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Authors: Linda Robinson
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built to evade metal detectors. The Afghan special forces teams had recently been formed with recruits from the commandos, so they were the best soldiers Afghanistan had and the beneficiaries of six years of joint training and operations with the US special forces. Their team organization mirrored the American special forces: each team had an officer and noncom leader, two intelligence specialists, two medics, two engineers, two weapons specialists, two communicators, plus two additional members to handle psyops and cultural/religious engagement.
The Afghan special forces team that came to Ezabad next door to Hayes and his men was led by Captain Azizullah, a grave black-haired young man from Nangahar. He was articulate and projected a calm assurance when speaking with both the villagers and the local officials. He would urge them to stand up and take responsibility for protecting their families and improving their lives—the kind of speech that might have alienated Afghans if delivered by an American, but was effective coming from this sincere, confident young man. Azizullah addressed the elders in a respectful but firm tone, and both they and local officials came to trust him. His team became a familiar presence as it alternated with another team on three-month tours in Maiwand.
Hayes’s patient courting of the district governor, Barwari, persuaded him to come to Ezabad for his first-ever visit. Soon he began to visit unprompted. Unlike many other district governors appointed by Kabul, Barwari was from Maiwand—and he was educated. But he had not passed the formal exam required for a permanent appointment, so he could be replaced at any time. Barwari seemed to be well-liked, and he was less corrupt than many local officials, but there was a fundamental impediment to bringing the government closer to the people of Maiwand: most of the population relied on the illegal opium business for their livelihoods. The provincial government had mounted an aggressive campaign to eradicate the poppy trade, but viable alternatives were scarce. Growing and harvesting opium poppies yielded a farmer $8,400 in profit per acre, while growing wheat would result in a net loss of $130, thanks in large part to the effect of USAID’s distribution of wheat seeds, which had depressed the price of wheat. {42} The opium traffickers made it easy: they would front farmers money to plant poppies each spring and then buy the balls of opium tar they harvested.
Weeks and then months passed. Ezabad and the surrounding villages remained reluctant to court the Taliban’s wrath by forming their own local defense groups. Still, the team poured its energies into village stability operations. After many shuras with the male residents, the team decided to build a road, start a school, and open a clinic. If life in the village improved and travel to Hutal became easier, better security might follow. Engineer Fazil Ahmad Barak hired a crew to grade and then gravel the moondust road to the town, and Jimmy began an outpatient clinic with the help of the Afghan special forces medics. A temporary school was started, and Hayes managed to finagle a teacher on loan from Kandahar while beginning the laborious process of petitioning the Ministry of Education for a permanent school.
The extended family at the Ezabad outpost also included a new innovation called Cultural Support Teams, composed of two servicewomen who had volunteered and trained to join the special operators in the field. The original rationale for this program was to provide women to search Afghan females during raids, but the program evolved into an effort to build bridges to the female population and better understand the needs of the villages. The American women tried their best to connect with the women of Ezabad and offer them something of value. Just entering the conservative Pashtuns’ humble homes, however, was a delicate cultural crossing. For example, during a visit to one home on the
The Afghan special forces team that came to Ezabad next door to Hayes and his men was led by Captain Azizullah, a grave black-haired young man from Nangahar. He was articulate and projected a calm assurance when speaking with both the villagers and the local officials. He would urge them to stand up and take responsibility for protecting their families and improving their lives—the kind of speech that might have alienated Afghans if delivered by an American, but was effective coming from this sincere, confident young man. Azizullah addressed the elders in a respectful but firm tone, and both they and local officials came to trust him. His team became a familiar presence as it alternated with another team on three-month tours in Maiwand.
Hayes’s patient courting of the district governor, Barwari, persuaded him to come to Ezabad for his first-ever visit. Soon he began to visit unprompted. Unlike many other district governors appointed by Kabul, Barwari was from Maiwand—and he was educated. But he had not passed the formal exam required for a permanent appointment, so he could be replaced at any time. Barwari seemed to be well-liked, and he was less corrupt than many local officials, but there was a fundamental impediment to bringing the government closer to the people of Maiwand: most of the population relied on the illegal opium business for their livelihoods. The provincial government had mounted an aggressive campaign to eradicate the poppy trade, but viable alternatives were scarce. Growing and harvesting opium poppies yielded a farmer $8,400 in profit per acre, while growing wheat would result in a net loss of $130, thanks in large part to the effect of USAID’s distribution of wheat seeds, which had depressed the price of wheat. {42} The opium traffickers made it easy: they would front farmers money to plant poppies each spring and then buy the balls of opium tar they harvested.
Weeks and then months passed. Ezabad and the surrounding villages remained reluctant to court the Taliban’s wrath by forming their own local defense groups. Still, the team poured its energies into village stability operations. After many shuras with the male residents, the team decided to build a road, start a school, and open a clinic. If life in the village improved and travel to Hutal became easier, better security might follow. Engineer Fazil Ahmad Barak hired a crew to grade and then gravel the moondust road to the town, and Jimmy began an outpatient clinic with the help of the Afghan special forces medics. A temporary school was started, and Hayes managed to finagle a teacher on loan from Kandahar while beginning the laborious process of petitioning the Ministry of Education for a permanent school.
The extended family at the Ezabad outpost also included a new innovation called Cultural Support Teams, composed of two servicewomen who had volunteered and trained to join the special operators in the field. The original rationale for this program was to provide women to search Afghan females during raids, but the program evolved into an effort to build bridges to the female population and better understand the needs of the villages. The American women tried their best to connect with the women of Ezabad and offer them something of value. Just entering the conservative Pashtuns’ humble homes, however, was a delicate cultural crossing. For example, during a visit to one home on the
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