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The man nominated as next leader of the CIA made a welcome assertion this week. Congressman Mike Pompeo told a Senate confirmation hearing that he was fully committed to the agency being ‘out of the enhanced interrogation business.’ For which read - we won’t go back to the torture of waterboarding. Which could be a disappointment to his new boss, who told a cheering audience on the campaign trail that he liked the practice a lot: ‘I don’t think it’s tough enough,’ he said. Mr Pompeo insisted that he would ‘absolutely not’ restart such programmes, even if asked to do so by the president. I very much hope he’s able to stick to that. I understand the fears which might prompt military and security services (and their political masters) to justify torture as a lesser evil when faced with real threat - the disaster mustn’t happen on our watch. And inflicting intense pain can sometimes extract useful information (as well as a lot of rubbish). But international agreements outlawing it are formulated on the understanding that it’s unnecessary; and many seasoned interrogators endorse that. There are ways of encouraging governments to live up to their commitments, training those who deal with prisoners, and helping to create a climate where the unthinkable really is unthinkable again. Forty years ago a Chilean postgraduate student stood in our chapel schoolroom in North Wales and described falteringly what he suffered, like many others, for demonstrating against General Pinochet. The same puzzled words punctuated every other sentence: ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad,’ he said, ‘if only I’d done something.’ His litany of perplexity has always troubled me. Some of the people held at Guantanamo - still functioning as it enters its 16th year despite a president’s best efforts - were seen to be innocent: they were not the ‘worst of the worst’, the ‘bad dudes’ threatening the world’s security. But it didn’t save them from the abuse. And in a variety of countries I’ve met people who’ve been tortured for the simple reason that their work for the poorest or their desire to share their faith has offended the powerful. You don’t need religious faith to find torture offensive, and do something about it. But I can’t separate my opposition to it from the conviction that every individual bears the image of God. The person at the heart of my faith was tortured to death, and I believe he bears the nail prints in heaven. That carries an obligation beyond indignation - to appeal for those facing this abuse today, for sure, and to let them know they’re not forgotten. But also to recognise survivors of torture in our own communities: alongside specialist support, they often need simple friendship. That needn’t be beyond any of us.