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Uphill battle to train local police in Afghanistan
Updated Sat. Dec. 8 2007 9:59 PM ET
http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20071207/workman_police_071208/20071208?hub=TopStories
Paul Workman, CTV News South Asia Bureau Chief
As long as I've been coming to Afghanistan, NATO forces have never stopped complaining about the state of the Afghan police force. And little was ever done about it. The corruption. The lack of equipment. The poor discipline. A legion of vagabonds, with uniforms that didn't fit, guns that didn't work, and vehicles that didn't exist.
Millions and millions of dollars were spent creating a new Afghan army, but the police were left to rot at their checkpoints, where of course, they earned their living by shaking down the local population.
That mistake is now being corrected, with the realization that Afghanistan will never be secure and stable as long as the police remain crooked and unreliable. An army isn't enough.
To that end, Canada is doing something that no other NATO country has tried. It's both ambitious and self-serving, though over time, may also fail.
Six new police "sub-stations" have been created in what has to be some of the most hostile Taliban territory in all of Kandahar province. They are little pearls of resistance, surrounded by razor wire and high walls, with guards constantly scanning the landscape for Taliban fighters they can see but not shoot.
"We have the Taliban out that way about a hundred meters," says Captain Alastair McMurachy, commanding officer at one of the sub-stations. "We see them, and they see us. We know where they are, and they know where we are."
The idea behind the substations is to create what the military calls a "spider web" of Afghan army and police outposts. Once they're in place, the Canadians will be able--in theory anyway--to re-deploy their forces to other trouble spots, and the Afghans will take over.
In theory, because first of all the police have to be trained, or "mentored" into an honest, disciplined force. That's not going to be easy, and that's where the Canadians come in. A small team of soldiers has been assigned to each of the sub-stations where they spend months working with a dozen or more Afghan police. It's hardly glorious work. Or very comfortable.
Sergeant Jean-Pierre Dion commands substation Pashmul. When I met him, he'd been living at the outpost since September, under conditions that could only be described as rough. Camp stove for the odd hot meal. Bag for a toilet. Bag for a shower. You get the idea.
The Afghans assigned to Pashmul seemed to either fear or truly like him. Probably both. They were all ethnic Hazaras from northern Afghanistan, brothers and cousins mostly. The youngest, Isak, was only 16, with absolutely no police training, little education, and yet there he was, a fresh, new recruit.
"Do you know how to use a gun?"
"Yes," he says, "I've used a gun before, but I don't have one now."
"Why don't you go home and be a farmer? It's a lot safer."
"I used to be a farmer," he says. "Now I want to be a policeman, to bring peace in Afghanistan."
When the Afghans arrived here, they looked a bit like wandering vagrants. They didn't have enough guns to go around, they didn't have helmets or body armor, and they shared two winter coats. The Canadians gave them shirts and socks, boots and sleeping bags. And once a week they buy them a sheep.
"When I buy them a sheep," says the sergeant, "they at least have meat for three or four days. Otherwise, the only ration they get from the government is bread and rice."
"If we want them to go out on patrol all the time," says Major Louis Lapointe, who is the overall commander of the training teams, "they need to be fed; they need to be kept warm at night, so they don't get sick the next day."
Slowly, slowly the Afghans are getting better at setting up checkpoints and patrolling the countryside. They're more disciplined now at starting on time, and keeping their weapons clean but still tend to chatter or use their mobile phones when they're on guard duty. And that drives Sgt Dion crazy.
"It's the same like kids," he says. "I have to work on their weak points, and maybe when I leave here, the police will be good."
Every few days, the Afghans get a formal ethics lesson and Dion--they call him J-P -- spends hours drinking tea with them in front of a campfire. The conversation often turns to the question of pay, because it's been months since any these men received a cent from the Afghan government
"All the police need money, that's why there's corruption," says their commander, Mohammed Safahi. "When they don't get paid on time, they want to steal, they squeeze people for money."
"Did you do that?"
"No sir," he says. Never."
Later, the soldiers tell me they once caught Mohammed trying to shake down a driver at a checkpoint, and quickly put a stop to it.
The Canadians are truly sympathetic.
"Two months now they haven't been paid," says Dion. "They can't send any money home to their families and some of them have three kids."
Holding the land here is vital to Canadian strategy. They won it from the Taliban in a bloody battle 18 months ago, then lost it, and now they're trying to secure it once again with their plan for a "spider web."
The endgame is a military withdrawal, but the Afghan police are still the weakest link.
"From our side, we're trying to give them the skills to survive," says Major Lapointe. "But to do that, they need weapons and proper training."
They're getting better, and some have a profound hatred of the Taliban, but there is a sense that if the Canadians left, the police would quickly follow. They know what happened the last time NATO forces abandoned this area; 17 Afghan police were killed during an attack just a few meters down the road.
So there's a genuine sense of understanding when I ask Sgt Dion what would happen if the Canadians left tomorrow.
"Maybe if I leave," he says, "they'll leave too."
