Team Infidel
Forum Spin Doctor
Chicago Tribune
May 15, 2007
Lack of skills among police recruits one of many challenges
By Kim Barker, Tribune foreign correspondent
NARAY, Afghanistan -- Noor Habib insists he is only 13, but that's not the major problem with him being a police officer in Afghanistan. He lies on the ground, points his rifle at the paper target in front of him, and repeatedly misses by several feet. The U.S. soldiers training him are perplexed.
Master Sgt. Rouben Meraz wonders if Habib's weapon is somehow at fault. He considers having a female soldier shoot the Kalashnikov, to see if a sharpshooting woman could humiliate or motivate Habib. And then he figures out the problem.
"Hey guys, check for the eyes," Meraz tells the other soldiers. "I have another non-squinter over here."
Habib cannot shut just one eye at a time, so he cannot aim. He is also a teenager who has never before fired a Kalashnikov, but still somehow managed to become a police officer in Ghaziabad district, a remote area in eastern Kunar province, near the border with Pakistan.
Habib is just one of the many challenges the U.S. faces while helping to build up the Afghan police, considered the weakest link in the country's defense.
In many ways, the future of Afghanistan and its ability to protect itself lies in the hands of the police, who are not simply police here. They are on the front lines in the battle against Taliban-led insurgents determined to unseat the U.S.-backed government.
If police officers are corrupt, people will be swayed toward the Taliban, seen as harsh but fair. If police are weak, the insurgents will drive them out of troubled districts. Police often are targets for insurgents. Last weekend 13 police officers were killed by a roadside bomb and in fighting with insurgents. More than 100 police have been killed by Taliban-led insurgents since the Afghan New Year on March 21.
Plagued with problems
After decades of war and the fall of the Taliban in late 2001, international aid was focused on rebuilding Afghan security forces, considered key to winning over locals and defeating any insurgency. The Afghan National Army matured into a mostly professional force devoid of ethnic factions. Building the Afghan police corps proved much tougher.
The police were corrupt, incompetent and loyal to their ethnic group rather than the central government. Police chiefs often were illiterate thugs and sometimes drug lords who ran their departments like fiefdoms. Most police were paid little money, if at all, and given little training. They did not know how to lace up their boots because they never before had owned boots.
Reform efforts had some success in cities but often failed to reach remote areas, such as Naray or surrounding districts, along the Pakistani border.
"We had absolutely worthless police forces," said Capt. Dennis Sugrue, who arrived in Naray almost a year ago along with the rest of the 3rd Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment of the 10th Mountain Division.
To help out this year, U.S. soldiers at Naray developed supplementary training for all police branches and expanded the program when military police from Ft. Lewis, Wash., arrived in February. Now the nine-day course, spread over three sessions, trains Afghan police to fire their weapons, handle riots and arrest suspects legally.
The soldiers also teach police about human rights, such as how it's a crime to hurt women or take a bribe. Many police do not understand either point. "We have to explain to them it's wrong to take a bribe, and they're like, 'What?' " said Meraz, who runs the training program.
Capt. Todd Polk, in charge of the headquarters troop at Naray, also started working with nearby police departments this year. While on patrol May 1, Polk ran into the Ghaziabad district police chief, who recently had disappeared for a month. Polk yelled at Chief Mohammad Ismail Safi for at least 10 minutes for abandoning his post and for failing to send police to the training program at Naray that morning.
"You're not cutting the mustard, dude," Polk told Safi through a translator. "You suck. You just suck. We've got a lot of work to do for this district, and if you're not helping me, you're against me."
Safi, who will soon be replaced as police chief, promised to send at least 10 Ghaziabad police to training at the Naray base the next day.
Training to expand
So far, almost 300 police officers have finished the program at Naray. Departments from Kunar and neighboring Nuristan province are on a waiting list. The classes keep getting bigger. The training soon will expand.
