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General Discussion / Over half a century later but not much different than the CIA secret Hmong army?
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Inside the CIA’s Secret Afghan Army
It was nearly midnight in February 2021 when Nasir Andar’s team of soldiers pinpointed the location of the suicide bomber’s house behind a police station in Jalalabad, a city in eastern Afghanistan. They crept up to the gate and called up the rest of the assault force, who would then surround the target and capture him.
Andar ordered an Afghan soldier to climb a ladder and call the target out to surrender. The house was in an urban area, and a firefight or suicide bomb would cause civilian casualties. As the soldier made his way up, Andar noticed a newer soldier on his team standing in front of the gate.
That’s not a place you want to be right before an assault.
Andar, who is short but stout with shaggy black hair, jogged over to the soldier and told him to get to the side near the wall just in case the terrorists opened fire through the gate. The two of them took a few steps toward cover. Suddenly, the soldier who’d reached the top of the ladder yelled, “Someone’s coming out. They’re going to open the gate!”
Andar looked up just as the man heading to the gate detonated an explosion. The explosion flung Andar into the air, and he landed in a heap. Stunned by the blast, Andar knew he was alive because of all the screaming and gunfire. But he couldn’t feel his legs.
He patted his thighs and shins to confirm both legs were still attached and wiped his eyes. Blood poured from shrapnel wounds in both shoulders and his face. He flexed his left hand but couldn’t move his right one. All around him Zero Unit soldiers with their CIA advisers exchanged fire with the terrorists. Andar was stuck in the crossfire. Pushing his rifle ahead of him, he crawled toward cover. He made it about 60 feet into a clearing before collapsing.
“This is the last moment,” he remembers thinking before passing out. “I’m not going to make it.”
Andar, who grew up in Ghazni province, had been working with the American military for around 15 years, since he was 18 years old. His team was part of a secret Afghan paramilitary unit led by the CIA called Zero Units because of their numeric designation (01, 02, etc.).
There was no other Afghan unit on the battlefield with the same training or equipment as the Zero Units. Trained by American special-operations soldiers, they acted as the CIA’s secret army, carrying out some of the most dangerous missions of the war targeting Al Qaeda and ISIS leaders plotting to attack the U.S., according to CIA officials who served with the units. Often, members of Joint Special Operations Command, including SEAL Team Six, would be part of the mission to call in airstrikes, but the bulk of the fighting was done by Afghan soldiers led by CIA Ground Branch officers.
Andar rose in the ranks, becoming a commander and eventually moving to the CIA Zero Unit compound in Jalalabad, where he did intelligence work. That’s how he wound up wounded by a suicide bomber that day. Soon, other wounded soldiers collapsed nearby, including a unit medic. Andar tried to help his teammates but passed out because of the pain, only to wake up with a CIA adviser standing over him shouting, “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to make it.”
Andar wasn’t convinced. He thought about his new family. How his son would grow up without his father, his wife a widow. He faded in and out of consciousness, waking again when medics started chest compressions. The third time he came to, tourniquets were on all four limbs. He was so cold. Andar learned later he was declared dead after he stopped breathing, only to be saved when a medic noticed his tongue was twisted and opened the airway. Andar’s last memory was the helicopter ride to the hospital at the base outside of Jalalabad.
Today, standing in his apartment in San Antonio, it is impossible not to notice Andar’s service etched into his flesh. His right arm and torso bear jagged scars shaped like crescent moons caused by a burst from an AK-47 rifle. His stomach and chest are a patchwork of pink and white shrapnel scars from the suicide bomber. His arms and legs tell the same brutal tale. Amid the scars, there are tattoos that mark a crude, faded reminder of his past. On his shoulder is the Afghan national flag, the symbol of a country he fought and nearly died for. His left arm is marked with a shield with crossed swords and wings — the Afghan National Strike Unit crest.
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“We paid the highest cost,” he tells me. “Every family lost someone. One, two, three, maybe five brothers from each family. I lost two family members. I’m not even the same person anymore. But I have to act like I’m whole. Like I’m strong.”
