NO REGRETS ~ An American Adventure in Afghanistan (21 page)

Even after some prodding from me, not one hand rose. Just silence. “Okay, let’s take a ten-minute break. After the break, we’ll see if we have time for the first class.”

Everyone broke for the door. Half of them smoked. I’m sure they were jonesing. I felt it myself. I walked outside and lit a cigarette. Mirwais went out with me. Khoda Daad was the first to approach me.

“David, explain to me your religion again.”

I laughed. “Okay. Check it out. I’m not really religious. I believe that all of the religions have wisdom in them. Islam, Christianity, Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, Hinduism. All of them have a message of peace. We, humans, screw it up with our petty jealousies, tribalism, and violent nature. We corrupt the message with our anger and prejudice. Mohommad, for instance. I know that Muslims believe that he was perfect. I believe he was a vessel. A messenger from God. I believe the same about Jesus and Buddha. These men were given a message of love and hope for mankind. Men corrupted that message. I believe that we can learn from the wisdom of these men. Wisdom that may have been shared by the gods. I, also, believe that they were mortals and imperfect. I don’t think that they shared the wisdom perfectly. Each of them passed on their respective message with their cultural biases interwoven within. Hence, the attitudes towards women in each religion. I have read the Qu’ran and the Bible and I don’t see why women are supposed to be subservient.”

I paused to catch my breath and then continued.

“In the Qu’ran I see that all are to submit and be humble. Yet, in Islamic countries women are burdened with the hijab and the burqa, while men run around the world in short sleeved shirts and short pants. Men don’t cover their heads. Only women are burdened by chastity. Men fuck anything with two or more legs. Why is this? Because men wrote the rules. Men are stronger. Men wish to control women. In my opinion, it’s bullshit. Women are just as smart as men. Yet, the Taliban decreed that women must be locked away in their homes or escorted by men. Why? To protect women from being raped? No. It’s to protect men from temptation. Why should women pay the price for the weakness of men? It has been the same in Christian lands. ‘They were asking for it’ was the refrain up until the ‘80s in America when women were raped. It’s things like that which tell me most of the rules in religion are man-made. Created by men, for men, to keep men in control.”

“David, you have given me a lot to think about.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” I said laughingly.

Khoda Daad smiled at me, as did the other men who had gathered around to listen. Mirwais had translated everything faithfully. I kept stopping him to tell him. “Mirwais, tell them exactly what I’m saying. Don’t sugarcoat it.” Mirwais looked nervous but he did it. After that long tirade, there wasn’t much time left.

I told Fawad to get Zach to take them all to chow.

“Gentlemen, it’s lunch time. Zach and Fawad will take you to the dining facility if you wish to eat. If not, you can roll out. Be back here in the morning. 0830hrs sharp.”

“David, do you want to eat with us?”

“I apologize. I have a meeting now that I have to attend.” I lied. There was no way that I was going to eat in an ANA dining facility (DFAC). I’d toured the ANA DFAC on Camp Zafar when we were coordinating for the ANP to eat there. I walked into the serving area and the smell had gagged me. I had to run outside to keep from spewing. It wasn’t uncommon for Afghans to pick up parasites in the ANA DFACs. The Army command at Camp Eggers had sent around a PowerPoint slide depicting Afghans with three-foot-long tape worms hanging out of their asses. The Afghans had picked up the tape worms in the ANA DFACs. U.S. Army doctors gave the poor bastards medicine to kill the tape worms. Once the tapeworms died, the doctors pulled the tapeworms out of the Afghans by the dozens. Some of the Afghans had over twenty tapeworms inside them. It was disgusting. I wasn’t going to be eating in an ANA DFAC anytime soon.

The next day, I walked the students through the first three classes. They were attentive and respectful. I didn’t think that they were interested, though. Finally, I stopped talking and said, “Guys, I want to know that you are interested. That you are taking something away from this. But I get the feeling that I’m putting you to sleep or something. You can ask questions. I welcome it.” The floodgates opened.