Some Afghan police show up for class holding Kalashnikovs decorated with flower stickers, pictures of Indian movie stars, family photographs or anything sparkly. Almost all are so skinny that their baggy uniforms stay up only with the help of belts. Many mistakenly point their rifles at their feet or their heads or at other police. Many are trigger-happy.
"You will not rest the weapon on your foot," Sgt. Edward Piwko lectured a group of trainees, one of whom held his rifle pointing toward his face. "You will not at any time rest your head on the barrel."
Several weeks ago, one police officer from Ghaziabad was banned from the shooting range because he could not stop his eyes from moving around. Although Safi was told that the man, dubbed "Crazy Eyes," should be given a desk job, Safi ignored the advice. A few weeks later, Crazy Eyes shot himself in the foot while on patrol.
When the trainees cannot hit the target, some blame it on bad hearing or a bad knee or a bad Chinese-made rifle. And in almost every class, at least one trainee cannot shut one eye.
Noor Habib never learned. He also did not listen, so Meraz banned him from the police.
"This guy's different," Meraz said. "He's dangerous."
'That's solid stuff'
Another trainee, Rahmatullah, 20, who has only one name like many Afghans, also seemed doomed to fail. He was missing three fingers on his right trigger hand because he picked up a land mine when he was a child. But Rahmatullah was eager. He said U.S. soldiers tried to kick him off the force when he first went for training in nearby Jalalabad.
"I told them, 'Give me a chance,' " Rahmatullah said. "I can shoot. It's important to fight the enemy, and there's a lot of enemies in my village. I don't like the war."
Rahmatullah fired at the target and hit it several times. Then he did it again, even better. The U.S. soldiers watching him seemed almost jubilant at his accuracy. Rahmatullah tried not to smile.
"That's solid stuff," said Pvt. 1st Class Blake Jones, 19, a military police officer. "That's the kind of stuff that actually makes me feel like we're doing something that's worth it."
And if needed, Rahmatullah could even bring another recruit. His younger brother, a shepherd, is allegedly as good a shot as Rahmatullah is—despite missing his left arm and three right fingers.
May 15, 2007
Lack of skills among police recruits one of many challenges
By Kim Barker, Tribune foreign correspondent
NARAY, Afghanistan -- Noor Habib insists he is only 13, but that's not the major problem with him being a police officer in Afghanistan. He lies on the ground, points his rifle at the paper target in front of him, and repeatedly misses by several feet. The U.S. soldiers training him are perplexed.
Master Sgt. Rouben Meraz wonders if Habib's weapon is somehow at fault. He considers having a female soldier shoot the Kalashnikov, to see if a sharpshooting woman could humiliate or motivate Habib. And then he figures out the problem.
"Hey guys, check for the eyes," Meraz tells the other soldiers. "I have another non-squinter over here."
Habib cannot shut just one eye at a time, so he cannot aim. He is also a teenager who has never before fired a Kalashnikov, but still somehow managed to become a police officer in Ghaziabad district, a remote area in eastern Kunar province, near the border with Pakistan.
Habib is just one of the many challenges the U.S. faces while helping to build up the Afghan police, considered the weakest link in the country's defense.
In many ways, the future of Afghanistan and its ability to protect itself lies in the hands of the police, who are not simply police here. They are on the front lines in the battle against Taliban-led insurgents determined to unseat the U.S.-backed government.
If police officers are corrupt, people will be swayed toward the Taliban, seen as harsh but fair. If police are weak, the insurgents will drive them out of troubled districts. Police often are targets for insurgents. Last weekend 13 police officers were killed by a roadside bomb and in fighting with insurgents. More than 100 police have been killed by Taliban-led insurgents since the Afghan New Year on March 21.
Plagued with problems
After decades of war and the fall of the Taliban in late 2001, international aid was focused on rebuilding Afghan security forces, considered key to winning over locals and defeating any insurgency. The Afghan National Army matured into a mostly professional force devoid of ethnic factions. Building the Afghan police corps proved much tougher.