I COVERED THE WAR IN AFGHANISTAN for 17 years, and the Zero Units were cloaked in legend. I first encountered them in 2005 at a small U.S. Special Forces base tucked into the Hindu Kush near Asadabad. I stood outside the operations center talking to some of the Green Berets when I saw a group of Afghan soldiers wearing night-vision goggles line up vehicles for a raid. The night vision piqued my interest because you didn’t see it on Afghan troops at that time. I asked one of the Special Forces soldiers who the Afghan soldiers were. He shook his head. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with a reporter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
A few years later, I spotted the Zero Unit soldiers again, at Camp Chapman, near Khost on the Pakistan border. Again, I was told by a special-operations soldier not to ask questions about them. By then, I’d heard about this secret Afghan army. The only news about their operations came in the aftermath of the killing of a terrorist leader or in accusations of war crimes. Even now, U.S. officials cannot officially acknowledge the connection between the intelligence agency and the Zero Units.
“We paid the highest cost,” says Andar. “I’m not even the same person anymore.”
But for the Afghans fighting with Americans, Zero Unit slots were coveted because of better pay, better training, and the chance to work alongside elite U.S. operators. In later years, there were also opportunities to immigrate and resettle in the U.S. after at least one year of service and a U.S. government recommendation . In the final days of the war in 2021, roughly 81,000 Afghan immigrants — including almost 10,000 members of the Zero Units, along with many of their families — were evacuated by the CIA and resettled across the U.S., according to reports. Many were promised Special Immigrant Visas for their service — visas meant for Afghan and Iraqi nationals who worked directly for the U.S. government. There are close to 4,500 living in the U.S. who are still waiting to secure legal status because of paperwork delays from the federal government.
While the war in Afghanistan has been forgotten by most Americans, Andar’s story offers a rare glimpse through the eyes of an Afghan who believed in the promises made by Americans to bring freedom and opportunity to his country. Unlike his American counterparts who fought the war in three-month to one-year deployments, Andar was in harm’s way every day for the 15 or so years he volunteered to fight the Taliban. Now 37 years old, he has a new country and mission, to help his fellow veterans acclimate to a foreign land as he mourns the loss of his homeland.
No one just joined the Zero Units. Soldiers had to be recommended by a close family member or friend who vouched for their loyalty. Andar initially served in 2007 with Special Forces before joining the Zero Units in 2012 after his brother referred him. Unlike other Afghan units infiltrated by the Taliban, Zero Units never suffered an insider attack — when Afghan soldiers who were radicalized turned against U.S. advisers — which former CIA officers say was the by-product of a strict vetting program.
Zero Units were like a scalpel pursuing terrorist targets at the highest level. They mainly operated at night. Their war was a series of high-stakes raids against targets making car and suicide bombs, and terrorist leaders with bodyguards. When the Zero Units went out, they had a better chance than their counterparts to get into a fight, which left them wounded or killed.
“We were fighting for freedom,” Andar tells me. “We were fighting for our land. For our flag. For our dignity. We were fighting for our rights and for humanity. We didn’t want our soil to be used to hurt anyone else. We wanted Afghanistan to stand on the same level as other countries — to be respected, to be trusted. We wanted Afghans to walk through the world with the same kind of pride and recognition as everyone else.”
DESPITE HIGH PRAISE FROM BOTH U.S. special operators and CIA case officers, the Zero Units’ operations were surrounded by significant controversy. Media reports and human rights groups documented the units’ tactics, particularly in the Khost and Nangarhar provinces, including allegations of war crimes.
In 2018, The New York Times published a report focused on the devastating impact of these forces on civilian populations. While the Zero Units fought militant groups such as the Haqqani network and ISIS, their tactics raised serious concerns about human rights abuses. Civilians reported brutal raids, torture, killings, and property destruction. Many of the abuses, such as night raids and executions, were attributed to the looser rules of engagement and operational secrecy that characterized the missions.
Human Rights Watch documented several abuses between 2017 and 2019, including targeted raids that killed civilians, such as the shooting of innocent family members during nighttime operations. In a 2020 story, The Intercept called the Zero Units — 01 in particular — “death squads.” The unit’s raids resulted in the deaths of at least 51 civilians, including women and children, according to the report.
In 2022, ProPublica published a story that the Zero Units’ operations led to hundreds of Afghan civilian deaths. The raids were frequently carried out in remote villages where many innocent civilians were caught in the crossfire. Critics argue that the Zero Units’ operations, far from helping to neutralize terrorist threats, often made enemies out of ordinary Afghan families. Moreover, critics say the Afghan government either lacked capacity or political will to investigate, and that the U.S. military largely ignored the issue because the Zero Units worked for the CIA.
