People rightly say “thank you for your service” to U.S. military personnel and veterans, but we don’t sufficiently recognize the interpreters who work with our military, who often face the same or greater danger.
Anwar Mohammad, who served as interpreter for the U.S. Army in Farah and Herat, Afghanistan, from 2001 to 2009, including service when my fellow soldiers and I established a base there in 2004 and 2005, was often better known by his code name, “Hollywood.”
After his time with the Army, Anwar dropped his code name and worked for high-level U.S. intelligence operatives from 2009 to 2014. On at least one mission, Anwar nearly died working against the enemy.
Serving the United States as an interpreter was Anwar’s passion. But in August 2014, the Americans left Herat, where Anwar worked, where he lived with his family. On Sept. 11, 2014, Anwar’s phone rang. “Hollywood,” said an Afghan man. “I know who you are. I’ve talked with you before.” This man, named Shaghal, proceeded to explain, with correct dates and details, several different bases and missions where Anwar had worked as an interpreter.
“I was a Taliban spy,” said Shaghal. “Your American friends have left. I know, because they just closed the base where I worked. Your 9-year-old son Farzad attends Ghaizan Sangar Elementary School. I kidnapped him from his classroom today. I do not want to kill him since he is only a boy. But if you want to see him alive again, you will pay me $100,000.”
Shaghal hung up.
Anwar felt dizzy.
“I thought he was going to kill him,” Hollywood told me. “Of course I’m not going to get $100,000 no matter what I do.” As an interpreter, Anwar had earned $400 a month.
Fighting the Taliban, he’d been in terrible situations, but this was the worst. The price of failure was unimaginable. Success was impossible. Anwar was crushed by guilt.
Had his work gotten his son killed?
Shaghal continued to call. Every five days, Anwar spoke to Farzad for 10 seconds to verify the boy was alive. Each time Shaghal disconnected, Anwar worried that was the last time he’d ever speak to Farzad.
Shaghal always called from the same number. Anwar passed it to the U.S. Embassy. They were already tracking it. Shaghal was a known person of interest to U.S. intelligence.
But they couldn’t help him.
The Afghan government advised him to negotiate and settle on an affordable ransom.
Anwar was furious. Terrified. He called Shaghal.
“I’ll pay you, but nobody has 8 million Afghani. I can get you a lot of money, but not that much.”
The men argued, and Anwar’s emotions spun from anger over this coward targeting Farzad, to bewilderment over the fact he was negotiating for his son’s life, to the terrible fear that his son would be killed no matter what.
Finally, Shaghal agreed to a ransom of $30,000. Anwar sold his house, car, kitchen supplies, and everything he owned to obtain the money. When he had it, Shaghal arranged to meet near the Blue Mosque in Herat.
At the appointed hour, Anwar arrived with the money. Two men with AK-47s waited nearby as Shaghal called across the plaza: “Put the money down and leave. We’ll tell you where to meet your son.”
“Just let him run to me. I’ll leave the money.”
“Put the money down and go!”
“How do I know I’ll get my boy?”
“You will have to trust me,” Shaghal said.
Helpless, Anwar dropped the money and left.
An agonizing three days later, the phone rang. “Hollywood! Come get your son.” Shaghal explained the time and place for pickup. “Come alone.”
If it was a trap, Anwar had to risk it. Finally, he was reunited with Farzad. The boy had lost 25 pounds, being kept in a cave for 21 days. He remained silent for two days.
That day, Anwar and his family flew to his nephew’s home in Kabul. He had visas approved and then began the trip to Albuquerque, New Mexico, where he was met by another former interpreter he’d contacted on Facebook.
The moment the plane landed in America, Anwar knew, “We were safe, and my family was together. That’s all that mattered.”
They struggle. Farzad, in particular, faces demanding school assignments while also adapting to a new and very different country and language.
Anwar told me, “I speak four languages, and it’s useless right now.” He’s driving for Uber but searching for a translation job.
He paid a terrible price, both financially and emotionally, as a result of 13 years of faithful service to the U.S. in the War in Afghanistan. He’s one of the finest men with whom I’ve ever had the honor of serving.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa Army National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a year’s tour of duty in Afghanistan.