The police were corrupt, incompetent and loyal to their ethnic group rather than the central government. Police chiefs often were illiterate thugs and sometimes drug lords who ran their departments like fiefdoms. Most police were paid little money, if at all, and given little training. They did not know how to lace up their boots because they never before had owned boots.
Reform efforts had some success in cities but often failed to reach remote areas, such as Naray or surrounding districts, along the Pakistani border.
"We had absolutely worthless police forces," said Capt. Dennis Sugrue, who arrived in Naray almost a year ago along with the rest of the 3rd Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment of the 10th Mountain Division.
To help out this year, U.S. soldiers at Naray developed supplementary training for all police branches and expanded the program when military police from Ft. Lewis, Wash., arrived in February. Now the nine-day course, spread over three sessions, trains Afghan police to fire their weapons, handle riots and arrest suspects legally.
The soldiers also teach police about human rights, such as how it's a crime to hurt women or take a bribe. Many police do not understand either point. "We have to explain to them it's wrong to take a bribe, and they're like, 'What?' " said Meraz, who runs the training program.
Capt. Todd Polk, in charge of the headquarters troop at Naray, also started working with nearby police departments this year. While on patrol May 1, Polk ran into the Ghaziabad district police chief, who recently had disappeared for a month. Polk yelled at Chief Mohammad Ismail Safi for at least 10 minutes for abandoning his post and for failing to send police to the training program at Naray that morning.
"You're not cutting the mustard, dude," Polk told Safi through a translator. "You suck. You just suck. We've got a lot of work to do for this district, and if you're not helping me, you're against me."
Safi, who will soon be replaced as police chief, promised to send at least 10 Ghaziabad police to training at the Naray base the next day.
Training to expand
So far, almost 300 police officers have finished the program at Naray. Departments from Kunar and neighboring Nuristan province are on a waiting list. The classes keep getting bigger. The training soon will expand.
Some Afghan police show up for class holding Kalashnikovs decorated with flower stickers, pictures of Indian movie stars, family photographs or anything sparkly. Almost all are so skinny that their baggy uniforms stay up only with the help of belts. Many mistakenly point their rifles at their feet or their heads or at other police. Many are trigger-happy.
"You will not rest the weapon on your foot," Sgt. Edward Piwko lectured a group of trainees, one of whom held his rifle pointing toward his face. "You will not at any time rest your head on the barrel."
Several weeks ago, one police officer from Ghaziabad was banned from the shooting range because he could not stop his eyes from moving around. Although Safi was told that the man, dubbed "Crazy Eyes," should be given a desk job, Safi ignored the advice. A few weeks later, Crazy Eyes shot himself in the foot while on patrol.
When the trainees cannot hit the target, some blame it on bad hearing or a bad knee or a bad Chinese-made rifle. And in almost every class, at least one trainee cannot shut one eye.
Noor Habib never learned. He also did not listen, so Meraz banned him from the police.
"This guy's different," Meraz said. "He's dangerous."
'That's solid stuff'
Another trainee, Rahmatullah, 20, who has only one name like many Afghans, also seemed doomed to fail. He was missing three fingers on his right trigger hand because he picked up a land mine when he was a child. But Rahmatullah was eager. He said U.S. soldiers tried to kick him off the force when he first went for training in nearby Jalalabad.
"I told them, 'Give me a chance,' " Rahmatullah said. "I can shoot. It's important to fight the enemy, and there's a lot of enemies in my village. I don't like the war."
Rahmatullah fired at the target and hit it several times. Then he did it again, even better. The U.S. soldiers watching him seemed almost jubilant at his accuracy. Rahmatullah tried not to smile.
"That's solid stuff," said Pvt. 1st Class Blake Jones, 19, a military police officer. "That's the kind of stuff that actually makes me feel like we're doing something that's worth it."
And if needed, Rahmatullah could even bring another recruit. His younger brother, a shepherd, is allegedly as good a shot as Rahmatullah is—despite missing his left arm and three right fingers.