created “a virtual reality about Iraq, ” and fought desperately to attack anybody who threatened to expose the cracks in their reality. 

I was not alone in recognizing the “group psychosis” seizing the GOP war camp. 

Unhappily for me, my case tossed together “delusional psychiatry” with “delusional War policy—” And the crazies in Congress held the balance of power so long as I remained in prison and under indictment. 

I was Dorothy lost in a Land of Oz created by White House Wizards. The fact that I was right meant nothing. They could not allow Dorothy to pull back the curtain, and show that all of their spectacle and glitz was a bunch of circus tricks. They were so vulnerable and weak. They could not tolerate the smallest person poking at them. 

Once little Dorothy entered the stage with Toto, the Wizard of Oz was finished. Republicans in Congress recognized that little Dorothy might quickly metamorphosis into Susan Lindauer. 

I thought about all of these factors as I waited anxiously for Carswell’s internal decision on involuntary drugging. Thinking proactively, I began mapping a strategy for appeals if they attempted to carry out this terrifying threat. 

My heart was pounding when prison staff thrust the internal staff decision under the door of my prison cell. 

I ran to grab it, and flipped anxiously through the pages to the end of the report, my heart thumping fast and hard. 

“Involuntary medication not approved.” 451 

I gasped. I had won this round! I laughed deliriously and hugged my cellmates. I danced around our cell, jumping up and down like a kid. I was elated. 

When I calmed down, I examined the internal report more carefully. [ See Appendix] On page 4, the hand-written “Summary of Evidence” stated the following: 452 

“Lindauer reported she was against medication of any kind, including psychotropic medication.” 

“She denied the possibility of mental illness, once again reporting in detail her belief that the government is having her detained because she represents a threat to the Administration due to her differing beliefs about their policies on Iraq. She states she has been a government agent for 9 years working in “anti terrorism.” 

“Lindauer denied any wish to hurt her or others, and denied any history of aggressive behavior.” 

“The document is signed by William M. Pederson, MD and Collin Vas, MD.” 

There was no ambiguity in that hand-written memo. 

The summary provided damnable and irrefutable evidence in itself of the Bureau of Prison’s logic and rationale for “treatment.” Harsh psychotropic drugs had one single purpose— to “cure” my beliefs that I worked as a U.S. Intelligence Asset. 

No other evidence from Carswell was offered to justify drug treatment. Staff described no depression, no weeping or hysteria, no behavioral problems dealing with guards or other inmates. There was no mention of hallucinations or hearing voices, or suggestions that I suffered disjointed thoughts, and showed poor cognition skills. 

No, the rationale for psychotropic drugs was strictly to “correct” my claims of working as a “government agent for 9 years in anti- terrorism.” Carswell suggested drugs would be necessary to “cure” my “detailed belief” that the government was prosecuting me for dissenting from Republican policy on Iraq. 

There was just that small pesky problem. My story happened to be true. And they all knew it. 

Even the corporate media had acknowledged from its coma that the White House had a fondness for punishing dissension to protect its War policy. And now Carswell had made a play straight out of Soviet psychiatry in the Cold War. 

My strong offensive at the internal “medication hearing” stopped them. When I saw that document however, and I saw the desperation and illogic behind it, I knew that prison staff would not stop trying. 

They hadn’t figured out how to do it yet. But it seemed doubtful that they could resist looking for another way.

Under a second page of the report, there were boxes: 

Had the inmate requested witnesses? Dr. Pederson marked “No.” 453, 454 


Under the second box marked “Evidence Presented, ” there was a category for “Statement of witnesses.” He checked off “Not applicable.” 455 

Bastard liar! 

That told me a lot. Carswell would not acknowledge my witnesses, even if falsifying a report amounted to perjury in federal court—which would be a punishable felony. 

Well, they’d been warned. 

I took a deep breath. I’d won this round! 

If it was only up to prison psychiatrists, the question of involuntary drugging had been decided. I had won the argument. 

They couldn’t pull it off. 

But I was sure that if the White House or the Justice Department intervened from outside the prison, this attack would not stop. 

I was willing to bet it would get really ugly. 

