Torture or terrorism? That moral dilemma has enmeshed the U.S. since 9/11, and although the choice truly isn’t either/or, that’s the way many Americans perceive it.

Yussef El Guindi’s Back of the Throat examines that question with a chilling look at excesses in the name of security. It’s set shortly after the September attacks, and Khaled, an Arab-American, gets visited in his apartment by two government agents. He’s cooperative and friendly at first, but when they continue asking questions and searching around without revealing why, he gets frightened and resistant.

Brian Abraham and Walter Ritter.

^{Courtesy photo}

One investigator, Bartlett, attempts to be casual and friendly. The other, Carl, quietly goes about examining everything, although they present no warrant and refuse to tell what they’re looking for. They comment on Khaled’s wide and sometimes odd choices in books — for instance, one is about assassination — and he says he’s a writer who needs to research a range of topics. When they ask what’s on his laptop, he says it’s mostly half-finished stories.

Khaled also has some girlie magazines, and Bartlett seems particularly offended by what he considers Khaled’s obsession with sex. As the questioning grows rougher, they produce a picture of him at a strip club (recalling the 9/11 hijackers who visited San Diego strip joints). But is it really him? They say so, but he denies it.

It turns out he’s been deemed suspicious by several sources, who appear in flashbacks: a local librarian; his ex-girlfriend, who thought he might be having an affair; and a pole dancer — although she’s unable to make a positive identification.

The shaky “evidence” is enough for the agents, and they get mean. Bartlett even explodes into a rant about immigrants who “hate America but come here to take from us.” When he shows reservations about physical mistreatment, Carl produces a manual and reads the rules for interrogation, including “no bruising” and nothing that elicits screams lasting “more than 10 seconds.”

The play’s title had come up when the two agents were bantering about pronouncing Khaled’s name. Carl did it with the correct guttural emphasis, leading Bartlett to observe, “It’s that back-of-the-throat thing.” Now, however, as the two begin tormenting Khaled, that title takes on a new and deadly meaning.

Amid all this, El Guindi does manage to inject some dark humor. At one point, Bartlett offers Khaled a feedback form about the agents and their visit; “Anything you don’t like, just write it on the evaluation form.”

Director Sara Beth Morgan deftly modulates the pace and has elicited powerful performances from Brian Abraham as Khaled, Walter Ritter as Bartlett and Tom Hall as Carl. DeNae Steele plays the three informers with distinction, although she needs more work on the pole to be a credible stripper. Rhys Greene is effective as a Khaled acquaintance who may or may not be a co-conspirator.

Is Khaled innocent or a plotter? We’re left with that question plus the overhanging and still-unanswerable quandary: Domestic terrorism or unchecked government powers — which poses the greater menace to our future?

Courtney Smith’s costuming, standard garb for the men, is most ingenious in the stripper’s red, white and blue cowgirl outfit. Matt Scott’s set, Khaled’s unkempt and book-strewn writer’s apartment, is extensive and detailed, with special kudos for Claudio Raygoza’s props, which include the sometimes-esoteric volumes mentioned in the script.

Raygoza also designed the lighting — using sometimes-sinister pooling and shifting brightness to delineate flashbacks — and the sound, notably ironic in the stripper’s background songs: Neil Diamond’s “America” and the Guess Who’s “American Woman.” Opening night had a couple of light and sound miscues, but hey, it’s a revamped venue.

ion is debuting its new facility, the redesigned black-box Compass Theatre, by doing Throat in repertory with Elliot, a Soldier’s Fugue and calling the pairing An American Duet. Elliot, by Quiara Alegría Hudes, tells the story of three generations of combat veterans — Korea, Vietnam, Iraq — from the same Puerto Rican-American family, so ion is presenting two versions of the American Experience for immigrants. The contrast is thoughtful and provocative.

Cast and credits