Language as a weapon

  • Published
  • By Lt. Col. Danielle Barnes
  • 9th Operations Support Squadron commander
"To each there comes in their lifetime a special moment when they are tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing, unique to them and fitted to their talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for, that which could have been, their finest hour."          - Winston Churchill

This quote has always inspired me. It was more applicable than ever before as I prepared for my most recent deployment. Exactly one year ago, I returned. Time, reflection and retrospect have demonstrated that lessons learned during this non-standard and untraditional deployment are also useful as I continue to serve as an Airman in day-to-day duties.

My specialty is Airfield Operations, but in July 2010, while working as part of the Headquarters Air Combat Command Staff, I was involuntarily selected for a program called Afghanistan/Pakistan Hands. This program requires six months of pre-deployment training, including one month of Army Combat Skills Training and five months of foreign language school. Following training, participants spend one year in Afghanistan, then one year in a state-side job, and follow it up with a second year in Afghanistan. All total, the program commitment is nearly four years.

The program is a derivative of the China Hands program during WWII, in which Foreign Service officers were immersed in government affairs. AFPAK Hands was initiated by Gen. David Petraeus to further International Security Assistance Force's strategy by focusing on the Center of Gravity of a counter-insurgency campaign - the local population. The program intent is to train U.S. military in language and culture, and then place them in positions outside the wire to immerse in the local population.

No two "Hands" shared the same experience. A few worked at the provincial level and were embedded with local leaders, mayors and governors. Some "Hands" worked in an Anti-Corruption Unit, while several were assigned to the ISAF compound or other military compounds in Kabul and never left the base.

The level of population immersion you performed was directly proportional to the level of risk each commander was willing to assume for their "Hands." My commander was a Marine brigadier general, and he expected "Hands" to be outside the wire. My unit of assignment was on the ISAF compound, and we had approximately 15 "Hands" who were assigned to ministries within the Government of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan.

With the exception of my partner and me, these "Hands" traveled with "Movecon" every day - a two-person transportation/security team that took the member to their respective Ministry, dropped them off, and picked them up at the end of the day. My partner, a Marine AFPAK Hand, and I were assigned to three ministries, and we operated a bit differently than the average "Hand."

I recall my orders verbatim. The commander stated, "There is no Handbook on being a 'Hand' - blaze your own trail, immerse yourselves in the culture and blend in."

I laughed to myself - I am quite possibly the whitest woman in the Air Force. With red hair, blue eyes, pale skin and semi-fluent in Dari with a Kentucky twang, I was directed to blend in.

Immersing ourselves within the three ministries revealed that each were radically different with varying degrees of capability, yet our goal was to build capacity within each. One ministry was extremely progressive, well-educated and advanced. We gained air travel for this organization, provided advice and recommendations on behalf of ISAF and leveraged networking capabilities to remove barriers for the Afghans and promote progress. The two other ministries were somewhat primitive, and training them to hold a simple meeting with their colleagues or provincial directors, to exchange information or promote communication, was a feat in itself. Still, we worked closely with the State Department, U.S. Agency for International Development, European Union, international embassies and multiple nongovernment organizations to assist the Ministries, gain donor support, and promote progress. We traveled in the city of Kabul everyday by car, frequently visited remote villages by aircraft, vehicle, or both, and traveled internationally with the Afghani officials.

Daily operations outside the wire, both within the city and throughout the country, allowed us to identify three keys to survival. These served my partner and I well, since we operated independently and differently than other members in the program.

First, I quickly realized that in our situation that the less military I looked, the better. We had our own civilian vehicle and traveled alone every day. We wore civilian clothes, I wore a scarf on my head, my colleague grew a beard and we provided our own security. With no helmet, no body armor, and no security team, with the exception of our own concealed weapons, operating in this environment was initially extremely uncomfortable. However, after observing the reactions of locals to MRAPs and military vehicles/troops, I grew comfortable in a scarf and civvies. Operating under these conditions went against 15 years of military training, but when I recognized the military was not well-received by the locals, I realized that appearing as a civilian made us less of a target.

The second key to survival was remembering words spoken by my husband. "There is always someone who wants to kill you." Whether we were working, eating, shopping, visiting the homes of Afghan officials or villagers, remaining cognizant of his words were paramount to avoid complacency. After beheadings and assassinations of our Afghan colleagues, we soon realized the relationships we built with the locals required a trust that demanded daily maintenance and nurturing.

