thedrifter
06-19-06, 05:12 AM
Iraqi interpreters looking to settle scores with Saddam
by Thibauld Malterre
Sun Jun 18, 6:20 PM ET
It would be difficult to find a more diverse group -- a former bodybuilder, a budding seminarian, an engaging fast-talker, an aging scholar -- but interpreters for the US military in Habbaniyah are united by a shared sense of mission and a chance to even scores.
The generous salary doesn't hurt either, but it takes more than money to make these Iraqis leave home for months on end, don the uniform of the US marines and go on patrol with them in the insurgency-plagued western province of Al-Anbar.
Each of them has a tale to tell of the past, about life under the old regime, that gives clues to their decision to take on one of the most dangerous jobs in a dangerous country.
"It is an honor to wear the Marine's uniform -- the devil's dogs as the Germans called them. I know everything about them, I've seen the movies and done searches on the Internet," said the fast-talking 22-year-old, who's taken the pseudonym "Jaguar".
All the interpreters have taken nicknames to protect their identities -- and because the marines have trouble pronouncing their Arabic names.
These men work with the marines assigned to train up the local Iraqi army units and accompany their instructors on patrol.
Since the beginning of the conflict, interpreters have been targets for insurgents. In Anbar, unlike elsewhere in the country, interpreters wear US uniforms to help them blend in and carry weapons to protect themselves.
Jaguar, who likes to tell more than a few tales of his supposed combat prowess, has cut his hair short like the marines and was lightly wounded by a roadside bomb less than a two months ago.
"My uncle tried to kill Saddam, so Saddam killed my uncle. He killed my father; he sent my mother to jail," said Jaguar. "I thank God and George Bush for giving us freedom and stopping Saddam Hussein, the motherf---er."
At 66, grey-haired, bespectacled and well-spoken Jaf appears to be the total opposite of his slick colleague. But this distinguished professor, with a degree in English and Kurdish literature, suffered in his own way under the old regime.
"I was a teacher in high school, but I was fired because I refused to be a member of the Baath Party and join the popular army and then later I was put in jail and tortured because of my political activities for Kurdish culture," he explained calmly.
Jaf favors his right ear ever since he went deaf in his left one due to maltreatment during his detention.
"Back home, with only my retirement pay, it was not enough, so I applied to become an interpreter," he said. "The Americans freed us from the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, so I like to work with them."
It is not only revenge against the Sunni and Baathist overlords who once ran this country that motivates these men -- not always the healthiest of reasons in an overwhelmingly Sunni province -- but it is also a sense of patriotism.
"We are like a bridge between the Iraqis and the Americans," says Farid, 36, who used to make four dollars a month as a teacher under the old regime.
"I like to work with the military and I serve my country in this way."
They acknowledge that in Anbar, however, Iraqi soldiers and US marines do not have the best of reputations.
"Some civilians hate us, because they don't understand our job, but I want to explain to them that they are wrong," said Ronny, 27.
Ronny, a former body builder, was in the Iraqi army for two and a half years, until he decided to put his English skills to use and make twice as much money.
"Besides, here I have working electricity and running water," he said, noting that these could be in quite short supply in the Iraqi army, and certainly in civilian life.
Gone are the old days when the US military first arrived and paid their interpreters only 180 dollars a month. Salaries have now gone up to 600 dollars and can rise to 1,000 dollars when bonuses for living on base and patrolling are added -- not to mention working in Anbar.
The work is risky, and every interpreter can recite the names of friends killed on patrol or doing their job.
"Risk is everywhere, but I am more safe here in the camp than in my house in Baghdad, and God is safeguarding me," said Peter, a 32-year-old Christian, who says his pale skin and Western looks often put him in danger when he's on leave.
In fact Peter's parents don't know he's spending his days tramping through fields in insurgency-plagued Anbar, acting as a go-between for heavily armed marines and local farmers.
He's told them he works for a company up in peaceful Kurdistan.
Though he has a degree in engineering, Peter turned to religion and studied at the college of theology, going to church four days a week.
"I cried and prayed to God to save me from Saddam Hussein and his regime," he recalled. "After the war, I was so excited and happy -- like a salvation time."
But now Peter is looking to leave and hopes he can win a scholarship to continue his studies in Lebanon or the United States.