Updated Sat. Dec. 8 2007 9:59 PM ET
http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20071207/workman_police_071208/20071208?hub=TopStories
Paul Workman, CTV News South Asia Bureau Chief
As long as I've been coming to Afghanistan, NATO forces have never stopped complaining about the state of the Afghan police force. And little was ever done about it. The corruption. The lack of equipment. The poor discipline. A legion of vagabonds, with uniforms that didn't fit, guns that didn't work, and vehicles that didn't exist.
Millions and millions of dollars were spent creating a new Afghan army, but the police were left to rot at their checkpoints, where of course, they earned their living by shaking down the local population.
That mistake is now being corrected, with the realization that Afghanistan will never be secure and stable as long as the police remain crooked and unreliable. An army isn't enough.
To that end, Canada is doing something that no other NATO country has tried. It's both ambitious and self-serving, though over time, may also fail.
Six new police "sub-stations" have been created in what has to be some of the most hostile Taliban territory in all of Kandahar province. They are little pearls of resistance, surrounded by razor wire and high walls, with guards constantly scanning the landscape for Taliban fighters they can see but not shoot.
"We have the Taliban out that way about a hundred meters," says Captain Alastair McMurachy, commanding officer at one of the sub-stations. "We see them, and they see us. We know where they are, and they know where we are."
The idea behind the substations is to create what the military calls a "spider web" of Afghan army and police outposts. Once they're in place, the Canadians will be able--in theory anyway--to re-deploy their forces to other trouble spots, and the Afghans will take over.
In theory, because first of all the police have to be trained, or "mentored" into an honest, disciplined force. That's not going to be easy, and that's where the Canadians come in. A small team of soldiers has been assigned to each of the sub-stations where they spend months working with a dozen or more Afghan police. It's hardly glorious work. Or very comfortable.
Sergeant Jean-Pierre Dion commands substation Pashmul. When I met him, he'd been living at the outpost since September, under conditions that could only be described as rough. Camp stove for the odd hot meal. Bag for a toilet. Bag for a shower. You get the idea.
The Afghans assigned to Pashmul seemed to either fear or truly like him. Probably both. They were all ethnic Hazaras from northern Afghanistan, brothers and cousins mostly. The youngest, Isak, was only 16, with absolutely no police training, little education, and yet there he was, a fresh, new recruit.
"Do you know how to use a gun?"
"Yes," he says, "I've used a gun before, but I don't have one now."
"Why don't you go home and be a farmer? It's a lot safer."
"I used to be a farmer," he says. "Now I want to be a policeman, to bring peace in Afghanistan."
When the Afghans arrived here, they looked a bit like wandering vagrants. They didn't have enough guns to go around, they didn't have helmets or body armor, and they shared two winter coats. The Canadians gave them shirts and socks, boots and sleeping bags. And once a week they buy them a sheep.
"When I buy them a sheep," says the sergeant, "they at least have meat for three or four days. Otherwise, the only ration they get from the government is bread and rice."
"If we want them to go out on patrol all the time," says Major Louis Lapointe, who is the overall commander of the training teams, "they need to be fed; they need to be kept warm at night, so they don't get sick the next day."
Slowly, slowly the Afghans are getting better at setting up checkpoints and patrolling the countryside. They're more disciplined now at starting on time, and keeping their weapons clean but still tend to chatter or use their mobile phones when they're on guard duty. And that drives Sgt Dion crazy.
"It's the same like kids," he says. "I have to work on their weak points, and maybe when I leave here, the police will be good."
Every few days, the Afghans get a formal ethics lesson and Dion--they call him J-P -- spends hours drinking tea with them in front of a campfire. The conversation often turns to the question of pay, because it's been months since any these men received a cent from the Afghan government
"All the police need money, that's why there's corruption," says their commander, Mohammed Safahi. "When they don't get paid on time, they want to steal, they squeeze people for money."
"Did you do that?"
"No sir," he says. Never."
Later, the soldiers tell me they once caught Mohammed trying to shake down a driver at a checkpoint, and quickly put a stop to it.
The Canadians are truly sympathetic.
"Two months now they haven't been paid," says Dion. "They can't send any money home to their families and some of them have three kids."
Holding the land here is vital to Canadian strategy. They won it from the Taliban in a bloody battle 18 months ago, then lost it, and now they're trying to secure it once again with their plan for a "spider web."
The endgame is a military withdrawal, but the Afghan police are still the weakest link.
"From our side, we're trying to give them the skills to survive," says Major Lapointe. "But to do that, they need weapons and proper training."
They're getting better, and some have a profound hatred of the Taliban, but there is a sense that if the Canadians left, the police would quickly follow. They know what happened the last time NATO forces abandoned this area; 17 Afghan police were killed during an attack just a few meters down the road.
So there's a genuine sense of understanding when I ask Sgt Dion what would happen if the Canadians left tomorrow.
"Maybe if I leave," he says, "they'll leave too."