The student who asked the most questions was Khoda Daad. He asked so many questions that it finally pissed off the other guys in the class. His questions weren’t really questions, though. He seemed to be paraphrasing me every so often. I guess it was his way of understanding. Finally, Khoda Daad stood up to ask what was apparently one too many questions for the rest of the students. Another student named Timor Shah interrupted him, “You can teach the class. I think you are better qualified. David should sit down, so that he can teach us.” As Mirwais translated I thought, “Fuck, these guys think I’m an idiot.” I turned to Mirwais and asked, “What exactly is he saying?”

“Dave, he’s telling Khoda Daad to sit down and shut the fuck up.” I laughed. Now I got it. The class exploded into argument. Half of the class seemed to agree with Timor Shah. The other half thought that Khoda Daad had a right to ask questions until he was comfortable with the subject matter. I let them argue for a bit. Finally, I jumped in.

“Okay, guys. Let’s not have a riot. The Colonel can ask questions. I don’t mind. I welcome it as I said earlier. But how about we hold questions until I’ve worked my way through the material? Khoda Daad is asking a few questions that are answered later in the course. Is that cool with everyone?”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Those mini-explosions of commentary occurred at least once a day. I’d calm the class and put them on a break. Once or twice I thought that I might have to break up fights when some of the guys got overheated.

At the end of the second day of class, no one wanted to eat in the ANA mess hall. Not that I blamed them. The food was horrible and the place smelled like a maggot-infested dumpster. That wasn’t the only problem. The ANA had been rude and threatening. I didn’t quite understand the problem until I walked the students to the gate that day. The ANA would not let my ANP students drive their personal vehicles onto Camp Zafar. It was a good fifteen or twenty minute hike from the gate to our classroom.

A few months before I arrived at Camp Stone, an ANA soldier who had been on guard duty had locked and loaded his AK-47 and went on a killing spree. He’d killed three Afghans and wounded a couple of Coalition members. ANA soldiers, Coalition soldiers, and civilians had taken cover and ducked and dove to get to safety. Finally, another ANA soldier had taken him down with two shots to the chest. That incident was always in my mind as I walked on Camp Zafar. I damn sure didn’t want anyone cashing life insurance checks in my name.

Since my ANP students didn’t have a vehicle and I didn’t have enough room to give them all a ride, I walked to the gate with them. Mirwais walked with us. We had to walk up a long street that passed the ANA barracks. I’d passed these barracks a hundred times by now traveling back and forth to the Zafar classroom. No one had ever harassed me. The ANA soldiers were always pleasant on the rare occasion that one of them talked to me. When the ANA soldiers saw the ANP, it was a different matter. They started catcalling and whistling. I had no idea what they were saying and my students ignored them. When I was certain that the soldiers were yelling at my ANP students, I asked Mirwais, “What the hell are they saying?” Mirwais was too embarrassed to tell me. “Tell me, Mirwais. I want to know.”

“David, they’re threatening them.”

“Threatening who? Our students? The ANP?”

“Yes, I told you that the ANA and ANP don’t get along.”

“What are they saying?”

“Don’t be caught here after dark. We’ll rape you. And, I’m going to bust your asshole, you police kuni. Things like that.”

“Get the fuck out of here. Are we on an Army base or not? That’s some shit straight out of a prison movie.”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

“Well, fuck. I’ve got to do something about that. I’ll talk to Mick. Get him to talk to the ANA Corps sergeant major. What the hell is wrong with the sick bastards?” I drove my ANP students to and from the gate in shifts after that bit of madness. I was embarrassed. I talked to Mick about what had happened. He was as embarrassed by it as I was.

I gave the first five days of the course then went on R&R, while Zach took over. Two blissful weeks away from Afghanistan. By the time I returned, the class had graduated. We had two weeks until the next class was scheduled. Before the course, Zach and I sent out instructions to all mentors and trainers to have their students bring their property listings to the course. We’d use those listings to convert them to the new system. No one brought anything to that first class. They didn’t bring as much as a piece of paper.

“David, you are supposed to give us pencils and paper during the course.”

No one warned me about this penchant for the ANP to want to be supplied with everything. When I was in the Army, I took pen and a notebook everywhere I went. That was a basic part of being a soldier.

