Terry Holdbrooks stood watch over prisoners at Gitmo. What he saw made him adopt their faith. By Dan Ephron
Army specialist Terry Holdbrooks had been a guard at GuantÃ¡namo for about six months the night he had his life-altering conversation with detainee 590, a Moroccan also known as â€œthe General.â€ This was early 2004, about halfway through Holdbrooksâ€™s stint at GuantÃ¡namo with the 463rd Military Police Company. Until then, heâ€™d spent most of his day shifts just doing his duty. Heâ€™d escort prisoners to interrogations or walk up and down the cellblock making sure they werenâ€™t passing notes. But the midnight shifts were slow. â€œThe only thing you really had to do was mop the center floor,â€ he says. So Holdbrooks began spending part of the night sitting cross-legged on the ground, talking to detainees through the metal mesh of their cell doors.
He developed a strong relationship with the General, whose real name is Ahmed Errachidi. Their late-night conversations led Holdbrooks to be more skeptical about the prison, he says, and made him think harder about his own life. Soon, Holdbrooks was ordering books on Arabic and Islam. During an evening talk with Errachidi in early 2004, the conversation turned to the shahada, the one-line statement of faith that marks the single requirement for converting to Islam (â€There is no God but God and Muhammad is his prophetâ€). Holdbrooks pushed a pen and an index card through the mesh, and asked Errachidi to write out the shahada in English and transliterated Arabic. He then uttered the words aloud and, there on the floor of GuantÃ¡namoâ€™s Camp Delta, became a Muslim.
When historians look back on GuantÃ¡namo, the harsh treatment of detainees and the trampling of due process will likely dominate the narrative. Holdbrooks, who left the military in 2005, saw his share. In interviews over recent weeks, he and another former guard told NEWSWEEK about degrading and sometimes sadistic acts against prisoners committed by soldiers, medics and interrogators who wanted revenge for the 9/11 attacks on America. But as the fog of secrecy slowly lifts from GuantÃ¡namo, other scenes are starting to emerge as well, including surprising interactions between guards and detainees on subjects like politics, religion and even music. The exchanges reveal curiosity on both sidesâ€”sometimes even empathy. â€œThe detainees used to have conversations with the guards who showed some common respect toward them,â€ says Errachidi, who spent five years in GuantÃ¡namo and was released in 2007. â€œWe talked about everything, normal things, and things [we had] in common,â€ he wrote to NEWSWEEK in an e-mail from his home in Morocco.
Holdbrooksâ€™s level of identification with the other side was exceptional. No other guard has volunteered that he embraced Islam at the prison (though Errachidi says others expressed interest). His experience runs counter to academic studies, which show that guards and inmates at ordinary prisons tend to develop mutual hostility. But then, Holdbrooks is a contrarian by nature. He can also be conspiratorial. When his company visited the site of the 9/11 attacks in New York, Holdbrooks remembers thinking there had to be a broader explanation, and that the Bush administration must have colluded somehow in the plot.
But his misgivings about GuantÃ¡namoâ€”including doubts that the detainees were the â€œworst of the worstâ€â€”were shared by other guards as early as 2002. A few such guards are coming forward for the first time. Specialist Brandon Neely, who was at GuantÃ¡namo when the first detainees arrived that year, says his enthusiasm for the mission soured quickly. â€œThere were a couple of us guards who asked ourselves why these guys are being treated so badly and if theyâ€™re actually terrorists at all,â€ he told NEWSWEEK. Neely remembers having long conversations with detainee Ruhal Ahmed, who loved Eminem and James Bond and would often rap or sing to the other prisoners. Another former guard, Christopher Arendt, went on a speaking tour with former detainees in Europe earlier this year to talk critically about the prison.
Holdbrooks says growing up hard in Phoenixâ€”his parents were junkies and he himself was a heavy drinker before joining the military in 2002â€”helps explain what he calls his â€œanti-everything views.â€ He has holes the size of quarters in both earlobes, stretched-out piercings that he plugs with wooden discs. At his Phoenix apartment, bedecked with horror-film memorabilia, he rolls up both sleeves to reveal wrist-to-shoulder tattoos. He describes the ink work as a narrative of his mistakes and addictions. They include religious symbols and Nazi SS bolts, track marks and, in large letters, the words BY DEMONS BE DRIVEN. He says the line, from a heavy-metal song, reminds him to be a better person.
Holdbrooksâ€”TJ to his friendsâ€”says he joined the military to avoid winding up like his parents. He was an impulsive young man searching for stability. On his first home leave, he got engaged to a woman heâ€™d known for just eight days and married her three months later. With little prior exposure to religion, Holdbrooks was struck at Gitmo by the devotion detainees showed to their faith. â€œA lot of Americans have abandoned God, but even in this place, [the detainees] were determined to pray,â€ he says.
Holdbrooks was also taken by the prisonersâ€™ resourcefulness. He says detainees would pluck individual threads from their jumpsuits or prayer mats and spin them into long stretches of twine, which they would use to pass notes from cell to cell. He noticed that one detainee with a bad skin rash would smear peanut butter on his windowsill until the oil separated from the paste, then would use the oil on his rash.