On January 1st , I called JB Fields and told him that it looked doubtful that I would be coming home on February 3rd . 

Sometimes it helps to be paranoid. 

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. 
–Edmund Burke 

Something more sinister was happening at Carswell than prison rapes and withholding health care from very sick inmates— as if that wasn’t bad enough. 

Much worse, the prison had a history of refusing to release women inmates after the completion of their sentences, on the most flimsy grounds. 

It happened more often than anyone would like to think. 

The first time I witnessed it, I could not believe it myself. 

A woman prisoner from Chicago had won a tremendous victory in the United States Supreme Court. She’d filed what’s called a “pro se” appeal, meaning that she prepared a legal brief by herself without an attorney’s assistance. She challenged her conviction and sentencing alone. 

That the United States Supreme Court took up her appeal at all was quite impressive in itself. No matter the merits of a case, there are umpteen thousands of appeals that never get heard, most filed by experienced attorneys, let alone those submitted “pro se” by defendants. From out of that multitude, the Supreme Court chose her case for review. 

More impressively still, the Supreme Court granted her appeal, striking down all or part of her conviction, with a declarative order that she should be released from Carswell immediately. 

That’s a tremendous victory for any defendant, manna from on high! It’s what we prisoners dream of, getting our day in the Supreme Court—and winning! It almost never happens. Even if a Supreme Court Justice agrees to review a petition, at best you hope that parts of it are accepted. In her situation, the Supreme Court Justice accepted her argument in total. And she wasn’t sent back for re-sentencing. The Judge expressly ordered her to be freed with time served! 

I read it with my own eyes. 

So what do you think happened to this woman who’d just triumphed at the Supreme Court of the United States, getting her conviction and sentencing overturned? 

Given Carswell’s history of dealing with other appellate court rulings and federal judges, do you think prison staff gave a damn what a Supreme Court Justice had to say? 

They didn’t care what the 2nd Circuit Appellate Court had to say about inmate rights at “medication hearings.” They didn’t care what federal judges had to say about the rights of prisoners to have sleep apnea machines, or access to heart medication for postsurgical recovery. Prisoners have died, because Carswell flouted federal court orders. 

And so, horribly enough, Carswell Prison refused to let this woman go home. 

She had filed her appeal “pro se, ” so she had no attorney on the outside to enforce the Supreme Court order on her behalf. Instead, Carswell sent a message to all those other women inmates who might think about filing appeals, too. It wouldn’t do any good. Carswell prison staff would mete out punishments. No outside court authority, no Federal Judge was going to contradict them. 

If a defendant had a court order from the United States Supreme Court itself, Carswell would not be compelled to obey it. 

And so, while the Supreme Court ruled in her favor sometime in November, Carswell poohed and pouted about filing the paperwork for her release, dilly dallying with the central Bureau of Prisons until mid-April. 

She suffered an extra five and a half months of prison detention. 

With a Supreme Court decision in her hand, carried from office to office, never leaving her person 24 hours a day, that freed woman could not leave the prison. 

One prison staffer snidely told her that “when she got to Washington, she could complain.” 


Without question. On all counts, it was despicable and corrupt. That’s Carswell, in a nutshell. 

Flouting a direct Supreme Court order wasn’t the only example of Carswell manipulating procedures in order to deny prisoners their freedom at the end of a sentence. 

The case of Kathleen Rumpf, a Ploughshares activist and Catholic lay worker, exposes another way that Carswell routinely skirts the courts, in order to hold prisoners after their release dates. Rumpf spent 8 months at Carswell for “rewriting the welcome sign for the School of the Americas at Fort Benning, Georgia, to read “School of Shame.” 456 The School of Americas is also called the “School of Torture” by peace activists, because its graduates include members of the violent juntas of Latin America, famous for murdering intellectuals and political dissidents. 

For messing up the sign, Rumpf and four fellow Ploughshares activists each got sentenced to one year in prison and fined $2,000. 

