All of these tales lead to a much bigger picture, in that a majority of Pashtun-Afghans appear unable to truly think for themselves, or make educated decisions. I cannot fault them for their lack of independent thinking, as every facet of their lives has been dictated to them for so long. I think many find it difficult or even stressful to have to make decisions for themselves. I see this pattern existing all the way up to the highest political leader in Afghanistan, President Karzai. Even he, and his government, essentially follows the instructions of the NATO countries that are charged with guiding Afghanistan into a democratic state. Sadly, the Afghan government is weak now, ten years after the fall of The Taliban. Without such hand-holding from foreign countries, I do not believe their government can make much progress on their own. I sincerely hope I am wrong.
COWARDICE, INDIFFERENCE & FUTILITY
While serving on active duty with the U.S. Army, I deployed to Baghdad, Iraq from 2004 to 2005. There, I worked with a joint Counterintelligence unit, meaning we had members from all branches of the military, as well as, government civilians and contractors. Reflecting now on my time in Iraq, I realize the many differences between Iraqi and Afghan citizens and their cultures. Although the two countries follow the same religion, the similarities seem to end there. The most notable difference I found was in the level of perceived helplessness and cowardice on behalf of the Afghans. I dislike painting the Afghan culture in a negative light, but Iraqis appeared much braver, more progressive and open-minded. In my personal experience, Iraqis were willing to fight and stand up for what they believed in and that which would pave their country’s way to freedom. Afghans, on the other hand, appeared resigned to the concept that their fate was predetermined and there was nothing they could do to control it.
I estimate I interviewed maybe a couple dozen Afghans who were willing to do nearly anything to serve their country and make Afghanistan a better, safer place. To my dismay, and disappointment, the vast majority had the exact opposite attitude. The Taliban were in power for approximately five years in the late 1990s. Ten years after they were ousted, the brainwashing they had imposed on the Afghan citizens was still readily apparent. It was obvious the oppressive nature of the Taliban regime was still widespread. The locals continued to feel powerless, despite opportunities offered to them by their own government. The formation of the Afghan security forces (military and police) provided hundreds of thousands of potential employment opportunities countrywide. After years of struggling to provide food and basic supplies for their families, it would seem the Afghan men would have jumped at the opportunity for a stable, semi-permanent job, with a regular paycheck. Surprisingly this was not often the case. In fact, most of the local men I spoke with had no interest in working for their government, or playing a part in the future of their country.
The two most common reasons locals gave me for not wanting to join the Afghan National Army (ANA) or the Afghan National Police (ANP) were: (1) it was too dangerous and/or (2) joining would force them to move away from their home village/province. Many stated they would contemplate joining when Coalition Forces left their country, meaning they considered it only as a last resort. They knew once the Coalition Forces left, thousands of jobs would leave with them. My experiences were skewed in one direction because I was not regularly interviewing people who were motivated to join the military or police. The locals I spoke with were in my office because they wanted a job on the base, maybe picking up trash, working construction or cleaning bathrooms. I have no doubt that there is certainly another side to this story, but one I did not experience on a regular basis. This is evidenced by the approximately 300,000 Afghan security forces who bravely serve their country and, for whom I have the utmost respect.
There is only one national police force in Afghanistan, unlike the U.S. The various Afghan provinces and cities do not have their own local law enforcement agencies. They are patrolled by the national police. Unfortunately, even though new soldiers and police officers are required to sign a contract (usually for three years), there is no enforcement of these contracts. Often, the new recruits become “tired” of the introductory training camp and simply quit and return home. Or, they wait until they receive their initial duty assignment, and, if it is in a location they are not happy with, they walk away from the job. It was amazing to me that they were guaranteed a paycheck for three years, but they would give that up to return home unemployed. Unlike the U.S. military, there are no repercussions for quitting prior to their end of their contract. Although the term “AWOL” existed, as far as I can tell, there were no Afghan government officials out looking for those who have deserted the military or police. There is no way to realistically impose any consequences for those who go AWOL. In the U.S., a deserter’s bank accounts can be frozen, credit cards and cell phones can be tracked, and an arrest warrant can be issued. None of these procedures exist in Afghanistan. Afghans do not have credit cards, very few have bank accounts and the judges and police have more important duties than issuing or serving an arrest warrant. I listened to many local Afghans claim they had wanted to join the military or police to serve their country. Often, these men quit prior to the end of their three year contract. When I asked why, several told me their parents forced them to quit, because they felt it was too dangerous for their son to serve in these capacities. I suspect this reasoning was probably a lie, in many cases, as Afghans commonly do not want to take responsibility for their own perceived weakness. Why admit your weakness or fearfulness when you can place blame elsewhere and still look like a hero? Despite this, I am sure that in some circumstances, this reason was absolutely true. I never will understand how a parent could grow up through decades of war, and not honor their son’s wishes to serve their country and fight for future freedom. They would rather keep their son at home, tending the farm, with little to no education and life skills, than risk his life for the greater good of the country and culture. I understand no parent wants to outlive their child. But I cannot comprehend the mentality of Afghan adults, not wanting someone in their family to partner with the NATO forces to end the decades-long wartime environment they have endured.
I often asked these men, who refused to join the security forces, or who had deserted, why they felt it was okay for the U.S. military to essentially fight their war for them, without their assistance. I reminded them that American soldiers were dying nearly every day, for a country that was not theirs. I reinforced the fact that I, and every other soldier and contractor in Afghanistan, willingly left our families for extended periods of time, to come help the Afghan people, because we believed in peace and justice. I often received a smug look and shrug of the shoulders. “It is their job”, many told me. “We did not ask you to come here.” Though the latter part was true, responses such as these made my blood boil, but in an effort to remain professional, I never admitted my anger to any of these men. Although responses like this were probably logical from their point of view, it left me with the impression that a majority of Afghans were perfectly content to let someone else do their dirty work. Many appeared unappreciative of our efforts to secure their country and provide logistics and security.
Not wanting to leave home was another phenomenon I found to resonate amongst most Afghans who did not want to enlist in the security forces. They often told me their reason for not joining the military or police was because they would inevitably be sent away from their village, both for basic training and duty assignment. At times, I felt as if I were interviewing a five-year-old on his first day of kindergarten, not wanting to leave his mother’s side. These grown men literally appeared frightened at the idea of leaving their comfort zone, i.e. their parents’ house and village. It is not as if they would be required to leave Afghanistan and deploy halfway around the world, to fight in a war nowhere near their homeland, as our soldiers did. They were simply being asked to take a bus a couple hours north to Kabul for basic training. From there, they would receive a duty assignment elsewhere in Afghanistan, s
till within their home country. And yet, you would think they were being asked to ride the space shuttle to the moon. The prospect of not being able to see their family each night was much more frightening than the possibility of The Taliban taking over their country again. I thought the locals would have jumped at the chance to experience a different part of their country, to see new sights and meet new people. In previous decades, they did not have the freedom to travel, even within Afghanistan. Many men I met had never ventured beyond the closest market area near their village. It had simply been too dangerous in previous years. It was a sad reality that, even though the freedom to travel now existed, most had no interest. I recognized, however, that none of these men had been raised to express curiosity about the unknown and that not venturing away from one’s village had been ingrained in them since birth.
I had many Afghan men approach me, asking for assistance in obtaining a weapons permit. Most households owned at least one weapon, many of which dated back to the Russian invasion, and were in poor shape. But, whether the weapons were in working condition or not, the Afghans wanted one in their house. If they were able to obtain an official permit for the weapon, they could carry it legally with them on their person or in their vehicle. My office had nothing to do with the weapon permit process, but somehow many locals had the impression that we could assist them with it. I asked these men why they were so interested in a obtaining official authorization to carry a firearm. Nearly all of them responded that, with such documentation, they would be able to travel throughout the local area, armed with legal protection against insurgents. The threat appeared more far-reaching for some than others. One man told me he needed to carry his weapon “for protection against lions.” That was a new one to me. I was not aware of any problems with wild African animals running freely around the local countryside.
As readers might suspect, any information about local insurgents was of interest to my team and me. I explained to these men who were in search of weapons permits that if they could provide information to us, about insurgents and insurgent activities within their village, we would pass that information to the U.S. military. This information would be delivered anonymously and in strict confidence. With specific information, certain military units on base could act quickly to capture known insurgents from local villages. This way, the area would be safer and the locals would not feel obligated to always have a weapon with them.
Despite my attempts at persuasion, most Afghans were extremely reluctant to provide information about local villagers causing trouble, or those involved with an insurgent group. The vast majority of them preferred to keep this type of information to themselves, fearing reprisal. Instead, they chose to keep their weapon(s) and act in self-defense, if necessary. They favored this option over that of acting proactively and turning in those causing a threat to the local area. It was amazing to me that they picked this route. If I knew someone in my neighborhood in the U.S. was stealing cars, for example, I would turn them into authorities immediately without a second thought.
One man actually came to me and said “I heard you give all of our names to The Taliban, so they can kill us.” This statement of ignorance nearly broke my heart. After all the work we did to help these locals and the effort we put into gaining their trust, for many, it was not enough. The U.S. military had spent ten years trying to put an end to the fear and oppression imposed upon the Afghans by The Taliban, and other groups, but our efforts appeared to have been in vain. The locals still believed the propaganda circulated by local insurgent groups. As a result, most were tight-lipped and unwilling to provide information regarding insurgents who lived and/or operated in their village. The status quo was all they knew and it was fine with them.
I saw a theme of indifference among many of our base workers as well. No one seemed to take much pride in their work. They were nearly like robots, following directions and doing the minimum. Some did not even have any interest in their own family. One man, for example, informed that he did not know his brother’s name. “I never asked my parents what they named him,” he told me. That was indifference at its finest.
