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The term “refugee” means: any person who is outside any country of such person’s nationality or, in the case of a person having no nationality, is outside any country in which such person last habitually resided, and who is unable or unwilling to return to, and is unable or unwilling to avail himself or herself of the protection of, that country because of persecution or a well-founded fear of persecution on account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion.
—Immigration and Naturalization Act
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As the longest U.S. conflict enters its sixteenth year, the U.S. government has recently announced it will dispatch several thousand additional troops to the war in Afghanistan. From the Afghan side, it’s even worse. Since the Soviet invasion of 1979, the Mujahideen insurgency, the Taliban’s fight for dominance, various civil wars, the overthrow of the Taliban, and finally, U.S. and NATO involvement, there’s been some sort of war going on in Afghanistan for almost the last forty years. And, just in the years U.S. troops have been in the country, an estimated 170,000 civilians have died. This is the story of one Navy SEAL and one Afghan civilian, and our struggle to make sure the Afghan didn’t end up as one of those statistics.
The year was 2005. After being dislodged from power, Taliban supporters had taken refuge in remote regions of Afghanistan, fighting a guerrilla war. Kunar province was perfect for the insurgents; it is a rugged section of the Hindu Kush mountains bordering on Pakistan’s wild tribal region, which provided both sanctuary and supplies.
As a part of Operation Red Wings, a four-man Navy SEAL team was sent on a recon mission, scouting a group of buildings used by guerrilla leader Ahmad Shah as safe houses. The SEALs encountered a group of local sheepherders and faced a fateful decision—to eliminate these civilians or let them go. Shortly after releasing the herders, the SEALS came under enemy fire. Their attempts to call for help resulted only in reporting that they were under attack without giving their location. This delayed the implementation of a Quick Reaction Force, which took enemy fire when it arrived. A rocket-propelled grenade took out the rotor of one of the rescue helicopters, causing it to crash. The eight-man crew and the eight SEALs aboard were killed. The ambush also took the lives of three of the four members of the original recon team. Only one American, Marcus Luttrell, survived. Severely wounded and stranded in enemy territory, the SEAL’s predicament was serious indeed, and his survival depended on the help of an Afghan villager.
Mohammad Gulab found Luttrell, took him to his village, and gave him shelter. He did this in accordance with the Pashtunwali, the traditional way of the Pashtun people. For seventeen centuries, this code has prized physical courage (tora), revenge (badal), hospitality (melmestia), and asylum for the hunted (nanawatai). For several tense days, the Taliban repeatedly demanded the American. When bribes failed, they turned to threats against the village, but Gulab stood firm. In the meantime, another villager smuggled a note to U.S. forces, and they swooped in, returning Luttrell to safety.
Marcus Luttrell returned to his SEAL comrades, and then to the United States, where his story became a bestselling book, Lone Survivor, and then a blockbuster film. Ahmad Shah briefly enjoyed a high reputation for dealing the biggest setback to the Americans since their invasion. The ambush had been videotaped and used as propaganda, and he had captured a lot of weapons and equipment. Subsequent U.S. action, Operation Whalers, burst that bubble, thoroughly defeating the guerrillas and driving a wounded Ahmad Shah into Pakistan. He died there in 2008 in a shootout with government forces.
For Gulab, however, the rescue of Luttrell marked the beginning of a decade of terror. He remained in the war zone, facing considerable hostility for his decision to help the American. His family was forced to flee from their home village, leaving behind their timber and taxi business as well as their farmland. Gulab got a job working at the U.S. base in the provincial capital, Asadabad. But even there, when walking outside the town with his brother-in-law, he came under fire from Taliban snipers. Gulab escaped, but his brother-in-law was struck in the ribs. U.S. servicemen airlifted them to a doctor.
After five years, Gulab managed to get in touch with Luttrell, now a successful author/motivational speaker, and was invited to the United States. But just before he was to set off, Gulab stepped outside his house and a pair of guerrillas on motorcycles fired pistols at him. He leaped for cover, but a ricocheting bullet caught him in the thigh. Gulab had an emotional reunion with Luttrell when he arrived in the United states, and he got to see some of the country. They discussed the idea of getting a green card for Gulab, but the Afghan just wasn’t ready to leave his country. He returned home to discover some new reasons to leave. The Taliban hijacked his truck and the load of timber on board. In the United States, Marcus Luttrell organized a fund-raiser for Gulab and the villagers who’d helped him years before. American friends in Afghanistan helped the Gulabs move again, but they had no means of making a living. For a while, the move seemed to bring safety. But one evening as Gulab rode in his nephew’s car, he became a target again. Gulab escaped but his nephew was struck in the head and died. That shook Gulab.
In the United States, Lone Survivor had gone from a book to the movie screen, and Luttrell wanted Gulab to return to the United States to help with promotion. Gulab was torn. The film would be a recognition of what he and his fellow villagers had done, but it would also stir up the Taliban even more. In the end, it was the promise that some of the movie money would finance a way to safety, either in Afghanistan or some other country, that swayed Gulab to come. This time he explored the green card option, but it seemed difficult to secure. Advised to seek asylum instead, Gulab hesitated. Whether through faulty translation or misunderstanding, he thought he would never be able to return to his homeland or see his family again.