On the day of her release, other peace activists gathered at the prison gates to celebrate. “West Wing” actor, Martin Sheen, a Ploughshares activist with 58 arrests in his own right, flew in from Los Angeles to welcome Rumpf home. 457 

Carswell Prison Warden, J.B. Brogan, didn’t like those rabble-rousers outside his gates. He decided that Rumpf would be ordered to sign a promissory note for the $2,000 fine—or else she would be held “indefinitely” at Carswell. As part of the promissory note, she had to agree that if she could not pay the fine, she would be subject to re-arrest and sent back to prison. 458 

Rumpf, who lives on Social Security disability, refused on the grounds of poverty. 

Very well, Brogan refused to grant her release. She would stay at Carswell until she worked out her finances. 

Maureen Tolbert, Rumpf’s attorney, called it “unconstitutional, ” pointing out that the obscure federal statute “basically allows prison officials to resentence someone who has already served his or her time.” 459 

Carswell is one of the very few prisons that enforce this mostly unknown twist in the legal code. When women prisoners can not pay court fines, Carswell continues their detentions until family or friends post the money on their behalf. If they can’t pay, because they’re alone in the world, often times they don’t go home at all— though the prison sentence has been completed. If they promise in desperation to meet a payment schedule and break it, they are subject to re-arrest and indefinite detention. 

No Judge oversees the extended imprisonment. The Warden makes the decision without Court consultation. There’s no hearing, no right to an attorney, nor any time restraint on how long the Bureau of Prisons can hold prisoners who don’t sign the agreement—even if they are desperately honest that they can’t be sure how they would honor it. Most ex-cons are incredibly poor, with limited job prospects after prison. An agreement like this poses serious burdens as they try to reintegrate with society. It could even force them to commit more crimes, so they could pay the prison bill. 

As Rumpf discovered the hard way, that’s a matter of habit at Carswell. In her case, friends paid the fine on her behalf. She stayed in prison an extra two days. Others are not so lucky, and their release gets delayed much longer, sometimes for months. It’s prison gossip, when it happens. And it happens more frequently than anyone wants to imagine. 

The Story of Neeran “Nancy” Zaia 
Politics guides so many decisions at Carswell. But the fates often have a tragic sense of humor, as well. 

As it turns out, I was not the only prisoner with a case tied to Iraqi War politics who arrived from Washington on October 3rd, 2005. An Iraqi émigré named Neeran “Nancy” Zaia got shipped to Carswell for an extensive psychiatric evaluation, too.

Our friendship was more extraordinary because our cases proved antithetical in all ways. While I got accused of acting as an “Iraqi agent” on behalf of Saddam Hussein’s government, Nancy Zaia got indicted for trying to help other Iraqis escape Saddam’s religious and political persecution before the War. 

She denied helping anyone enter the United States illegally. What she’d done was help families of Iraqi Chaldean Christians secure proper visas from Jordan to the nation of Ecuador, about 200 in all. The visas were legally acquired from the Embassy in Amman, as part of a policy to encourage wealthy Iraqis to establish residency in that impoverished Latin American country. 460 

The Justice Department claimed some of those Iraqi refugees kept moving northward after arriving in Ecuador. About 40-50 of those Iraqis ended up in the United States, including infants and children. Nancy swore that she had nothing to do with that. She had no contact with the Chaldean families after they left Jordan. However the Justice Department insisted that she should be responsible for their final destination. Nancy’s attorney argued the U.S. was running interference in Ecuador’s visa policy. Her defense claimed the arrest was extra-territorial, in attempt to strong arm Ecuadorean officials into reconsidering their friendly immigration policy towards Iraqi refugees. It reflected American paranoia after 9/11. But it had nothing to do with her actions. 

The hypocrisy in Zaia’s case was that Congress cited Saddam’s torture practices as justification for the War. 

If that moral outrage had been authentic, Nancy Zaia should have been praised as a hero— not imprisoned as a criminal. 

Nancy Zaia had been sent to Carswell for a psychiatric evaluation because Saddam’s security forces had tortured her in Baghdad. She claimed that Iraqi Intelligence hanged her 3 year old son by his throat with a rope from a ceiling fan, and turned it on, so that the fan blades started rotating. 

Then, one of the men took a butcher knife and started slashing the blade at the screaming, choking child. Nancy kept grabbing for the toddler. Trying to shield her little boy from the knife, she got slashed herself. 

She had a 10 inch jagged scar on the inside of her arm to prove it. 

Nancy Zaia was also forced into an arranged marriage at age 13, with a much older Kurdish man involved in the Northern Resistance movement. He had raped her repeatedly throughout her teenage years. When she fled Iraq with her young children, she was fleeing an abusive (mostly absent) husband, and the political troubles that his resistance work caused for her family. When Saddam’s security forces could not lay hands on him, they were not above inflicting pain on her. 

Her attorney argued that those facts of her life in Iraq should be given substantial weight in the proceedings. 

And so it was that Nancy Zaia and I arrived together at Carswell the first week of October, both of us arrested for political reasons that exposed the illogic of the government’s position on Iraq, and both of us subjected to the shenanigans of prison psychology at Carswell. 

Unfairly, both of our psych evaluations had strong political overtones— in opposite directions. While I believe that I showed myself fully capable of assisting my defense, it would be difficult to make the same arguments about Nancy. At the first mention of Iraq, she would become so emotional, paranoid and overstressed that she could scarcely participate in a rational conversation for 10 minutes to discuss her defense. 

Twice her attorney flew in from Washington. Nancy hid from him on both visits, because she couldn’t handle a simple attorney conversation about the charges against her. Guards searched for her everywhere. Our circle of inmates found her curled up on the floor of a bathroom stall in a fetal position. She was lost in memories of Saddam Hussein and her old life in Iraq. She couldn’t get past that pain. It’s doubtful that Nancy could have sat through a trial without an outburst, screaming in Arabic at the Judge and jury. Seriously, I could imagine her suffering a heart attack during trial. 

Even dealing with me as a friend, she was subject to bursts of paranoia about my arrest as an “Iraqi Agent” that would stop her from speaking with me for days. 

Nevertheless, in the highly politicized world of psychiatry at Carswell, Nancy’s evaluation flatly refused to acknowledge her incapacity to contribute to her defense. Carswell decreed that Nancy Zaia’s refugee status, and her personal comprehension of the suffering of Chaldean Christians in Iraq and the brutality of Saddam Hussein’s government, had no impact whatsoever on her actions. The personal oppression that she’d suffered as a 13 year old victim of spousal rape by a 35 + year old man was completely irrelevant. The attack on her children by Iraq’s Secret Police, the “Mukhabarat, ” should have no weight in Court. 

According to Carswell, she experienced no irrational outbursts or paranoia that impacted her ability to assist her defense. 

It’s questionable how much of the court proceedings Nancy understood, given her wild volatility. She was deeply paranoid and prone to hysteria. She saw all events through that prism. During our months together on M1, we walked hundreds of laps on the outdoor track, talking about our families and legal cases. Notably, she told me that Carswell offered her a finding of “competence” in exchange for a guilty plea, with time served. Carswell promised that she would go home to her family. They pushed Nancy hard, knowing she could not handle a trial, because of her explosive emotions on the subject of Iraq. 

Complicating the matter, the fear of rampant abuse on M-1 hung over all of us. All of us were terrified of what we saw psych staff do to other inmates. Not surprisingly, Nancy was afraid to press for a finding of incompetence, though she’s one of the few inmates who I thought qualified for it. Almost nobody else had justification that I saw. 

After I left, Nancy got stamped competent, in exchange for that guilty plea. 

Only somewhere along the way, Carswell pulled a double-cross. It’s unclear how it happened—Nancy could not explain it later, when my brilliant attorney, post-Carswell, Brian Shaughnessy contacted her in prison, at my request. Somehow, after dangling time served in front of her while I was at Carswell, her choices changed starkly. The Justice Department recommended a 15 year sentence, which Nancy felt compelled to accept. 461 I was horrified when I heard. They told her she could have a 10 year sentence, if she agreed to deportation back to Iraq. But by now she’d lived in the United States 25 years. All of her children and grand children are here. She accepted five extra years in prison so that she wouldn’t have to relive her trauma in Iraq. That says it all. 

By any measure, 15 years was excessive. She got much tougher sentencing than “coyotes, ” who run hundreds of illegal immigrants from Mexico to Texas and California. Only about 50 Iraqis entered the United States illegally, including children and infants, and her guilty plea declares that she only arranged for their passage to South America—which was handled legally. 462 I can only say that I watched Carswell play head-games with Nancy, manipulating her past emotional traumas to get the guilty plea. Then they nailed her after she agreed. 

