I should have felt triumphant when I returned from Iraq in August 2006. Instead, I was worried and exhausted. My team of interrogators had successfully hunted down one of the most notorious mass murderers of our generation, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the leader of al-Qaida in Iraq and the mastermind of the campaign of suicide bombings that had helped plunge Iraq into civil war. But instead of celebrating our success, my mind was consumed with the unfinished business of our mission: fixing the deeply flawed, ineffective and un-American way the U.S. military conducts interrogations in Iraq. I'm still alarmed about that today.
I'm not some ivory-tower type; I served for 14 years in the U.S. Air Force, began my career as a Special Operations pilot flying helicopters, saw combat in Bosnia and Kosovo, became an Air Force counterintelligence agent, then volunteered to work as a senior interrogator in Iraq. What I saw in Iraq still rattles me — both because it betrays our traditions and because it just doesn't work.
Violence was peaking during my five-month tour. In February 2006, the month before I arrived, al-Zarqawi's forces (members of Iraq's Sunni minority) blew up the golden-domed Askariya mosque in Samarra, a shrine revered by Iraq's majority Shiites, and unleashed a wave of sectarian bloodshed. Reprisal killings became a daily occurrence, and suicide bombings were as common as car accidents. It felt as if the whole country was being blown to bits.
Amid the chaos, four other Air Force criminal investigators and I joined an elite team of interrogators attempting to locate al-Zarqawi. Our methods astonished me. The Army was still conducting interrogations according to the Guantanamo Bay model: Interrogators were nominally using the methods outlined in the U.S. Army Field Manual, the interrogators' bible, but they were bending — and often breaking — the rules in every way possible. I don't have to belabor the point; dozens of newspaper articles and books have been written about these interrogations based on fear and control, which often resulted in torture and abuse.
I refused to participate in such practices and extended that prohibition to my team of interrogators. I taught a new methodology — one based on building rapport with suspects, showing cultural understanding and using old-fashioned brainpower to tease out information. I personally conducted more than 300 interrogations and supervised more than 1,000. My team's methods are not classified (they're listed in the unclassified Field Manual), but the way we used them was, I like to think, unique. We got to know our enemies, we learned to negotiate with them, and we adapted criminal investigative techniques to our work (something that the Field Manual permits, under the concept of "ruses and trickery''). Our efforts started a chain of successes that ultimately led to al-Zarqawi.
Our attitudes changed along the way. We no longer saw our prisoners as the stereotypical al-Qaida evildoers we had been repeatedly briefed to expect; we saw them as Sunni Iraqis, often family men protecting themselves from Shiite militias and trying to ensure that fellow Sunnis would have some access to wealth and power in the new Iraq. Most surprisingly, they turned out to despise al-Qaida in Iraq as much as they despised us, but al-Zarqawi and his thugs were willing to provide them with arms and money. (I pointed this out to Gen. George Casey, former top U.S. commander in Iraq, when he visited my prison in summer 2006. He did not respond.)
My team was right to think that many disgruntled Sunnis could be peeled away from al-Zarqawi. A year later, Gen. David Petraeus helped boost the so-called Anbar Awakening, in which tens of thousands of Sunnis turned against al-Qaida in Iraq and signed up with U.S. forces, cutting violence in the country dramatically.
Our new interrogation methods led to one of the war's biggest breakthroughs: We convinced one of al-Zarqawi's associates to give up his location. On June 8, 2006, U.S. warplanes dropped two 500-pound bombs on a house where al-Zarqawi was meeting with other insurgent leaders.
That wasn't enough to convince the joint Special Operations task force, for which I worked. The old methods continued. I came home feeling as if my mission was far from accomplished, and soon after the public learned that the CIA had repeatedly used waterboarding to try to get information out of detainees.
I know the counter-argument well: that we need the rough stuff for the truly hard cases, such as battle-hardened core leaders of al-Qaida. But we turned several hard cases with our techniques. A few gave up critical information without abandoning the jihadist cause. One told me: "I thought you would torture me, and when you didn't, I decided that everything I was told about Americans was wrong. That's why I decided to cooperate.''
Torture and abuse are inconsistent with American principles. And on the pragmatic side, torture and abuse cost American lives.
I learned in Iraq that the No. 1 reason foreign fighters flocked there to fight were the abuses carried out at Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo. Our policy of torture was directly recruiting fighters for al-Qaida in Iraq. These foreigners carry out most suicide bombings in Iraq and are also involved in most of the attacks on U.S. and coalition forces in Iraq. At least half of our losses and casualties in that country have come at the hands of foreigners who joined the fray because of our program of detainee abuse. The number of U.S. soldiers who have died because of our torture policy will never be definitively known, but it is fair to say that it is close to the number of lives lost on Sept. 11, 2001. How anyone can say that torture keeps Americans safe is beyond me — unless you don't count American soldiers as Americans.
I began to write about my experiences because I felt obliged not only to point out the broken wheel but to try to fix it. When I submitted my manuscript to the Defense Department for a standard review to ensure that it did not contain classified information, I got a nasty shock. Pentagon officials delayed the review past the first printing date and redacted an extraordinary amount of unclassified material — including material from the Army's Field Manual and the Army Web site. I sued, first to get the review completed and later to appeal the redactions. Apparently, some in the military command are not only unconvinced by the arguments against torture; they don't even want the public to hear them.
My experiences have landed me in the middle of another war, one even more important than the Iraq conflict: one about who we are as Americans. Murderers like al-Zarqawi can kill us, but they can't force us to change who we are. Only we can do that to ourselves.
Americans must fight to protect our values not only from al-Qaida but from those within our own country who would erode them. Other interrogators are also speaking out, including some former members of the military, the FBI and the CIA who met last summer to condemn torture and have spoken before Congress — at considerable personal risk.
There truly is a better way to carry out interrogations, and a way to get out of this false choice between torture and terror.
I'm quite optimistic these days, partly because President-elect Barack Obama has promised to outlaw the practice of torture throughout our government. But until we renounce the sorts of abuses that have stained our national honor, al-Qaida will be winning. Al-Zarqawi is dead, but he has still forced us to show the world that we do not adhere to the principles we say we cherish. We're better than that. We're smarter, too.
Matthew Alexander led an interrogations team assigned to a Special Operations task force in Iraq in 2006. He is the author of "How to Break a Terrorist: The U.S. Interrogators Who Used Brains, Not Brutality, to Take Down the Deadliest Man in Iraq.'' He is writing under a pseudonym for security reasons.