Relations between Gulab and Luttrell also cooled somewhat. Gulab’s recollection of the events of Operation Red Wings differed from the version Luttrell had published in Lone Survivor, and the Afghan began to feel that his American friend was not working as hard to help him as he could have. Gulab didn’t save Luttrell in hopes of a reward. But now he found himself in financial need, and the situation was about to get worse. The United States was drawing down its troops in Afghanistan, which meant less protection for those who had befriended or helped the Americans. And the publicity around Lone Survivor made Gulab particularly notorious.
Gulab might be a hero in the United States, but in Afghanistan he was a marked man. A walk in the woods almost became fatal when the Taliban detonated an improvised explosive device (IED) to get him. Insurgents launched an assault on his home, and Gulab and his wife spent the night firing into the darkness to keep them at bay. Gulab took to sleeping by day with an AK-47 by his side and going into hiding, always in different places, by night. Several attempts were made to detonate explosives near his house. In one case, a blast mildly injured his daughter, and the family was too frightened to go outside until daybreak to take her to the hospital. Perhaps more insidious were the constant threats. The Taliban’s shadow governor for the region published a tirade against Gulab. “This letter is from the brave fighters and the mujahideen of the Islamic Emirate,” it began. “Your Jewish friends cannot save or protect you. I hope the suicide bombers or the Taliban brothers will fulfill my order. Soon, they will send you to the grave.”
Now Gulab regretted leaving the United States, where he could have applied for asylum. The case was referred to me to see what I could do to save this man’s life. I suppose that did make me a “Jewish friend” of Mohammad Gulab. Certainly, it brought me to the attention of the Taliban and gave me a taste of what Gulab had been living through. One day as I walked into my office, I received a phone call on my private line. “We know who you are,” an Arabic-accent voice told me. “We know you are a Jew, and you should be listening and watching your TV to see what we do to people like you.” The mystery caller went on, “As for your client Gulab, we will terminate him and anyone that would help him.” It was a shock to receive a threat from people who knew enough about me to reach me directly and not through the office receptionist. I reported the incident to the authorities, but also I redoubled my work.
On the face of it, the job might appear to be easy. As far back as 2008, Democrats and Republicans came together to pass an act offering thousands of visas to Afghans who worked with the U.S. military, either as interpreters or in other jobs, and who now found themselves in danger from terrorists. Unfortunately, the bureaucracy involved in those visa applications can result in literal fatal delays—people were killed before they could leave the country. Undoubtedly, there is a strong need for careful vetting in the name of national security, but the snail’s pace of processing—often years—is not merely frustrating, it can be terrifying.
Had Gulab applied for asylum while he was still in the United States, he probably would have been successful. In Afghanistan, he had first to apply for a visa from a U.S. embassy, which itself is essentially in a state of siege. Then layers of bureaucracies had to be penetrated; not just the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and the State Department’s Refugee Admissions division, but the international machinery of the UN’s Refugee Agency. Even with intense lobbying from U.S. political figures, we received high-flown sentiments but very little action. I decided to take the case public, hoping to get a little more leverage through multiple appearances on international media. In fact, the story of Gulab’s odyssey became a cover story on Newsweek magazine. Still, the bureaucratic machinery seemed to be at a standstill. Meanwhile extremist assassins were circling in the water. The U.S. embassy sent a recommendation to Washington that bringing Gulab to the United States would serve U.S. interests, but they also warned that they could not guarantee his safety out of Kabul.
We decided on a desperate course to get Gulab out of Afghanistan and into India with his eldest sons. With their primary target gone, perhaps the Taliban would cease their threats. With borrowed money, Gulab boarded a plane for New Delhi. Anxious months followed as Gulab managed to bring the rest of his family to join him. It was a tight squeeze, Gulab and his family were living in a small apartment, barely able to keep a roof over their heads, as they waited—waiting for the U.S. government’s security checks to be completed. Nine excruciating months passed, and administratively speaking, Gulab was considered lucky. Some applicants waited five to six years before their entry was approved. At last, however, visas arrived, and the Gulabs set off for the United States.
Mohammad Gulab settled in Texas, free at least from the fear of ambush by the Taliban, but he still faces considerable challenges. In his mid-forties, the illiterate mountaineer struggles to learn English and to deal with America’s consumer culture. The flatland urban sprawl of Fort Worth is a far cry from the rugged, sparsely populated mountains and valleys he knew. Going from a position of respect in his village, owning his own businesses, he now struggles to find work. His sons, who speak better English, must help to support the family, but all hope to put their resources together and establish some sort of family business.
Gulab no longer sleeps with a Kalashnikov rifle at his side, but his twelve-year ordeal has marked him. He hopes to fade into the background of American life, but he cannot forget that the United States seemed to turn its back on him. If he had hesitated so long ago to help Marcus Luttrell, all that would remain of the American SEAL is a pile of bones beside a waterfall. Understandably, no one wants to go down in history for allowing the next terrorist attacker to get into this country. But when bureaucratic timidity manages to get America’s friends killed before they get here, that doesn’t serve the nation’s interests either.