One sunny afternoon in the week of liberation, I went to the theater. The hall at Kuwait University's school of music and drama is a place of conspicuous civilization, a big cantilevered room with modestly elegant blue cloth seats trimmed in gold, rich wood-paneled walls, and a deep, broad stage set above a large orchestra pit. I expected to be alone there but instead found a British television crew videotaping the statement of 29-year-old Abdullah Jasman, Kuwaiti citizen, University of Pittsburgh graduate, and victim of a torture session in this unlikely place. He was standing in the balcony, talking and crying. Here and there, the tile floor was spotted with drops of dried blood, little trails that went no place in particular.

"On the stage," Jasman said, pointing to a large section of steel set scaffolding, "you can see the metal frame. They put you on that, naked, with both legs spread and they spread you open all the way. … They raped one of my friends here. They raped him. They were laughing. They said, 'This is what your Emir did to you. …' There were a bunch of us brought here. You sat in these chairs, waiting to be tortured, blindfolded, and couldn't see anything. You'd hear the voices, loud, and the screaming and begging."

He pulled up his pant legs and showed the camera his calves, mottled with deep black burn wounds. "They put the wires on your legs and put your feet in the water, so your whole body is electricity," he said. "They would put you with the electricity in the water for twenty seconds, thirty seconds, and you would go unconscious and they would throw water on you and revive you, and then do it again." He began crying, in short, harsh, shuddering sobs, and he could not stop for many long, videotaped seconds...