Errachidiâ€™s detention seemed particularly suspect to Holdbrooks. The Moroccan detainee had worked as a chef in Britain for almost 18 years and spoke fluent English. He told Holdbrooks he had traveled to Pakistan on a business venture in late September 2001 to help pay for his sonâ€™s surgery. When he crossed into Afghanistan, he said, he was picked up by the Northern Alliance and sold to American troops for $5,000. At GuantÃ¡namo, Errachidi was accused of attending a Qaeda training camp. But a 2007 investigation by the London Times newspaper appears to have corroborated his story; it eventually helped lead to his release.
In prison, Errachidi was an agitator. â€œBecause I spoke English, I was always in the face of the soldiers,â€ he wrote NEWSWEEK in an e-mail. Errachidi said an American colonel at GuantÃ¡namo gave him his nickname, and warned him that generals â€œget hurtâ€ if they donâ€™t cooperate. He said his defiance cost him 23 days of abuse, including sleep deprivation, exposure to very cold temperatures and being shackled in stress positions. â€œI always believed the soldiers were doing illegal stuff and I was not ready to keep quiet.â€ (Navy Cmdr. Jeffrey Gordon, a Pentagon spokesman, said in response: â€œDetainees have often made claims of abuse that are simply not supported by the facts.â€) The Moroccan spent four of his five years at Gitmo in the punishment block, where detainees were denied â€œcomfort itemsâ€ like paper and prayer beads along with access to the recreation yard and the library.
Errachidi says he does not remember details of the night Holdbrooks converted. Over the years, he says, he discussed a range of religious topics with guards: â€œI spoke to them about subjects like Father Christmas and Ishac and Ibrahim [Isaac and Abraham] and the sacrifice. About Jesus.â€ Holdbrooks recalls that when he announced he wanted to embrace Islam, Errachidi warned him that converting would be a serious undertaking and, at GuantÃ¡namo, a messy affair. â€œHe wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting myself into.â€ Holdbrooks later told his two roommates about the conversion, and no one else.
But other guards noticed changes in him. They heard detainees calling him Mustapha, and saw that Holdbrooks was studying Arabic openly. (At his Phoenix apartment, he displays the books he had amassed. They include a leather-bound, six-volume set of Muslim sacred texts and â€œThe Complete Idiotâ€™s Guide to Understanding Islam.â€) One night his squad leader took him to a yard behind his living quarters, where five guards were waiting to stage a kind of intervention. â€œThey started yelling at me,â€ he recalls, â€œasking if I was a traitor, if I was switching sides.â€ At one point a squad leader pulled back his fist and the two men traded blows, Holdbrooks says.
Holdbrooks spent the rest of his time at GuantÃ¡namo mainly keeping to himself, and nobody bothered him further. Another Muslim who served there around the same time had a different experience. Capt. James Yee, a Gitmo chaplain for much of 2003, was arrested in September of that year on suspicion of aiding the enemy and other crimesâ€”charges that were eventually dropped. Yee had become a Muslim years earlier. He says the Muslims on staff at Gitmoâ€”mainly translatorsâ€”often felt beleaguered. â€œThere was an overall atmosphere by the command to vilify Islam.â€ (Commander Gordonâ€™s response: â€œWe strongly disagree with the assertions made by Chaplain Yeeâ€).
At Holdbrooksâ€™s next station, in Fort Leonard Wood, Mo., he says things began to unravel. The only place to kill time within miles of the base was a Wal-Mart and two strip clubsâ€”Big Daddyâ€™s and Big Louieâ€™s. â€œIâ€™ve never been a fan of strip clubs, so I hung out at Wal-Mart,â€ he says. Within months, Holdbrooks was released from the militaryâ€”two years before the end of his commitment. The Army gave him an honorable discharge with no explanation, but the events at Gitmo seemed to loom over the decision. The Army said it would not comment on the matter.
Back in Phoenix, Holdbrooks returned to drinking, in part to suppress what he describes as the anger that consumed him. (Neely, the other ex-guard who spoke to NEWSWEEK, said GuantÃ¡namo had made him so depressed he spent up to $60 a day on alcohol during a monthlong leave from the detention center in 2002.) Holdbrooks divorced his wife and spiraled further. Eventually his addictions landed him in the hospital. He suffered a series of seizures, as well as a fall that resulted in a bad skull fracture and the insertion of a titanium plate in his head.
Recently, Holdbrooks has been back in touch with Errachidi, who has suffered his own ordeal since leaving the detention center. Errachidi told NEWSWEEK he had trouble adjusting to his freedom, â€œtrying to learn how to walk without shackles and trying to sleep at night with the lights off.â€ He signed each of the dozen e-mails he sent to NEWSWEEK with the impersonal ID that his captors had given him: Ahmed 590.
Holdbrooks, now 25, says he quit drinking three months ago and began attending regular prayers at the Tempe Islamic Center, a mosque near the University of Phoenix, where he works as an enrollment counselor. The long scar on his head is now mostly hidden under the lace of his Muslim kufi cap. When the imam at Tempe introduced Holdbrooks to the congregation and explained heâ€™d converted at GuantÃ¡namo, a few dozen worshipers rushed over to shake his hand. â€œI would have thought they had the most savage soldiers serving there,â€ says the imam, Amr Elsamny, an Egyptian. â€œI never thought it would be someone like TJ.â€
Check out the video below: