'Combat Linguists' Battle on Two Fronts
Interpreters, some U.S. citizens, face not just Iraqi
insurgents
but suspicious GIs as well.
By John M. Glionna and Ashraf Khalil
Times Staff Writers
June 5, 2005
BAGHDAD — Tarik, a newly minted U.S. Army private first class, recalls
his first challenge in Iraq: convincing fellow GIs he wasn't a
terrorist.
The 24-year-old Morocco native was among the first graduates of a
U.S. military program to provide Arabic-speaking "combat linguists" for
American ground troops, one of the most precarious roles in the Iraq
conflict.
During basic training at Ft. Jackson, S.C., scores of foreign-born
recruits are warned that their backgrounds make them targets for Iraqi
extremists who view them as traitors. But nobody warns them about the
soldiers they're sent to assist.
In Iraq, some interpreters said, soldiers mocked their Arabic
surnames and accused them of being "on the wrong side" of the conflict.
Suspicious of his accent and dark features, some soldiers disdainfully
labeled Tarik a hajji, a term of respect among Muslims that
many American soldiers use with scorn.
The Boston resident felt like he was fighting two wars.
"I don't care what you think of me," he recalled telling fellow
soldiers after arriving in Baghdad in April 2004. "I'm wearing this
uniform. I'm just as much of an American soldier as you are."
The Army calls them 09 Limas — military-speak for the linguist
program. Answering recruitment ads, they volunteered to help fill the
U.S. military's desperate need for speakers of Arabic, Persian, Pashto,
Kurdish and other languages, often returning to the homes of their
ancestors to do the job.
When the first 09 Limas landed in Iraq last year, they immediately
bridged a cultural gap between U.S. soldiers and Iraqis.
On routine patrols in Baghdad or exploring possibly hostile desert
towns, the 09 Limas try to fathom the wordless communication of hand
and body gestures. On sweeps of suspected terrorists, they look for the
often-subtle Arabic accents and dialects that can suggest a detainee's
nationality and possible intent.
They also help defuse misunderstandings. One interpreter
determined that documents found during a recent search of a Baghdad
home were not weapons-smuggling blueprints, as U.S. soldiers suspected,
but sewing patterns.
Although the need for native Arabic-speaking soldiers appears
limitless in Iraq, let alone the rest of the Middle East, only 65
recruits have graduated from the 17-week program. Officials plan to
send 100 more in the next year.
"Without them," an Army commander in Baghdad wrote in an e-mail, "my
men and I could not do two-thirds of our mission."
The 09 Limas are no strangers to the Middle East's political turmoil.
Their ranks include a former member of Saddam Hussein's Republican
Guard who lost his taste for the regime; a Kurd whose brother was
gassed by the dictator; a onetime Lebanese freedom fighter who began
waging war at age 12; and a Sudanese recruit whose brother was among 17
coalition workers kidnapped and killed by Iraqi insurgents in December.
The need for their skills is dire. U.S. troops often must rely on
hand signals in communicating with Iraqis as entire combat brigades
struggle to make do with only one native Arabic-speaking U.S. soldier.
The military has hired countless contract interpreters or local
civilians with doubtful English skills and often-veiled political
agendas. As a result, many U.S. soldiers feel more comfortable with
Arabic-speakers from the United States with a knowledge of slang and
Army acronyms.
It is a dangerous assignment. In 2004, at least 26 civilian
interpreters were killed in Iraq, according to the American Translators
Assn. Lt. Col. Tom Plunkett, Army commander in Baghdad, described how
insurgents recently targeted one of his unit's local interpreters. The
woman was shot 65 times as she left home for work. The commander said
he had lost two other interpreters recently.
For security reasons, the Army has asked that 09 Limas training to
go to Iraq remain anonymous, and only the first names be used of those
who have been deployed or have returned from the war.
U.S. officials say that, unlike locally hired interpreters, 09
Limas are trained soldiers armed with automatic weapons and Kevlar
vests who live and work full time with their units.
Still, many recruits don't tell their parents they've gone to Iraq or
even that they've enlisted. Most would worry too much.
"These translators are targets," said American Translators Assn.
spokesman Kevin Hendzel. "They're the military's lifeline in
communicating with regular Iraqis. The insurgents are smart. They know
this; they're going after them."
The recruits' reasons for volunteering vary. Some 09 Limas
received expedited citizenship in exchange for a commitment of two
years of active duty. Former cab drivers and car rental clerks hope
their experience will lead to higher-paying jobs. Still others, already
U.S. citizens, have volunteered to help an adopted homeland they say
has provided them a better life.
Not all Americans support the 09 Limas. "There were lots of
turncoats in the American Revolution. These people are no better," said
Hasan Newash, director of the Palestine Office, a U.S.-based
Palestinian rights group.
Even some 09 Limas have their doubts.
"I'm a Muslim, and going to fight this war doesn't go with Islam,"
one 32-year-old Morocco native said as he took part in basic training
drills at Ft. Jackson. "But I'm also an American."
Their faces painted an inky camouflage, the soldiers whisper in
accented English as they crawl across the clay-colored Carolina soil
toward a would-be enemy post.
"Wait! Wait! Go back!" Tommy Woolen shouts in a drawl. The fiery
young drill sergeant is unhappy with his trainees. "Daggone! We've
practiced this drill 800 daggone times and y'all are still
jackin' it up. Y'all are in such a hurry to go in there and get killed."
Shouldering heavy rucksacks, their M-16s handled gingerly, the
dozen soldiers shrug silently and trudge away. Nobody has a response.
Nobody tries to explain.
It hasn't always been like that with the 09 Limas. Soon after the
first 20 recruits arrived at Ft. Jackson on a bleak winter morning 18
months ago, disputes erupted with their military handlers.
Rather than simply follow orders, many tried to explain mistakes to
fuming drill sergeants.
Many clung to Arabic customs. One recruit said Muslim culture
forbade him from fighting an older U.S. soldier. When Woolen barked at
a recruit in his 30s, the man told the drill sergeant to respect his
elders.
"He said, 'You will not talk to me in this fashion,' " recalled Woolen,
who is 27 but looks younger.
Woolen told the recruit: "I'm not your elder. I'm your superior."
Many 09 Limas say they weren't told they were going to Iraq. Tarik
says his recruiter promised him a cushy desk job translating news from
Al Jazeera, an Arabic channel: "No way would I have joined to go to
Iraq."
Others complained that the military did not deliver promised
signing bonuses or foreign language-proficiency pay. At night, hushed
complaints were uttered in the darkened barracks. Some soldiers went on
a hunger strike. Others wanted to talk to lawyers.
Lt. Carol Stahl, a trained Arabic-speaker, built the 09 Lima pilot
program from the ground up. The former social studies teacher
immediately became fiercely protective of her recruits.
For months, she and supporters within the Pentagon battled Army
bureaucracy to get the interpreters better pay and benefits. She worked
to reduce the required time they spend in a war zone from two years to
one, just like other soldiers.
Still, Stahl faced a mutiny.
"Suddenly, all these people wanted to quit,'" she recalled. Nine
recruits either quit or were dropped during the program's first year.
Those who remained struggled with military protocol and insensitive
comments and jibes.
Saeed, a 35-year-old Morocco native, recalls a motivational speech
for the recruits in which a sergeant pledged, "We're going to go to
Iraq and kill those guys who worship Allah."
Officials enforce a "zero tolerance" rule for taunts about
religion, and after Saeed sent a letter of complaint to his superiors,
the sergeant was brought forward to apologize to the 09 Limas. "There
was an immediate response," Saeed said. "That made me feel good."
One day, as 09 Limas entered the mess hall, a civilian cook shouted,
"Here comes the Taliban!"
Tarik and others went to Stahl. "You lied to us," he recalled telling
his commander. "We want out of here."
The civilian cook was fired, even though the recruits later tried
to save the man's job. "We were risking so much to go to Iraq," Tarik
said. "Such insults made us wonder why we bothered."
Slowly, however, the 09 Lima recruits bonded as a unit. Stahl has
attended five 09 Lima graduation ceremonies, where the new interpreters
recite their military oaths in both English and their native language.
Many call her from Iraq to check on pay issues or just say hello.
But for those still at Ft. Jackson, anxiety builds as the dates for
shipping off to Iraq loom closer.
"Everyone's afraid to die," one Morocco native says. "What terrifies me
more is being tortured before they kill me."
Sief, a 09 Lima from Sudan, has felt the enemy's hatred like a hand
gripping his throat.
During a recent Baghdad stint, he assisted in interrogations of
suspected insurgents. The detainees were always handcuffed, and Sief
was glad.
"You're asking precise questions and this man is talking at you
and spitting at your face," said the 42-year-old, who lives in Lincoln,
Neb. "You can read the anger in his eyes. You can see the hatred."
Jihad, a Jordan native who grew up in San Francisco, came to terms
with being targeted by terrorists. "I told a buddy that if we ever got
ambushed and he saw me getting kidnapped, I wanted him to shoot me,"
the 09 Lima said. "I didn't want to go through the torture."
No way, his friend said. He'd try to save him, not kill him.
"But if you can't save me," Jihad persisted. "Please shoot me."
Tarik recalls being approached by a stranger one day at Baghdad's
city hall. "How many Iraqis have you killed today?" the man asked in
Arabic.
"I told him: 'I don't need your oil. I'm here to help. Sit down. Let's
talk.' "
The man shouted to others that Tarik was a traitor. "They wanted
to kill me," he said. Fellow soldiers hustled him to a waiting Humvee,
Tarik says, and he stayed away from the city hall for months after a
contract on his life was reportedly issued.
Security precautions have often placed 09 Limas in awkward roles.
Although they wear aliases on their uniform name tags, military IDs
bear their correct names. And because the program is so new, not every
soldier has heard of it.
Tarik recalled being detained by a military policeman who insisted that
he was a terrorist.
"Who are you?" the policeman asked, seeing his conflicting credentials.
"Don't you trust me?" Tarik responded.
"You're a spy, I know it. And I'm going to prove it."
Stahl said many of the ID problems faced by the first graduates
have been solved. Interpreters now carry documents explaining why their
name tags don't match their identification.
Many 09 Limas believe they have left a positive impression on
Iraq. Eyad, 20, had assisted U.S. Marines in Iraq's Kurdish north
during the 1991 Persian Gulf War. He remembers them giving him candy.
"When I went back," he said, "I did the same thing."
The 09 Limas recently suffered their first casualty. Saeed said a
young Jordan native, who was "like everybody's little brother" in his
class, was seriously injured by a roadside bomb in Baqubah. He was
flown home to the U.S., where doctors are trying to save his arm and
leg.
Saeed was pensive when he discussed his comrade: "His mother doesn't
even know he's in the Army."
Glionna reported from California and South Carolina,
Khalil from Baghdad.