A spokesperson for the CIA tells Rolling Stone in a statement, “With regard to allegations of human rights abuses made against foreign partners, the US takes these claims very seriously and works to strengthen accountability and adherence to human rights standards. We are aware of a persistent false narrative regarding their alleged activities.”
When I asked about allegations of war crimes or rogue operations, three former CIA officers and Andar all insist the Zero Units never operated outside of CIA oversight, and the units went to great lengths to avoid civilian casualties. They say there were no rogue operations.
“We’re with them everywhere they go,” says a former U.S. intelligence officer, who requested anonymity to discuss the still-classified units.
Andar says he and his unit mates were shoulder to shoulder with Americans on every mission. There were no unilateral missions with just Zero Unit personnel. “We were taking every order from them,” Andar says. “We did not shoot a single round without their permission.”
When Andar talks about the war, he talks about a fight for the soul of his country. He had opportunities to leave Afghanistan. He received his approval to seek a visa in 2016 but never applied. He wanted to stay and fight, and would have continued if his government hadn’t fallen in August 2021.
“We were fighting for freedom,” Andar says. “We were fighting for our land. For our dignity.”
ANDAR WAS IN THE LEAD TRUCK heading into Kabul on Aug. 16, 2021, despite still nursing his injuries — including braces on his legs and shrapnel in his chest — from the suicide bomber. It was a few days after his country was overrun by the Taliban. Behind him were hundreds of Zero Unit soldiers coming from Eagle Base, a former brick factory turned CIA interrogation facility and Zero Unit base located almost three miles from Kabul. The Zero Units’ final mission was to safeguard U.S. and coalition personnel, including at Kabul airport, in the final days of the 20-year U.S. presence.
The Zero Unit convoy entered through a gate on the north side of the airport. A Turkish recon vehicle had been set ablaze in the middle of the road. Andar spotted some Marines nearby and called out to them that he was friendly. The convoy continued advancing. As it approached the runway, there were thousands of people trying to make it to the departing aircraft.
In the months leading up to the collapse, Andar says, the Zero Units were promised a lot of things. For one, they were told each soldier would get a bonus, which he didn’t care much about. They were also promised weapons and ammunition to continue to fight after their U.S. counterparts left. The last promise was if the Taliban took over, the Zero Units would take to the mountains and keep fighting. But when the Afghan government collapsed after the Taliban entered Kabul on Aug. 15, 2021, a CIA adviser told Andar he was sorry, but there was nothing he could do. Andar still won’t accept defeat today, even exiled to Texas, arguing that the Taliban didn’t hold one province in Afghanistan before the fall of Kabul.
“The soldiers never, ever got defeated,” Andar tells me last fall at his San Antonio home. “Never.”
Over the next few days at the airport, Andar and his men worked alongside Marines and State Department officials to process civilians and evacuate as many as they could. The Zero Unit soldiers were instrumental in screening evacuees because the Marines didn’t speak the language or know the culture. They also ran missions into Kabul to pick up stranded Americans. Andar remembers the feeling of dread and desperation. He warned the Marines about the risk of suicide bombers and wasn’t surprised when on Aug. 26, 2021, one killed 13 U.S. military service members and about 170 Afghans waiting to evacuate.
Andar thought after securing the airport, all the Zero Units would push out and retake Kabul. But as time passed, he heard rumors he and his men would evacuate. The CIA advisers ordered him to contact his wife and one-year-old son, who were in Kabul. He called them, and they made it to the gate in time to board a C-17 to Bahrain. From there, they went to Germany before landing in the U.S.
“It wasn’t until the last minute that I realized we were evacuating, and not staying to fight,” he tells me.
Andar and the other Zero Unit soldiers arrived in America with only their clothes and whatever they could carry on the plane. A few weeks later, Geeta Bakshi, a former CIA counterterrori sm operations officer who founded and leads FAMIL, a nonprofit dedicated to resettling Zero Unit veterans, and some of the former CIA advisers went to Quantico, a Marine base outside of Washington, D.C., to meet with Zero Unit veterans. The meeting was brief, and the veterans said little. Everyone was still in shock. After the meeting, Bakshi was stopped by Andar, who’d attended the meeting.
“Blackbird,” he said — her nickname while in Afghanistan. “I helped support one of your ops.”
They stepped out of the tent, and Andar confessed many of the soldiers were coming to him for help. They exchanged numbers. A few weeks later, Bakshi’s phone rang. It was Andar. Three families were in a suburban Maryland hotel with no food. The children were going hungry. Bakshi went to the supermarket and delivered a few days’ worth of groceries.
