Phil Taylor's papers
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BACK TO : PSYCHOLOGICAL OPERATIONS (PSYOPS) - General. Rebranded 2010 as MISO
Troops Try To Win Hearts And Minds by Richard Tomkins  articles/psyops%20in%20afghanistan.doc
Troops Try To Win Hearts And Minds By Richard Tomkins HAJI BASHER KALAY, Afghanistan (UPI) -- Special teams of U.S. soldiers are waging a low-key, hearts-and-minds campaign in southern Afghanistan in an effort to reinforce the idea that Americans come not as occupiers, and to also help garner support for the nation's interim government. The units, called PSYOPS (psychological operations), venture out daily from the U.S. military stronghold at Kandahar Airport in three-vehicle convoys, visiting villages and employing personal diplomacy in an ever-widening circle. The village of Haji Basher, about 16 kilometers (10 miles) southeast of the airport, recently had its first contact with a 19-man PSYOPS unit, which included an MP (military police) squad for security, a local guide and an interpreter. "Ask him if it would be all right if we talk with him about how things are going here in the village, what they may need?" Staff Sgt. "J", a team leader with the 90th Psychological Operations Battalion, said to Akbar, an interpreter from local Anti-Taliban Forces, after introducing himself to an elder named Abdullah Gan. "Tell him we're here to listen to him and his people and to help in any way we can." PSYOPS, labeled "hearts-and-minds" during the Vietnam War because of its objective, is not much different from then. It is still a press-the-flesh program. It's making friends -- or at least keeping people from becoming enemies -- through familiarity, words and deeds. The civil affairs officer on the sergeant's mission, for example, is along to assess and prioritize the needs of the village -- potable water, irrigation, hygiene, health, nutrition and education. According to unit commander Capt. "B", who like others in the unit did not want his surname used as a matter of security, the villagers' refrain is inevitably the same in southern Afghanistan, where years of drought has produced an unending expanse of cracked earth and an inches-thick carpet of dust. "Every village asks for wells," he said. "That means irrigation, farming, food and work. It means self-sufficiency." Unfortunately for Gan, a thin but imposing man with a gray-tinged beard and white "lungi," (turban), such wells won't be coming anytime soon. Capt. Mike, the civil affairs officer, says he understands the need, but although money has been allocated for it, it is not the kitty of the 101st Airborne, which has control of southern Afghanistan. It is elsewhere, and getting the money and personnel to meet the villagers' needs will be sometime in coming. It's a fact of life that frustrates the PSYOPS people as well as Gen. Franklin Hagenbeck, in overall charge of U.S. forces in Afghanistan. "Getting civil affairs teams working, building wells, is a priority," he said at a recent briefing by senior officers in Kandahar. "We've got to get this moving." Gan and another elder of the village, named Haji (an honorific for a Muslim man who has made the religious pilgrimage to Mecca) Abdullah Han, sat across from the Americans in a large bare room of an adobe-like building. It was surprisingly cool, a welcome respite from the fierce heat and sun outside. "Yes, it is good you ask," Gan said to the Americans while a young boy poured sweet tea into tiny glasses. "In all my years no one has ever come to our village to ask us what we need and what can they do to help us. "The Taliban, when they came, only wanted food, and tried to take our boys away to fight." Sgt. "J" and his men, slowly and with great diplomacy, began their series of questions. They learned that there were no Taliban or al Qaida in the area, but that landmines still littered the nearby mountain, which the Soviets used as a position during their occupation in the 1980s. The irrigation canal -- now just a long dry rut in the dust, also had not been cleared of mines. The explosive devices and unexploded ordnance follow water as a major concern for Afghans. International agencies estimate as many as 10,000 mines have been sown around the country in the past 20 years. The sound of a distant explosion is a daily occurrence; so too the sight of people with missing limbs. The elder's information on mines would be passed on to a special team, which would eventually remove the explosives or blow them up. Haji Bashar Kakay has seven families and a population of about 100 people, 80 percent of them under the age of 15, the soldiers were told. Each family has a well for drinking, but water for crops depended on rain. The village has more than a thousand acres of land to farm, but there are no crops because there is no water for irrigation, and the men and children must go out to find whatever work they can to put food on the table. The clean plow sitting idle in the center of the village validated to his words. More than an hour of conversation had passed and numerous shot-glass sized containers of tea were consumed by the U.S. team before they got up to leave. Children, who came in and out of the building with great regularity to gawk at the strangers in their midst, gathered and squealed with delight as Capt. Mike handed out small candies. Flyers warning of mines and asking for information about them were also handed out, as well as warnings to keep away from the perimeter fence at the airport. "Please tell him that soon there will be school books, that school is a big priority of the new government," the captain instructed the interpreter. "With education, their children will have a better future." Haji Abdullah Han looked incredulous -- just for a moment, but incredulous just the same. How, he asked, could the children be sent to school when there was nothing for them or anyone else in the village to eat? Everyone had to work at something for all to survive. And the Americans' departing gift, a battery-operated radio to listen to news and Pashto music from a special station at Kandahar Airport, was appreciated, but... "We think of food," Han said earnestly, without embarrassment. "We think of peace. That is our life. (But) when our stomachs are empty there is no interest in news or music. "At night, I come home tired from shoveling or whatever else I can do to make money. I just fall right to sleep, wondering how I will feed the children tomorrow." I asked Han that if he could speak for the Afghan people, what would he tell the world. There was no hesitation. "I would ask the United Nations to help," he said. "I would ask the world to help. My country is destroyed. There is nothing else. Help us to get back on our legs (sic)." Gan and Han were equally unabashed about politics. They support the interim government of Hamid Karzai, they said, but fear that ethnic factionalism, warlordism and meddlesome neighboring states will undermine it and bring a return to chaos -- even the Taliban -- if U.S. forces were to leave. Would they support the Taliban if they did return, they were asked. "Of course," said Han, a veteran of the anti-Soviet war on the 1980s and no friend of the extremist movement that ruled the country with a xenophobic, iron fist. "We have to live." PSYOPS would return to Haji Basher Kalay. It's now on their radar, and with luck they may be able to eventually help relieve their plight. If nothing else, at least deliver shoes to the children that families, friends and church congregations back home collected and sent to the unit for distribution. Earlier at Da Kalay, home village of the PSYOPS' guide, Sadiq, they had done just that. As speakers from a HUMVEE played native music to attract a crowd -- a sure-fire magnet since the Taliban had banned music -- the Americans slowly slipped shoes -- probably the first ever for the children -- onto unshodden feet, bending down and tying laces if necessary. Donated clothing from an international organization was also passed around after the troops, who had divested themselves of body armor and helmets so as not to intimidate the people, had sat down to the ritual of sharing tea. Hands were shook. Children beamed. Adults looked grateful. "It's one of those mushy, Kodak moments," one of the soldiers said after helping a little boy put on a pair of shoes. Cynicism? Naw. His eyes, and that of the other Americans, were moist, and not from the sun or dust. "It's really satisfying to be able to help people," said Sgt. "J", who used to work in weapons repair at Fort Bragg, N.C., before joining PSYOPS. "We just wish we could give them what they really want -- water." |