But was she competent to accept the deal? I seriously question it. 

All of the arguments to defame my competence absolutely applied to her. Nancy was so paranoid and explosive that she could not sit in a room with her attorney for an hour to discuss her legal strategy. She’d crawl into a fetal position and hide in the bathroom. Yet the same prison staff who declared me “unfit for trial, ” swore that Nancy was competent to accept a guilty plea. 

Go figure. That’s the nature of psychiatry at Carswell —inconsistent, political and irredeemably corrupt. 

The Question of My Competence 
Then, of course, there was me. 

Brass tacks— Was I actually incompetent? 

Given my bona fides, it begs the question: Are those the actions of an incompetent Asset? Is it fair to suggest that an Asset who warned about 9/11 and the bombing of the U.S.S. Cole, and the 1993 World Trade Center attack; who started negotiations for the Lockerbie Trial with Libya, and the return of the weapons inspectors to Iraq, had performed poorly in this role?

Would the CIA tolerate an Asset to function as a back-channel to Libya and Iraq for 8 years, if that individual was untrustworthy analyzing trends and anticipating events? Given the advanced, proactive requirements for even the most basic intelligence work, does that make sense? Much less that my contacts involved the most volatile region of the world? And my work targeted nations considered potentially hostile to U.S. interests? 

I think that’s very doubtful. Crazy like a fox, maybe, and non-conformist in my political viewpoints, definitely. 

I’ve always believed that you’re judged by the strength of your enemies. Mine included Dick Cheney, Colin Powell, Senator John McCain, Senator Trent Lott, Andy Card and Alberto Gonzales. 

How flattering. 

But was I really “incompetent—” as Republican leaders in Washington claimed, when I put together a message data base for all House and Senate offices—including every Chief of Staff, Legislative Director, Press Secretary and Foreign Policy assistant—Democrat and Republican alike? 463 

Was I “incompetent” when I warned about a $1.6 trillion dollar price tag for the War and Occupation of Iraq, and how that would financially stress Wall Street and America’s national debt? 464 

Or when I foretold the rise of Iran as a regional powerhouse? 

Or when I predicted the rise of charismatic Al Qaeda leaders inside Iraq, and the flourishing of terrorist cells, in a violent backlash against the Occupation? 

Or when I forecast that forces of democracy would transfer power to Islamic fundamentalists, away from moderate Arab governments? 

Those rose petals died awfully fast in the desert sun, just as I forecast. 

Was that incompetence on my part? 

Or was I scapegoated for somebody else’s mistakes? 

In 2007, the Senate Intelligence Committee cited specific warnings identical to mine, in declaring that reports from January, 2003 qualified as one of the “few bright spots” in Pre-War Intelligence. 465 They called it “outstanding.” I campaigned on every single one of those arguments cited by the Senate. I was so aggressive, in fact, that the Justice Department cited my January, 2003 warnings to Andy Card and Colin Powell, 466 as grounds for my indictment. 

In 2007, Senator John Warner of Virginia called the substance of it “chilling and prophetic.” 

In 2004-2006, it was called “treason.” 

And I got condemned of “incompetence.” 

Could psychiatry really be so corrupt? To put it bluntly— yes. 

I had watched other women come in for psych studies, and leave after six or seven weeks. That’s all it took for these evaluations. There wasn’t much to it. Prison staff would interview us two or three times, typically. Then they’d speak with a couple of outside sources, like Ian Ferguson and Parke Godfrey. 

If there was a previous psychiatric history, Carswell would review it. In my case, that would be Dr. Taddesseh in Maryland, who documented that he observed “no psychosis, ” “no depression” and “no mood disturbances” in my behavior. His year’s worth of observations finished six months before I got sent to Carswell, so it was quite recent. I had a clean bill of “mental health” before I got to prison. 467 

Prison conversations with loved ones at home, and a generous outpouring of letters from loyal friends showed that I had good relationships throughout my life. Phone conversations with JB Fields revealed a healthy and mutually supportive relationship. I am not drawn to abusive or violent men. Likewise in prison, I was not socially isolated from other women. Quite the opposite, I quickly made friends on M-1, though inevitably some got transferred back to court for sentencing, or sent home after psych studies. I got left behind. That’s how prison works. 