I spent the next two weeks attempting to ensure that (a) we would get students and (b) they would bring their property listings with them. I talked to the training and operations mentors. I talked to the ANP training and operations officers. I was assured that students would bring all necessary information to the course. It never changed, though. We gave the course thirteen times to a total of 156 students. Being generous, twenty students brought the information necessary to convert during the actual course.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

December 2007–March 2008

Defense and State had come to the conclusion that the ANP we were trying to train were inept and corrupt. To combat police inefficiency, corruption, and lack of training, the Army sent out teams to assess selected districts. The worst of the worst were selected as candidates for a new training program called Focused District Development (FDD). The teams that were sent to assess the districts were called District Assessment and Reformation Teams (DART). These teams traveled out to the most incompetent and corrupt districts and assessed their professionalism, readiness, training, and level of corruption. Once the assessment was complete, the worst of the districts were selected for FDD. As part of this training program, districts were sent to regional training centers across the country where they were given individual and unit training. It was a combination of basic training, officer training, and advanced training. The program lasted eight weeks at the end of which the units were, theoretically, returned to their districts as professional, non-corrupt units.

There were several regional training centers across the country. My team in Herat was part of the RTC FDD training team. We were first tasked to assist with collection, inventory, and maintenance of district equipment. Our next task was to work with the district logistics officers in creating accountability documents and to instruct them in proper supply and accountability techniques. At the end of the course, my team assisted RTC and military personnel in re-issuing equipment with proper documentation.

I volunteered for the first FDD experimental district—Bala Baluk. The district was a disaster. One commander had been relieved for corruption by the Ministry of Interior who sent in a replacement. This was done at the insistence of the U.S. Army. The old Bala Baluk commander, Hajji Kaseem, refused to relinquish command. He held up in the district headquarters with half of his old police force. The other half of the district signed on with the new commander, Mansoor Khan, in a building across the town square from the actual district headquarters.

In the DART team brief on Bala Baluk, we were told that “the men are ill-trained, corrupt, and lawless as is their leadership. We suspect that many of them moonlight as bandits. Some are suspected of allegiance to the Taliban. By day, they bribe and harass citizens. When darkness falls, they overtly rob, hijack, and murder citizens for and as rivals to the insurgency. They’ve also been fighting each other. Some of these men may have hard feelings. While we were there, they were constantly taking pot shots at each other.”

Bala Baluk District sits astride the Ring Road. Commerce traveled this road from Iran via two primary border crossings. Convoys traveling to and from Qandahar and Farah were attacked and hijacked in Bala Baluk constantly. This problem was exacerbated by the lack of police coverage. The power vacuum created by the Mexican standoff between Hajji Kaseem and the new commander, Mansoor Khan, was being filled by insurgents.

One of our first challenges came the day Hajji Kaseem showed up for the first FDD mission at the Herat RTC with thirty-five “recruits.” Nearly all of them claimed to have been kidnapped and forced to join the training. “I am a farmer. I want to go home, but I am scared that they will kill me.” No one wanted to stay and all were supposedly from Herat Province. I recognized one of them from a shop across the street from Herat’s provincial police headquarters.

We processed the students for the course. The RTC commander awaited word on what to do about the alleged kidnapping victims. Specialists came in from Camps Eggers and Phoenix to administer urinalysis testing, DNA identification, fingerprinting, and police identification cards for each student. All prospective students including those who claimed to have been kidnapped were processed.

These students were to receive combat training. Once finished with training, they might desert or train the Taliban or insurgent forces. One rumor circulating at the time was that these guys were Taliban plants installed to disrupt training. At first, I gave these reports little credence. However, we soon discovered Taliban insurgents within the ANP forces. The Army also had found Taliban propaganda among the belongings of some of its interpreters. There was good reason for concern.

The RTC commander upped our security posture. All weapons went to green which means locked and loaded with a chambered round. Any Afghan trainee could be shot crossing the red line, which ran the entire length of the camp from north to south. Trainees were briefed to stay well on the other side of that line. Extra guards were posted to ensure that the trainees remained aware of the line.