Lastly, my predecessor promised that I would learn to "read" the city. I initially thought this was impossible. The city of 4.5 million people with an absence of traffic laws, stop signs and stop lights was a chaos of bicycles, donkey carts, men and women in turbans and burkhas, dismembered beggars, and a general lack of conformity. Still, I was able to read the city - less traffic, closed bread shops that were typically open, fewer crowds, the absence of children playing - all were signs that an attack was looming, and these signs always proved accurate.

In addition to these keys to survival, I departed Afghanistan with a few lessons that I now apply while serving every day:

Always be ready.
Many Airmen can pass the annual physical training test with little effort. However, I submit that simply passing your PT test doesn't mean you're ready. When we are called to go downrange, we must be ready for any circumstance. And those circumstances may very well be more demanding than the standards required to pass the annual PT test.

On day one of my 1-month combat skills training, I recall the Army trainer saying, "You must train for the worst possible scenario on the worst day of your life. This training is geared to allow you to survive for 30 minutes on the worst day of your life." He reminded us that we had to be ready on the first day. The training that followed was more demanding than the annual PT test. I soon discovered that we must always be ready because the first day can arrive unexpectedly.

After arriving in Afghanistan, our group was required to complete two weeks of additional language and cultural training with village elders. After a few days of training, I received a message from my predecessor that I would be picked up and taken to ISAF headquarters to join a trip to a village the following day.

On the following day, my Day 1, I found myself with one other military member and approximately 30 international investors aboard a C-130 Hercules to Bamyan. From Bamyan, we boarded a CH-47 Chinook helicopter and landed at a remote village at 10,000 feet. We disembarked the helo and proceeded to climb a mountain even higher than our landing zone to conduct a site survey with the prospective investors.

As locals appeared on nearby ridges, departed and returned with a few of their friends, my partner and I discussed our strategy if things went sour before our helo returned to retrieve us. He and I, with only our personal side-arms and 30 unarmed investors, knew that a mishap report would not read well.

We learned many lessons from that first day, but what I recall most poignantly was trying to catch my breath after just beginning the walk up the mountain. I stopped to catch my breath and paused as I looked out at the snow-capped mountains in the near distance. I recall thinking, "How in the heck did an Airfield Ops officer end up here on this mountainside, gasping for air?"

As on-lookers watched my every move, I realized that my 9mm pistol and my fitness state would likely not allow me to survive for 30 minutes if this did become the worst day of my life. Though I was in the best shape of my career, I was still not ready for the physical demands required on Day 1. At that moment, I committed to make every effort to ensure the Airmen who I lead never stand on a mountainside and feel as ill-prepared as I did. I committed to ensuring my Airmen are trained and physically fit, to not only pass the annual PT test, but to always be ready before Day 1 arrives unannounced.

Trust your training
.
I learned that each of us, regardless of rank, must constantly and deliberately expand our expertise if we wish to be ready when we're tapped on the shoulder. Initially, I felt ill-prepared and felt that my operating expectations went against my military training. With no helmet and no vest, I was abandoning the military techniques I gained at combat skills training. However, I soon discovered the judgment and decision-making skills that I had honed throughout my career, coupled with language training, was where I placed my trust. I had countless situations in which this training proved life-saving.

Speak the language.
Our language skills were instrumental to our security in both the cities and the villages. In the villages, it broke down barriers and a hesitant, suspicious local immediately became friendly upon communicating in their native tongue. It was simply amazing to watch their doubting expression evolve into a friendly, welcoming face as soon as we spoke Dari. They welcomed us into their homes and presented their best food and hospitality.

In the city, the language was the foundation of our relationships with our Afghan colleagues. Drinking countless cups of tea and speaking Dari laid the groundwork for our success. Speaking their language brought smiles to their faces, heartier handshakes, and eye contact. It created a connection with them that would've been impossible without the language skills.

One scenario in particular, that played out several times while deployed, occurred while stuck in traffic in downtown Kabul. Traffic jams were chaos. No lanes, no rules - just cars vying for position among burkha-clad women, donkey carts and men selling fruit from roving carts. Often, we were in gridlock traffic jams and my partner and I would rehearse countless strategies - for example, how we would respond if a crowd formed around us, if we came under attack, if our vehicle became disabled, etc.