I required a subpoena to get my hands on observation notes by social workers and activity coordinators, who saw me daily on M-1. But when I succeeded, I found them highly informative. 

Without exception, staff notes were brief and positive. Every monthly report declared that I “socialized well, ” with “good intellectual functioning, ” and “good physical health.” 468 

Shadduck and Vas and Pederson could hardly complain about that, could they? 

Staff notes said, “Ms. Lindauer is functioning well on the unit.” 469 

Other handwritten notes 470 said, “Functional and not a behavioral problem.” That was underlined by M-1 staff. 

Another staffer wrote, “Not a problem when confronted about anything.” 

Another guard wrote, “She is low key and cooperative. Cares for self, good hygiene. Zero behavioral problems. She is focused on getting a trial.” 

Another wrote, “Pleasant, appropriate appearance, clear speech, good eye contact.” 

Another wrote, “Cheerful and cooperative.” 

And another, “Calm, pleasant, appropriate grooming. Good eye contact.” 

And another, “Pleasant, smiling, appears to be happy, cooperative.” 

By December, Carswell’s goal for “restoring competency” was that I should “A: Explain clearly the pros and cons of legal options within 90 days.” 471 

And “B: Demonstrate the ability to work with (my) attorney in a rational manner within 90 days.” 

Nothing in those staff notes described behavioral problems that justified forcible drugging. Or voluntary drugging for that matter. It was medically absurd—like psychiatry itself. 

As a precaution, I signed every monthly report with a written declaration that Carswell should get on the ball interviewing my witnesses to verify my story. 472 Clearly I understood that the Court required independent sources to authenticate my claims. I was anxious to provide those assurances. With my signature, nobody could say I hadn’t lobbied hard to get it done – hardly the act of a defendant who expected the Courts to take my word for everything. 473 

Sure enough, when Shadduck finally got around to questioning Ferguson and Godfrey, my story checked out. 

Even Carswell was compelled to rule against “involuntary medication, ” after the internal hearing. 474 There was no medical basis for it. 

Any other inmate would have gone home after that, or back to court, whereas I faced a hard reality that the Feds intended to hold me for the full 120 days allowed by federal statute. This would be my only prison time. The Justice Department wanted to squeeze every possible day out of me. I had to cope with that. 

One more thing protected me. Or so I believed. 

I had a fail safe option, a statutory right to a hearing before the decision on competence got finalized. Federal law guarantees the right to call witnesses and show evidence opposing psychiatric evaluations. 475 Courts are never supposed to rule on competence without due process. That’s a flagrant violation of an individual’s rights. 

My story illustrates poignantly why those rights should be held sacrosanct. 

To protect myself, I buckled down at the prison law library and read up on the law. I also filed a “pro se” request for a hearing with a list of witnesses, according to all the requirements of the law. My request was registered in an appropriate and timely manner. 

I clung to the promise of that hearing like a sacrament. Truly I believed that I was covered on all fronts, whatever followed. 

Ineptitude of the Court Appointed Attorney 
So what tripped me up? 

As part of a competency review, it’s standard practice to assess whether a defense attorney might be shrugging off a complex case by using an incompetence defense. From the first in-take interview, Carswell staff honed on my public attorney’s difficulty maneuvering the morass of my legal situation. 

From my first days on the SHU, Carswell was informed that Uncle Ted felt compelled to interview strategic witnesses, because of Talkin’s bumbling. Ted himself forcefully assured prison staff that he had personally investigated my story, and I checked out. 476 

In prison phone calls, Ted emphasized that he was reading up case law on psychiatry. By all objective measures, he was fiercely devoted to watching over me. 

The need for legal intervention by a family member should have set off alarms over whose competence should be questioned— mine or my public attorney’s. Even Judge Mukasey was aware that it had been necessary to seek a family member’s help. 

