Counterinsurgency: One Elder at a Time

by Jarrin Jackson

I visited a small, isolated Afghan village near the Pakistan border in early 2011. My mission was to gather information, identify concerns, and help in any way I could.

On this brisk morning, I walked up to a mosque and asked to speak with the most influential person in the village. Minutes passed and I began to think I had been ignored. Then I saw a feeble, white-bearded old man. His back was curved and he used a tree branch as a cane. He was slowly making his way toward me, every bump in the ground seeming to pose a new challenge for him.

We exchanged the customary Islamic greeting—salaam alekum followed by wa alekum asalaam—and found a place to sit. He offered me chai for which I politely thanked him but refused. Untreated water in Afghanistan does not sit well with my stomach.

For the past 10 months I had patrolled the area and met plenty of Afghans. I learned how to meet locals, gain their trust, and promote the Afghan Government's values. But this encounter was different.

The old man spoke before I did, which was unusual. He began by saying that he was about to die and that he suspected it would happen very soon. He did not fear death, but he did fear his death's impact on the village. He said that although he was the elder there, the village did not have a successor. His people would have no leader when he died, a fact no one but him seemed to care about.

The old man told of how villages without quality leaders routinely became prey to insurgents in the area. He said the strength of a village is its cohesion, and an elder ensures this cohesion through strong leadership. He described how insurgents intimidated his community with violence; how they had recently left to openly rot the corpses of three of his villagers they had killed as powerful reminders not to oppose the insurgency. Insurgents forced young men to plant roadside bombs against Coalition Forces. The violence caused frightened villagers to stash illegal weapons in their homes. Fear prevented honest communication between local Afghans and those trying to help them. A powerful combination of coercion, violence, and fear drove a wedge between the people and Coalition Forces.

Though he clearly assessed the problems and their significance, the elder spoke of no efforts he had ever made to help the situation. He offered me no suggestions. He admitted he did not know what to do and he felt helpless. Hopeless. And then he just sat there, looking at me, waiting for me to speak.

Some wonder why we are in Afghanistan. Establishing and legitimizing a functioning government so as to defeat the insurgency sounds a little abstract, as does the Counterinsurgency (COIN) strategy for achieving it.

Perhaps this article will provide some clarity.

I was a 25-year old lieutenant in the United States Army. I grew up in a one-stoplight town in Oklahoma. I studied military history in college, graduated from the Army's best leadership schools, and trained for a year in one of the Army's most decorated battalions before receiving combat experience. All of this helped prepare me for solving problems, but nothing quite crystallized my understanding of our purpose and strategy in Afghanistan like my experience with the old man.

He was an old man, an Afghan leader, looking at death, but deeply caring for his people after he was gone. And, most significantly from the standpoint of COIN, he wanted me to help. He wanted me to teach him how to help his people, through governance and otherwise. He believed I, merely a physical representative of the Coalition Forces, could and would help. Meaning he had some measure of trust and understanding of our presence there. Meaning COIN's outreach to him was having some success.

Of course, I was not qualified to advise the old man. I needed a lifetime's worth of wisdom for that. But since I was the only one there, and he was looking at me, it became my duty to respond.

One lesson drilled into Soldiers of the United States is to never quit. If we quit, we will more likely die and fail. And failure is never an option.

Without the option to quit, the effort to succeed becomes a matter of analysis, creativity, and determination. As part of COIN, my mission was to problem-solve. That the old man's problem was awkward for me was no excuse. I am U.S. Soldier. I had to find a way to succeed.