"The situation won't improve for a very long time. It may take decades," he said.
Ellie
by Thibauld Malterre
Sun Jun 18, 6:20 PM ET
It would be difficult to find a more diverse group -- a former bodybuilder, a budding seminarian, an engaging fast-talker, an aging scholar -- but interpreters for the US military in Habbaniyah are united by a shared sense of mission and a chance to even scores.
The generous salary doesn't hurt either, but it takes more than money to make these Iraqis leave home for months on end, don the uniform of the US marines and go on patrol with them in the insurgency-plagued western province of Al-Anbar.
Each of them has a tale to tell of the past, about life under the old regime, that gives clues to their decision to take on one of the most dangerous jobs in a dangerous country.
"It is an honor to wear the Marine's uniform -- the devil's dogs as the Germans called them. I know everything about them, I've seen the movies and done searches on the Internet," said the fast-talking 22-year-old, who's taken the pseudonym "Jaguar".
All the interpreters have taken nicknames to protect their identities -- and because the marines have trouble pronouncing their Arabic names.
These men work with the marines assigned to train up the local Iraqi army units and accompany their instructors on patrol.
Since the beginning of the conflict, interpreters have been targets for insurgents. In Anbar, unlike elsewhere in the country, interpreters wear US uniforms to help them blend in and carry weapons to protect themselves.
Jaguar, who likes to tell more than a few tales of his supposed combat prowess, has cut his hair short like the marines and was lightly wounded by a roadside bomb less than a two months ago.
"My uncle tried to kill Saddam, so Saddam killed my uncle. He killed my father; he sent my mother to jail," said Jaguar. "I thank God and George Bush for giving us freedom and stopping Saddam Hussein, the motherf---er."
At 66, grey-haired, bespectacled and well-spoken Jaf appears to be the total opposite of his slick colleague. But this distinguished professor, with a degree in English and Kurdish literature, suffered in his own way under the old regime.
"I was a teacher in high school, but I was fired because I refused to be a member of the Baath Party and join the popular army and then later I was put in jail and tortured because of my political activities for Kurdish culture," he explained calmly.
Jaf favors his right ear ever since he went deaf in his left one due to maltreatment during his detention.
"Back home, with only my retirement pay, it was not enough, so I applied to become an interpreter," he said. "The Americans freed us from the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, so I like to work with them."
It is not only revenge against the Sunni and Baathist overlords who once ran this country that motivates these men -- not always the healthiest of reasons in an overwhelmingly Sunni province -- but it is also a sense of patriotism.
"We are like a bridge between the Iraqis and the Americans," says Farid, 36, who used to make four dollars a month as a teacher under the old regime.
"I like to work with the military and I serve my country in this way."
They acknowledge that in Anbar, however, Iraqi soldiers and US marines do not have the best of reputations.
"Some civilians hate us, because they don't understand our job, but I want to explain to them that they are wrong," said Ronny, 27.
Ronny, a former body builder, was in the Iraqi army for two and a half years, until he decided to put his English skills to use and make twice as much money.
"Besides, here I have working electricity and running water," he said, noting that these could be in quite short supply in the Iraqi army, and certainly in civilian life.
Gone are the old days when the US military first arrived and paid their interpreters only 180 dollars a month. Salaries have now gone up to 600 dollars and can rise to 1,000 dollars when bonuses for living on base and patrolling are added -- not to mention working in Anbar.
The work is risky, and every interpreter can recite the names of friends killed on patrol or doing their job.
"Risk is everywhere, but I am more safe here in the camp than in my house in Baghdad, and God is safeguarding me," said Peter, a 32-year-old Christian, who says his pale skin and Western looks often put him in danger when he's on leave.
In fact Peter's parents don't know he's spending his days tramping through fields in insurgency-plagued Anbar, acting as a go-between for heavily armed marines and local farmers.
He's told them he works for a company up in peaceful Kurdistan.
Though he has a degree in engineering, Peter turned to religion and studied at the college of theology, going to church four days a week.
"I cried and prayed to God to save me from Saddam Hussein and his regime," he recalled. "After the war, I was so excited and happy -- like a salvation time."
But now Peter is looking to leave and hopes he can win a scholarship to continue his studies in Lebanon or the United States.
"The situation won't improve for a very long time. It may take decades," he said.
Ellie