Under normal circumstances, questions about an attorney’s performance would disqualify an incompetence defense automatically. In my situation, however, Talkin’s fumbling was carefully overlooked. 

Ominously for my legal rights, by 2006, the United States and Britain were officially losing the War in Iraq. Insurgents had seized control of the chaos, and threatened to fragment the country in a violent bloodbath that polarized Shi’ite- Sunni relations from north to south. As battlefield casualties mounted, frothing on Capitol Hill reached new heights of fever over the failures of Assets involved with Pre-War Intelligence. 

Politicians liked that story. They liked it very much. 

From a psychiatric standpoint, Capitol Hill was suffering a major “psychotic breakdown.” Congress aggressively labored to reinvent themselves as the victims of deceptive intelligence practices to escape the fury of voters. Not surprisingly, the facts about Pre-War Intelligence are vastly different than what politicians in Washington told Americans and the international community. 

And so the Justice Department got its marching orders: Nothing and nobody would be allowed to challenge the story that Republican leaders were selling to the American people. That was the “reality” that mattered at Carswell. 

And so Carswell psychiatrists set about constructing a whole new reality of my work as an Asset that protected political interests in Washington—a game that pretended I suffered a “psychotic disorder not otherwise specified.” 477  

It’s doubtful I was ever “incompetent” or “psychotic.” All those months, I showed no “symptoms of mental illness”—except post traumatic stress triggered by the Justice Department’s refusal to end my imprisonment on my release date. 478 That’s a fairly sane response to the events, I’d say. 

My judicial abuse provides striking evidence of a leadership breakdown in Washington. For all the falderol, Congress failed badly to provide support and oversight protections for me as an Asset. 

Where was the Senate Intelligence Committee when an Asset needed them? Or the House Judiciary Committee, for that matter? What about my old boss, Senator Ron Wyden? Or Maryland’s Senator Barbara Mikulski— Both serve on the Intelligence Committee. 

Why didn’t any of those powerful Senators take action to protect a woman Asset who came under attack for claiming to be a woman Asset? As if it was laughable that women could do such work. All of Congress bragged about its “outstanding leadership support” for the antiterrorism work that I devoted 9 years of my life to performing. This was the time to prove it. 

So why did nobody help me? 

Infamously, one morning I challenged one of the psychiatrists that Carswell should expect a hard hitting Congressional investigation of the abuse I suffered in their prison. 

The man laughed in my face: “They don’t care what happens to you. Nobody’s going to help you. They’re quite pleased with the way we’ve handled this.” 

If so, it was a terrible judgment call. My imprisonment set a dangerous precedent in the intelligence community. It borrowed the old Soviet game plan from the Cold War, punishing Assets for knowing “inconvenient truths, ” and viciously trying to “correct” my thinking, in order to cover up their own political mistakes. 

The question was, how low would Republicans sink? 

The answer was, as low as possible. They would inflict as much damage as they could get away with. 

Everything depended on Judge Mukasey. Ted Lindauer swore that Judge Mukasey was nobody’s fool. He wanted a vehicle to end the case, Ted speculated. But he’d see what they were up to. This incompetence strategy was what Talkin handed him. That’s what the Court had to work with. 

Really though, I had no idea what to think.

According to federal law, the maximum detention for a competence evaluation is 120 days—and no longer. 479 After 120 days, if a person shows no signs of violence towards himself, others or property, he or she must be released back to the community. That’s plenty of time, by the way. Most psych studies can be completed within 60 days, unless it involves a drug detox. 

That should have put me outside the prison gates on February 3, 2006—and not one day later, according to federal law. 

Grimly, I waited. 

As my big day got closer, other women inmates began to notice that basic steps for my release were not taken. There started to be whispers on M1 that something wasn’t right. That kind of prison gossip travels fast. 

And so the day of my release approached. 

February 3rd started like any other day. There were no goodbyes the night before, a prison ritual with prayers and hugs for those left behind. No staff woke me before dawn to usher me quietly out of the prison before other inmates woke to see me go. 

With quiet stealth, the Bureau of Prisons website reported that my release had been postponed “indefinitely.” 480 

Back home in Maryland, friends and family finally panicked. They could not believe what had just happened. 

