When Home is Not Where We Think It Is

A Small Look into The Lives of Afghan War Translators and How We Can Help Them

Abdul’s palms are clammy and covered in a film of grease and sweat as he hangs onto the shoddy and dented Hilux pickup truck that labors uphill, deep into a valley cut by the Kunar River. It is an especially crisp fall and the snow has crept below the alpine limit onto the holly tree-pocketed ridgelines. The corn has long been husked and the farmers with the means have transitioned to wheat. The dirt road is pocketed with dents and holes and lined with small, makeshift stores selling snacks from India and discarded military gear from America. Abdul is a Muslim, yet he does not pray for fear of losing his wits. This should be his vacation from his job as an interpreter for an American Infantry platoon, but it was almost just the end of him. His makeshift taxi ride from Asadabad, Kunar’s capital and closest version of a metropolitan center, has just passed through a Taliban checkpoint. The men aggressively addressed Abdul in Pashto, Urdu, and Punjabi. Several other men were grouped together behind a boulder as they took turns receiving whippings by a particularly irate Pakistani. This alarmed Abdul to the point of perspiring. They asked what he did for a living, “I help my brother keep his shop in Nuristan”, he replied. He had cell phone pictures and a story to back it up. His lack of facial hair, however, angered the masked alpha of the group. “This kafir deserves to be whipped, that is why we’ve come here…get out of the car.” Before the leader can retrieve his bamboo stick, a faroff explosion erupts and forces the group to gather their weapons and retreat to the mountains. In the confusion, the shrewd taxi driver punches it and spins the wheels, gathering speed northward and away from the checkpoint and the fighting.

Experiences such as these are all too common for this young cohort of Afghans. At best, they are forced to live and travel in a significantly non-permissive environment. At the worst, complex enemy intelligence networks support direct targeting, whether kidnapping or killing, of these young men and women. Yes, women. One of the most aggressive and toughest interpreters I’ve ever interacted with was a stout, Nuristani woman who not only assertively lectured a Shura of elders, but shamed them for their deception of our platoon. To put it simply, the amount of progress within the previous dozen years in Afghanistan would be entirely impossible without the courageous support of these translators.

While they deserve our help in their endeavors, it is paramount to have a plan in regards to this support. The great majority of “terps” have aspirations of traveling to America and this ambition is founded in their positive experiences with their American employers. But what is next? Is America really in their best interest? Not only should we ask if they are suitable for our country, but is our country suitable for them? Personally, I was not as tolerant a person as I am now until I spent my time in Afghanistan. It should be assumed that due to both our society’s disconnection with the wars and the inherently provincial convictions we hold, an Afghan’s transition into American culture could be very hard.

I speak from the experience I have from enabling one of my previous interpreter’s immigration to America and my knowledge of the vast cultural differences between our two societies. Dawood earned my trust by enduring cold nights in the mountains and braving violent enemy fire in the valleys. He understood the strategies of counterinsurgency as well as any junior officer and spoke on our behalf without even having to confer with me. After 10 months together, Dawood showed me his progress in his Visa application. “I did not want to come to you with this early in the deployment because I wanted to prove myself.” I could not argue with this. I quickly contacted the embassy and coordinated support within my unit. The process from that point was quick and easy due to Dawood’s leg work and the quantity of letters of recommendation my unit was able to provide.

Two months after I returned from my tour, I was sitting at the bar of Baltimore-Washington International thinking about what I had gotten myself into. This is a kid that knows more of war than any of my hardened colleagues. He grew up in the most lawless parts of the world where bandits and insurgents alike rivaled each other in their ability to cause destruction. Now here he stood, facing me with an awkward smile that betrayed his unease in such an alien world. We sat at a booth in the airport bar and sketched out a plan, a backup, and then a tertiary. “I have saved up plenty of money, but I do not know what career I should take…in Afghanistan, I woke up and knew what to do everyday, which was escape the Taliban. But here, it is almost more dangerous”, he joked. After some cajoling, we came to the agreement that the best job for him would be a taxi driver. The schedule would best allow him the flexibility necessary to take English classes. School and politics, his initial ambitions, would have to take a backseat. “I don’t want to you to have to experience our type of corruption, it may remind you too much of home. Also, I know you want to get back to Afghanistan eventually and this will allow for that in a more sustainable capacity. We may have to have you do something with not a lot of glory.” For the next 18 months, Dawood drove a taxi and successfully completed his English class. He even assisted and led lessons in Urdu and Farsi. Through this, he was able to make a decent salary in order to support his family back in Afghanistan. For the sake of security, I will not talk about what he does now, but sufficed to say he is significantly successful.

Success was only due to Dawood’s humility in taking this “lowly” path and his hard work once the decision was made. Accepting the reality that the grass isn’t greener in America may be the hardest part, even more difficult than the vetting process prior to immigrating. I want what is best for these young men who put their lives on the line with no fanfare until now because that is what they deserve. In order to know what is best for them, it is necessary to understand their background. Some, given the chance, will thrive beyond their dreams in America. Some will become extremely homesick from missing their homeland. Many don’t even want to move to America…they just want peace in their country. The latter, unfortunately, is a gift no one can offer.