After that, Bakshi and Andar started talking regularly as they solved problems for the veterans. They tackled everything from providing food to hungry families to helping with green-card applications to facilitating prosthetics for amputees. Bakshi founded the nonprofit FAMIL to pay the Zero Unit veterans back for protecting her in Afghanistan.
“I remember thinking, resettlement agencies are not going to be able to deal with these soldiers and all of the things they’ve been through,” Bakshi says. “They’re not going to be able to relate to their experiences. They need people who understand what they’ve been through and what they’ve done to contribute, who can be there to be a lifeline for them.”
Most nights, Andar spends hours in a San Antonio hookah cafe talking to Zero Unit soldiers from across the country on his phone as he helps them finish applications, find jobs, and get benefits. Promises made by the CIA.
“It’s not about the war anymore,” he says. “It’s about what we promised those guys we’d do. We said we’d take care of them. And now we’re the ones waiting for someone to keep their promise.”
Living in the U.S. isn’t always smooth for the Afghan refugees. Abdul Rahman Waziri, who served with Special Forces, was recently killed in the parking lot of his west Houston apartment complex after a neighbor allegedly shot him multiple times over a parking spot, according to Houston police. Many of the Zero Unit veterans are viewed with suspicion, especially when dressed in the long shirt and baggy pants of Central Asia or speaking in Pashto, Andar’s native language.
A few months after he arrived in San Antonio with his wife and two children, Andar stopped at a Walmart to get baby formula for his newborn son. It was December 2023, and he’d been in the U.S. for almost two years, when a woman approached him.
“Are you a terrorist?” she asked. Andar didn’t know what to say. “No,” he said. “Why would I be a terrorist?”
“You just look like one,” she said.
When Andar, who wore a T-shirt, jeans, flip-flops, and a camouflage Punisher hat that day, told her he was a soldier, she begrudgingly thanked him for his service.
Last June for Eid, I meet Bakshi and Andar at his San Antonio apartment complex. A few children come outside. The girls wear colorful red and green dresses. I follow Andar into a second-floor apartment for a feast of rice, roasted goat, and fresh fruit.
Over the next few days, I get a glimpse of Andar’s San Antonio. A place we dub “San Antanistan” by the end of the trip because, in Andar’s bubble, Texas falls away. The Afghan community is tight-knit, with the Zero Unit veterans sticking together. Between trips to a halal market, where Andar and the others gather sometimes to eat sweets, and a grocery store owned by an Egyptian who stocks Middle Eastern foods and goods, it is rare to hear a word of English.
Near the end of the Eid celebration, Andar joins the larger Afghan community at O.P. Schnabel Park at sundown to sing and dance. While the boys play cricket, the men gather in a circle waiting for the music. When the first song starts, a hush falls over the men. Slowly, one after another starts to sing the Afghan national anthem.
“This land is Afghanistan; it is the pride of every Afghan; the land of peace; the land of sword, each of its sons is brave.…” The lyrics — written in 2006 when the Taliban were on the run — sound like a ballad now.
“We’ve been through hell and back together,” says Bakshi, who helps resettle vets..
We arrive at a ramshackle, ranch-style house tucked in the back of a cul-de-sac in a dusty neighborhood. A tall fence opens into a small courtyard covered in ornate rugs and couches. Andar sits on a couch with a leg propped up scrolling through his phone. Bakshi sits next to him. Bakshi and Andar act like family — they bicker and tease each other. While we wait for the other guests, Bakshi jokingly tells Andar to stop talking because his story about a previous operation is boring. This familiarity comes from working weeks and months through crises — soldiers who died by suicide or immigration nightmares.
“We’ve been through hell and back together,” Bakshi says.
As more Zero Unit veterans roll in for dinner, Andar makes introductions, usually in the form of a humorous story. The men talk and laugh. They like to joke about how ugly someone’s wife was because, until the evacuation, none of the soldiers ever saw their unit mates’ spouses. Men and women in Afghanistan traditionally don’t socialize together. One topic of agreement is the desire to go back to Afghanistan and finish the job. The mission that the United States government laid out — destroy Al Qaeda — is unfinished. And Andar would like nothing more than to accomplish it.
Liberating his country is still his only goal.
“We lost everything,” he tells me. “We lost our country. We lost our flag. We lost our family, we lost our brothers, and we lost our dignity.”
