Posted Monday, December 29, 2008

PORTLAND, OR - A few months ago the Pentagon banned the use of face masks for interpreters serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. After Northwest Senators protested the controversial policy the Department of Defense backed down. Now interpreters can again wear masks because of the risks they face. Thousands of interpreters are waiting to come to the U.S. This week we have a two-part series on their struggles. In part one, Correspondent Anna King brings us the story of a soldier who helped his Iraqi translator escape the war zone. Their friendship helped create a foundation which helps other interpreters get out too.

There are friendships. Then there are friendships forged in Iraq. One of those close bonds is between Jason Faler and his former interpreter Mustafa. I’m not going to use his last name to help protect his identity.

Faler is 31, and looks like he stepped off the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. Blue eyes, blonde hair and a boyish smile. He calls Mustafa ahowa, which is the Iraqi word for my brother.

Faler: “The things that I do for you are because you are like my brother. I would do these things for my brother and because I consider you to be my brother.”

To understand how these men became so close let’s zip back three years. Faler worked for the National Guard advising the Iraqi Ministry of Defense in Bagdad. Mustafa worked there as a translator. The Iraqi’s job was so dangerous that his commute to work led through about 20 checkpoints.

Mustafa: “So I used to sometimes do shopping you know. Stop by a market and do shopping and then go take a bus to a different neighborhood and then from that neighborhood take another bus to work.”

Mustafa slept very little and would often talk openly about death. But out of war, came life. Both of their wives became pregnant. Mustafa’s son was born first. Which prompted a gift from Faler’s wife.

Mustafa: “Who I didn’t even know. (S)he did care for me a lot. I believe in something, there are a lot of good people here in the states that just want to help Iraqis.”

Just six months later it was Faler’s turn to have a son. But this time things didn’t go as smoothly.

Faler: “The night that I learned of his birth was … very lonely.”

Faler was trying to get home for the birth. Only, his son was coming early.

Faler: “Got a phone call from my sister on my government cell phone from my sister at about three in the morning Bagdad time saying that my wife had gone into labor and that actually the baby was in distress.”

Faler was in a large holding tent near the airport. It was dark and the air smelled heavy of dust. He couldn’t call out on his cell phone, so he just had to wait.

Faler: “And there I was the next five minutes seemed like an eternity. It was three in the morning so the only thing that there was to keep me company was the sound of two guys snoring in the tent, the hum of a generator and the sound of a firefight going on.”

Then his cell phone rang again.

Faler: “… and actually this time it was my mom. It was a lively voice saying that I had a healthy little boy.”

And the first person he called was Mustafa.

Mustafa: “We were so happy to hear that. We celebrated actually, we celebrated in the office.”

About four months after the birth of his son, Faler’s deployment ended. He was safe back at home. But Mustafa was still at war. They continued to e-mail each other almost every other day. After more than a year, Mustafa said he’d like to come to the United States. His life -- and his family’s lives -- were in danger.

It wasn’t easy to get out of Iraq. At that time there were as many as 15,000 Iraqi interpreters working for the U.S. and just 50 visa slots.

Faler: “It was obviously a very tedious process with multiple layers of red tape that we had to navigate and it took some time.”

For Mustafa it took six months. After working to get him and two other interpreters and their families to the states, Faler started to get calls. Several a day. Fellow service men and women wanted their interpreters out too. Eventually so many people were calling and e-mailing Faler decided to start the Checkpoint One Foundation. It’s named for a location where several interpreters have been killed.

Faler: “I didn’t think that when we started this foundation it would still be around a year plus later. Not only is it around we’re growing and the need for our service is growing as well.”

SOUND: Iraqi lesson (Up three seconds and then fade down under)

Five days a week Mustafa helps American soldiers perfect their Arabic.

SOUND: Up Iraqi lesson

On the weekends he works a second job in a supermarket deli. Before he became an interpreter, Mustafa was a veterinarian. So the deli counter isn’t exactly taxing his brain. But he’s glad for the job and his new life here in Oregon.

Mustafa: “I’m happy here because I can see my kids right now growing up in a normal environment. They are ready to adjust you know. They are already melted in the pot.”

So far, the Checkpoint One Foundation has helped bring about 30 Iraqi and Afghani interpreters to the U.S. But Faler says he’s not sure what will happen to his foundation this summer, his Army brigade might deploy again.

Copyright 2008 Northwest Public Radio

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