In Unspeakable Acts, Ordinary People, John Conroy painstakingly and powerfully investigates three incidents of torture in different parts of what most would consider the civilized world: A British military interrogation of supposed IRA members in Northern Ireland, two separate Israeli raids into Palestine, and the questioning of a black murder suspect by Chicago policemen are each examined in incredible detail. In each case, torture was tacitly acknowledged as necessary by authorities involved and then methodically carried out by ordinary soldiers or policemen. What, then, drove supposedly normal people—in the service of supposedly honorable organizations empowered by supposedly civilized nations—to employ such tactics? Conroy's investigation, which he documents carefully and unemotionally, deals with all three of these levels, but the most deeply affecting by far is the human. His interviews with former torturers, including some of the principals in his three main cases, provide chilling firsthand accounts of how an extraordinary evil becomes a casual act to the torturer when the right combination of official duties and personal frustrations are achieved. Conroy's main thesis, that anyone could become a torturer given the right opportunities, is eloquently fleshed out: He shows how bewildered most torturers are by what they've done, how reluctant most of them are to accept full personal responsibility, and how those who do seem to realize the futility and the inhumanity of their actions. One of the most striking things about Unspeakable Acts, Ordinary People is not the unspeakable nature of the acts nor the ordinariness of the people, but how those people admit that torture almost invariably fails to produce its desired effect. In the cases cited by Conroy, the British uncovered no IRA operatives through torture, the Israelis did not stop (and probably intensified) the Intifada, and the Chicago police had proof that their suspect was guilty before they savaged him. The fact that acts of torture were performed anyway, and continue to be performed despite all reason, is a powerful argument for reading Conroy's brilliant, disturbing book.