Finding Redemption Through Acceptance Working as an interrogator at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, is a dangerous job. Yet an experience with a terrorism suspect led one veteran of the Iraq war to believe in the power of redemption and acceptance.
NPR logo

Finding Redemption Through Acceptance

  • Download
  • <iframe src="" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
  • Transcript
Finding Redemption Through Acceptance

Finding Redemption Through Acceptance

  • Download
  • <iframe src="" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
  • Transcript


From NPR News, this is WEEKEND EDITION. I'm Liane Hansen.

Unidentified Man #1: I believe in mystery.

Unidentified Woman: I believe in family.

Unidentified Man #2: I believe in being who I am.

Unidentified Man #3: I believe in the power of failure.

Unidentified Man #4: And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

Unidentified Man #5: This I believe.

HANSEN: Our essay today came to us from an unusual source. She's a former interrogator at Guantanamo Bay Naval Base in Cuba. We can't broadcast her real name or current location because of death threats against U.S. interrogators, so we'll call her Alex Anderson(ph).

Here's our series curator, independent producer Jay Allison.

JAY ALLISON: Alex Anderson heard our series on the radio while working at the prison at Guantanamo during a time of crisis for her. She said that this project gave her a way to organize her thoughts about her core convictions in a way that helped her make sense of her actions as you will hear in her essay for This I Believe.

Ms. ALEX ANDERSON (Former Interrogator, Guantanamo Bay Naval Base, Cuba): I believe in the power of redemption.

I was an interrogator at the detention facility in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. I don't have any torture stories to share. I think many people would be surprised at the civilized lifestyle I experienced in Guantanamo. The detainees I worked with were murderers and rapists. You never forgot for a moment that, given the chance, they'd kill you to get out. Some committed crimes so horrific that I lost sleep wondering what would happen if they were set free.

But that is not the only reason I couldn't sleep. I had spent 18 months in Iraq just before my arrival in Cuba. First I served as a soldier for a year, and then returned as a civilian contractor because I felt I hadn't done enough to make a difference the first time. After the Abu Ghraib scandal broke, I left because I felt I couldn't make any difference anymore. Those events simply undermined all of our work.

I felt defeated and frightened and tired, and I hoped I could redeem myself by making a difference in Guantanamo. Still, I couldn't sleep. I was plagued with dreams of explosions and screaming. After being sleepless for more than 48 hours, I began to hallucinate. I thought people were planting bombs outside my house in Guantanamo. That was the night my roommate brought me to the hospital.

When I returned to work, I began to meet again with my clients, which is what I chose to call my detainees. We were all exhausted. Many of them came back from a war having lost friends, too. I wondered how many of them still heard screaming at night like I did.

My job was to obtain information that would help keep U.S. soldiers safe. We'd meet, play dominoes, I'd bring chocolate and we'd talk a lot. There was one detainee, Mustafa, who joked that I was his favorite interrogator in the world, and I joked back that he was my favorite terrorist — and he was. He'd committed murders and did things we all wished he could take back. He asked me one day, suddenly serious, (speaking in foreign language) - you know everything about me, but still you do not hate me. Why?

His question stopped me cold. I said, everyone has done things in their past that they're not proud of. I know I have, but I also know God still expects me to love Him with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, and to love my neighbor as myself. That means you.

Mustafa started to cry. That's what my God says, too, he said.

Accepting Mustafa helped me accept myself again. My clients may never know this, but my year with them helped me to finally heal. My nightmares stopped.

I don't know what kind of difference I made to the mission in Guantanamo. But I found redemption in caring for my clients, and I believe it saved my life — or at least my sanity. People say, hate the sin, not the sinner. This is easier said than done, but I learned that there is true freedom in accepting others unconditionally.

I believe we help to redeem each other through the power of acceptance. It is powerful to those who receive it and more powerful to those who give it.

ALLISON: With her essay for This I Believe, Alex Anderson, a pseudonym to protect her identity because of death threats on U.S. interrogators.

Anderson has left Guantanamo but is still working in intelligence.

If you have a statement of personal belief you'd like to send to us, visit our Web site for details. That's, where you can also find a link to our weekly podcast.

For This I Believe, I'm Jay Allison.

HANSEN: Jay Allison is co-editor with Dan Gediman, John Gregory and Viki Merrick of the book "This I Believe: The Personal Philosophies of Remarkable Men and Women."

Copyright © 2007 NPR. All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions pages at for further information.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by Verb8tm, Inc., an NPR contractor, and produced using a proprietary transcription process developed with NPR. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.