Although we rehearsed every scenario we could imagine, we had yet to rehearse a scenario that first occurred on a hot July day. An Afghan National Policeman, who lined the streets with his comrades, approached our vehicle, hit it, and demanded we open the door. Since he was on my side of the vehicle, I peered out from under my head scarf and while not making eye contact, communicated with him through the glass of the vehicle.

After politely denying his request, he impolitely held up his AK-47 rifle and pointed it at my head.

Interestingly, my partner and I calmly, yet quickly, discussed our alternatives. We could unholster our concealed weapons and this scenario likely wouldn't end well for any of us. We could refuse to open the door and the young Afghan police would likely shoot - what did he have to lose? Or, I could open the door. I chose the latter. Though women should not make eye contact with unfamiliar men in the Afghan culture, I chose to break that tradition and rely on advice I had read in a book by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman.

In his book, "On Killing," he discusses that making eye contact with another person makes it difficult to kill, regardless of your culture or nationality. That human connection is a dignity of all mankind. After opening the door, I made eye contact and immediately began a dialogue in his language. Immediately, the young man lowered his weapon and engaged in conversation. Before we drove away, the young policeman was shaking my hand, smiling, and giving me a high-five.

I am convinced that speaking the language on the streets of Kabul made the human connection possible, and that connection made all the difference - it saved our lives. Though we had weapons that could've easily been aimed, these occurrences led me to believe that the language was more powerful than the 9mm on my side.

Just as language allowed me to communicate with a stranger holding an AK-47, I must also know and speak the language of my people. I must learn the nomenclature of intel, weapons and tactics, weather, aircrew flight equipment, combat crew comm and several other specialties within the diverse operations support squadron. I must understand their language and speak it in order to effectively communicate with the Airmen in my unit. This connection makes all the difference - we both benefit if we speak the same language.

Relationships Matter.
My job in Afghanistan required building relationships with three Ministers. They were considered high-level government officials, comparable to Senators or Congressmen in the U.S. We worked with them, socialized with them, and served as advisors to further both ISAF and Afghanistan's strategy. However, the relationships we built beyond the Ministers were the most valuable.

We befriended every Afghan we encountered and attempted conversation with locals in the city and the villages. A respected mentor had reminded me before I departed, "You may meet Afghans who have never met an American, and you will serve as the face of America." He reminded me to demonstrate the compassionate side of Americans, since I may be all they see and know of America. In doing so, I discovered that everyone matters, regardless of rank or social status.

Though it wasn't required for my duties, I befriended tea boys and security guards. These were people who were, quite honestly, neglected in Afghan society. The Ministers and their staff rarely spoke to this group of people. Still, my partner and I socialized with them and often stopped at a naan shop (bread shop), paid $1 for three large pieces, and literally broke bread with the tea boys and security guards. Within a few months of our arrival, these same people often called us to warn us about certain areas of the city or streets to avoid. Their warnings proved accurate as attacks on these locations ensued.

Relationships with the people, that we expected could give us nothing in our daily duties, proved to be life-saving. Everyone matters; every person brings something to the fight. My skills can help others, and their skills and knowledge can also help me. The same holds true for your skills and what you can offer and contribute to others through your relationships. In the case of the tea boys and security guards, our relationships built trust, and eventually they trusted us enough to protect us.

In late August, Beale hosted a seminar by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman - the author of the book "On Killing," that I read before the deployment. In his lecture, he encouraged the audience to intentionally take action to grow as a warrior every day:

"Never judge yourself by your worst day. Take pride in your good days. Wake up every day and take one more step up the warrior path. And pray that a lifetime of preparation will be sufficient, at the moment of truth you will be the wise old warrior who will lead the others home."        - Dave Grossman

Being ready before we arrive, relying on our training, speaking the language of those we serve alongside, and nurturing relationships proved life-saving in the most dangerous, yet most rewarding, deployment of my career. These same skill-sets require frequent maintenance to survive and thrive in our daily duties.

As Airmen, just as Churchill and Grossman imply, if we deliberately take action to become better than we were yesterday, we will be ready when our finest hour arrives. As warriors, we each have a finite number of days to serve our nation - may we maximize the possibilities of every moment, as we travel this warrior path together.