Part my team’s job was to conduct lie detector tests, in-depth interviews and records checks of local Afghans applying for a Special Immigrant Visa (SIV) to the U.S. Essentially, each one of these persons was competing for a visa to the U.S., awarded to only 50 Afghan nationals per year. These visas allow the recipients temporary, but probably long-term, residence in the U.S. Applicants for the SIV program must have worked as an interpreter, in direct support of the U.S. military for a minimum of 12 months. Because of this requirement, logically, it followed that the applicant must speak decent English, since they had been employed as an interpreter for a period of time.
Normally, I insisted that all our day-to-day interviews be conducted with the assistance of an interpreter, who spoke Pashtu and/or Dari, and was a U.S. citizen. The reason for this was so we could obtain the interviewee’s instinctual answers and observe their natural, non-verbal behaviors. If someone had to stop and mentally translate answers from their native language to a non-native language, it allowed them time to fabricate lies and it interfered with their regular non-verbal reactions. Furthermore, although it was not uncommon to sit with an interviewee who spoke English well, I knew their English skills would never match that of their native language.
The only time I made an exception to this rule was for those Afghans applying for a visa to the U.S. Part of our day-long process with these applicants was an informal analysis of their English skills. Although their language skills were not an official part of the evaluation process, we wanted to know that, if granted a visa to the U.S., these persons could communicate effectively in our country. I felt their ability and motivation to learn English was an indicator of their actual desire to live in the U.S.
Some of our applicants’ English skills were superb. Unfortunately, this was not the norm. Despite their employment as an interpreter for U.S. forces, many of the SIV applicants’ English skills were lacking. Not only was this a concern in considering the person for a visa to the U.S., but it concerned us that our military units were going out to the field with an “interpreter” who was not up to par. If they were unable to answer simple questions during our interview, how were they handling more difficult issues, while dealing with the local Afghan population? Likely, many instances of misinterpretation were occurring daily on the battlefield which was a frightening realization.
This concern aside (though certainly not minimized), there was another trend that was very common among the SIV applicants. Historically, if applicants could provide proof that they and/or their family members were in danger, as a direct result of their employment with U.S. forces, their chance at a visa would (in theory) be improved. So, nearly every Afghan I interviewed provided stories of danger and threats to themselves and their families. Unfortunately for them, it was often obvious when they were fabricating or embellishing information.
My office kept fairly detailed records of reports of threats and violence against Afghans who worked on our base. Because most of our base employees came through my office, they knew they were supposed to report all incidents of threats and hostilities against themselves or their families. Because of the fear of reprisal I spoke about above, many would not report any such activities. However, when it came to applying for an SIV, suddenly, all the applicants appeared to have numerous stories of security risks to tell us about. I found it interesting that few of them had taken the time to inform us of these threats, prior to their interview. When I could not confirm any of the men’s accounts, from previous reports to our office, the applicants started to squirm and change their story. They also provided excuse after excuse, as to why they had not provided this information previously. In my view, if these men were truly in support of peace and security in Afghanistan, they would have reported any derogatory information immediately. That way, our troops could have acted on that information and possibly removed one (or more) in
surgent off the streets.
However, it was apparent to me, and my team, all of whom had significant training and experience in lie detection, that these SIV applicants were telling us whatever they thought we wanted to hear, in order to gain entrance to the U.S. So, it was common to hear tales of daily risk and threats against an individual and their family members. Many explained that it was imperative that they leave Afghanistan, because The Taliban knew who they were, and that they worked for the U.S. military. Because of this, they insisted their lives were in immediate danger and, thus, they were an ideal candidate to be awarded a visa. Part of these visa interviews involved talking to the applicant about their future plans, particularly once they were (hypothetically) granted a visa to the U.S. Many thought the U.S. was the land of opportunity and that life was just plain easier. In some respects, compared to Afghanistan, this stereotype might be true.
However, if an Afghan expected to assimilate into American society, I figured they ought to have an in-depth understanding of our country, and its culture. After all, they were applying to someday be a citizen of the U.S. I found quickly that my expectations were way too high. Most SIV applicants had little understanding of American society, politics or economy. A couple were not even aware that George W. Bush left office in 2008 and that he had been replaced by Barack Obama. Most had no clue that our economy was in shambles and our government was trillions of dollars in debt. They were ignorant to the fact that jobs were not abundant, the crime rate was up, and the cost of living was probably ten times as much as Afghanistan, if not more. Many had no plan for when they landed on U.S. soil, or even how they might get there. The SIV program does not provide transportation out of Afghanistan. The cost of that plane ticket is incurred by the applicant. The average (conservative) cost of a plane trip to the U.S. was around $2,000, the equivalent of several months of wages for a local Afghan working as an interpreter. Some I interviewed informed me they had the money in their bank account to pay for that ticket. But, beyond that cost, they had minimal monetary reserves saved for their new life in America. Not by their own fault, Afghans simply were not groomed or accustomed to planning that far ahead. And, the notion of saving money for the future was a foreign concept as well. That kind of opportunity had never presented itself in the past.
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