As I saw it on that day, the main concern was not what to do with power and authority, but how to use power and authority to establish effective governance of a remote Afghan village, with a near-death elder and with ever-threatening insurgent violence. I knew I did not know the perfect answer, and the task's truncated timeline prevented me from soliciting outside help. The Afghan Soldiers with me also admitted to not knowing how to help him. My solution, therefore, came from my experience in Sabari: I asked another Afghan elder, who I knew through my several months of patrolling the area, to help solve the problem. This other elder lived in a different village 600 meters to the north. We were good friends and had a great relationship. Moreover, the old man knew the other elder very well. According to the old man, they were very good friends, but they had not seen each other in over 30 years. He explained that a combination of constant war, physical illness, and in this case, a deeply rooted feeling of isolation from the surrounding community, prevented them from speaking. I asked the old man if he respected the other elder—he did. I then described how prosperous the other elder's village was and how the other village interacted with other villages in Sabari District. The old man's eyes opened in amazement and it occurred to me that he never had the thought of asking for help from another Afghan, even if the other Afghan was a long-time friend that lived six and half football fields away!

The next step in solving the old man's dilemma was to convince him to model the success of the other village. In order to do that, the old man had to re-establish communication with the other elder, because my actions as a mouthpiece between the two men would be inefficient. I did not have the same stake as the two old men; my personal stake was high, but not as high as the old man's. He understood that personally communicating with the other elder would be more effective than using me as a conduit. Moreover, the other elder's advice superseded my own because the other elder shared similar values and had significant experience in successfully governing a prosperous Afghan village. I reasoned that the shared value system, religious belief, and knowledge of the area gave the two men critical experience that I lacked which meant my involvement only exacerbated the difficulty of the solution process.

I ended the conversation by proposing other ideas that supported the individual-driven solution process. I outlined tangible steps for the old man to take. First, I told him to start having shuras. Similar to a town hall meeting, shuras created a forum for the old man to voice his concerns. He had a cultural mandate to gather his community. I suggested he make it a weekly event. Secondly, he needed to use the shura to choose his successor. He was supposed to make it a public concern, ask for input, and make a decision. Lastly, I emphasized the importance of seeking advice from the other elder. Both men had incentives to solve the old man's dilemma. The greater community benefited from the cooperation of the two men.

The same type of insurgents that attacked the United States on 9/11 use violence to control the Afghan population today. The old man in this story grew up with war, but it was not his fault. He never had a strong benefactor to guarantee his personal liberties. He never had the opportunity to learn how to govern his community. My service in Afghanistan was necessary to defeat the insurgents. The United States' war in Afghanistan is not a misadventure that squanders treasure and needlessly sheds American blood. It is a war to quarantine extremist violence and protect the defenseless people in Afghanistan.

The old man's question took time to ask. I patrolled Sabari for ten months before the old man felt comfortable enough to trust me. He risked his life by asking me for help, which demonstrated his concern for his community over his personal well-being. American efforts are not in vain. It takes time for Counterinsurgency's gains to come to fruition. Afghans care about their peace and security. They want what is best for their children. The fulcrum for American involvement is to shape an environment that precipitates Afghan initiative.

I witnessed a dramatic improvement to security in Sabari. Villagers grew accustomed to my professionalism. They understood my intentions were to help them and improve their community. More importantly, they understood that their community improved more when they cooperated with me, which lead to situations similar to the one with the old man. I am not responsible for the improved security in Sabari. I did not solve the war in Afghanistan. I did my job. American Soldiers use the same amount of effort and creativity to produce similar results. Soldiers receive incredible training that offsets their lack of academic qualifications by giving them invaluable problem-solving skills. Their efforts are focused. They create favorable conditions conducive for Afghans to take the personal initiative to ensure their own well-being. The pieces are set, and the population is beginning to make a move.

I left Afghanistan three weeks after my conversation with the old man. I do not know if my solution helped him. After I left the old man's village, I informed the other elder of my conversation with his estranged friend—he understood. As I left the other elder's village, I noticed a slow moving figure approaching—he used a tree branch as a cane. It took thirty years to walk the length of six football fields, but the old man was there to talk.

1LT Jarrin Jackson graduated from the United States Military Academy in 2008. He served as an Infantry Platoon Leader in Khost Province in support of OEF 10-11. He will attend the Maneuver Captain's Career Course at Ft. Benning in July 2011.