Locked inside prison on a Texas military base— an accused “Iraqi Agent—” I was terrified.

to be continued....

439. Notice of Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. Signed December 23, 2005. 
440. Biography of Edward O’Callaghan. Law Firm of Peabody and Nixon. 2010. 
441. Ibid. Notice of Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. Signed Dec 23, 2005. 
442. Ibid. Testimony of Parke Godfrey, Southern District of New York. June, 2008. 
443. Ibid. Monthly reports of observation filed by Dr. Bruke Taddesseh, Family Health Services. March, 2004 through March, 2005. 
444. Participants listed as Dr. William Pederson and Dr. Colin Vas. Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
445. Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
446. Ibid. Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
447. Ibid. Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
448. Ibid. Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
449. Court filings by Carswell Prison Staff on behalf of the Bureau of Prisons. U.S. vs. Lindauer 
450. (i) Ibid. staff notes on M-1 acquired by Subpoena, Carswell Prison, October, 2005 through April, 2006. Documents repeated demands for Shadduck to interview witnesses. (ii) Ibid. Court testimony by Parke Godfrey. Southern District of New York, June 2008. 
451. Decision on Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
452. Ibid. Decision on Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. See Appendix. 
453. Ibid. Decision on Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
454. Ibid. staff notes on M-1 acquired by Subpoena show repeated demands to interview witnesses and confirm story., Carswell Prison, October, 2005 through April, 2006. 
455. Ibid. Decision on Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 

456. No Mercy at Federal Prisons, ” by Betty Brink, the Progressive Populist 
457. Ibid. No Mercy at Federal Prisons, ” by Betty Brink, the Progressive Populist 
458. Ibid. No Mercy at Federal Prisons, ” by Betty Brink, the Progressive Populist 
459. Ibid. No Mercy at Federal Prisons, ” by Betty Brink, the Progressive Populist 
460. Three Arrested in Conspiracy to Smuggle Alient into the United States. Department of Justice. September 8, 2004. 
461. Michigan Woman Sentenced for her Role in Smuggling Scores of Iraqis and Jordanians into the United States. Department of Justice. November 19, 2007. 
462. Ibid. Michigan Woman Sentenced. Department of Justice. November 19, 2007. 
463. FBI Evidence. Citizens for Public Integrity Email Data Base. 
464. Ibid. FBI Evidence Citizens for Public Integrity Issue Papers. 
465. Ibid. U.S. Senate Intelligence Committee. Inquiry of Pre-War Intelligence from January, 2003. Released in May, 2007. 
466. Ibid. Letters to Andy Card January 8, 2003 and Colin Powell, January 27, 2003. 
467. Ibid. Monthly reports of observation filed by Dr. Bruke Taddesseh, Family Health Services. March, 2004 through March, 2005. 
468. Carswell Prison. Monthly Observation Reports on M-1. Oct, 2005 through April, 2006. 
469. Carswell Prison. Monthly Observation Reports on M-1, notes by Dr. Colin Vas. October 23, 2005. 
470. Carswell Prison. Staff notes on M-1 on Susan Lindauer, daily and continuous from October, 2005 through April, 2006. 
471. Ibid. Carswell Prison. Monthly Observation Reports on M-1. Oct, 2005 through April, 2006. 
472. Ibid. Carswell Prison. Monthly Observation Reports on M-1. October, 2005 through April, 2006. 
473. Ibid. Carswell Prison. Monthly Observation Reports on M-1. October, 2005 through April, 2006. 
474. Ibid. Decision on Internal Medication Hearing. Carswell Prison. December 28, 2005. 
475. Ibid. Federal Statute on Findings of Competence. U.S. Laws. 
476. Affidavit by Thayer Lindauer, see Appendix. 
477. Psychiatric Diagnosis. Carswell Prison. By Dr. Shadduck, Dr. Vas, Psychotic Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified” Dec. 28, 2005. 
478. Psychiatric Diagnosis by Dr. Tressa Burton, Counseling Plus, Silver Spring, Maryland, October, 2006. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder caused by incarceration. 
479. Ibid. Federal Statute on Findings of Competence, Process of Evaluations. 
480. Bureau of Prison Website. Inmate Locator citing release date, status of release.


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