Until that’s restored, the war isn’t over.
When a pile of sandals has grown to a mound, a large plastic tablecloth is spread on the floor and covered with Afghan dishes. Lamb with rice. Fried chicken legs. Bakshi and the men huddle around the spread. Some men have prosthetic legs, and at least one has an eye patch. The talking and laughing fades as they eat. So do the frustrations about delayed visas. For a few hours, everyone is home with the San Bernardino and San Gabriel mountains standing in for the Hindu Kush.
As I leave, it only takes a few steps outside the gate to break the illusion. Kind of like the magic of Disneyland when the happiest place in the world ends and the real world returns with a traffic jam on the way out. But that faint echo of their life and culture is all they have left of home.
It was nearly midnight in February 2021 when Nasir Andar’s team of soldiers pinpointed the location of the suicide bomber’s house behind a police station in Jalalabad, a city in eastern Afghanistan. They crept up to the gate and called up the rest of the assault force, who would then surround the target and capture him.
Andar ordered an Afghan soldier to climb a ladder and call the target out to surrender. The house was in an urban area, and a firefight or suicide bomb would cause civilian casualties. As the soldier made his way up, Andar noticed a newer soldier on his team standing in front of the gate.
That’s not a place you want to be right before an assault.
Andar, who is short but stout with shaggy black hair, jogged over to the soldier and told him to get to the side near the wall just in case the terrorists opened fire through the gate. The two of them took a few steps toward cover. Suddenly, the soldier who’d reached the top of the ladder yelled, “Someone’s coming out. They’re going to open the gate!”
Andar looked up just as the man heading to the gate detonated an explosion. The explosion flung Andar into the air, and he landed in a heap. Stunned by the blast, Andar knew he was alive because of all the screaming and gunfire. But he couldn’t feel his legs.
He patted his thighs and shins to confirm both legs were still attached and wiped his eyes. Blood poured from shrapnel wounds in both shoulders and his face. He flexed his left hand but couldn’t move his right one. All around him Zero Unit soldiers with their CIA advisers exchanged fire with the terrorists. Andar was stuck in the crossfire. Pushing his rifle ahead of him, he crawled toward cover. He made it about 60 feet into a clearing before collapsing.
“This is the last moment,” he remembers thinking before passing out. “I’m not going to make it.”
Andar, who grew up in Ghazni province, had been working with the American military for around 15 years, since he was 18 years old. His team was part of a secret Afghan paramilitary unit led by the CIA called Zero Units because of their numeric designation (01, 02, etc.).
There was no other Afghan unit on the battlefield with the same training or equipment as the Zero Units. Trained by American special-operations soldiers, they acted as the CIA’s secret army, carrying out some of the most dangerous missions of the war targeting Al Qaeda and ISIS leaders plotting to attack the U.S., according to CIA officials who served with the units. Often, members of Joint Special Operations Command, including SEAL Team Six, would be part of the mission to call in airstrikes, but the bulk of the fighting was done by Afghan soldiers led by CIA Ground Branch officers.
Andar rose in the ranks, becoming a commander and eventually moving to the CIA Zero Unit compound in Jalalabad, where he did intelligence work. That’s how he wound up wounded by a suicide bomber that day. Soon, other wounded soldiers collapsed nearby, including a unit medic. Andar tried to help his teammates but passed out because of the pain, only to wake up with a CIA adviser standing over him shouting, “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to make it.”
Andar wasn’t convinced. He thought about his new family. How his son would grow up without his father, his wife a widow. He faded in and out of consciousness, waking again when medics started chest compressions. The third time he came to, tourniquets were on all four limbs. He was so cold. Andar learned later he was declared dead after he stopped breathing, only to be saved when a medic noticed his tongue was twisted and opened the airway. Andar’s last memory was the helicopter ride to the hospital at the base outside of Jalalabad.
Today, standing in his apartment in San Antonio, it is impossible not to notice Andar’s service etched into his flesh. His right arm and torso bear jagged scars shaped like crescent moons caused by a burst from an AK-47 rifle. His stomach and chest are a patchwork of pink and white shrapnel scars from the suicide bomber. His arms and legs tell the same brutal tale. Amid the scars, there are tattoos that mark a crude, faded reminder of his past. On his shoulder is the Afghan national flag, the symbol of a country he fought and nearly died for. His left arm is marked with a shield with crossed swords and wings — the Afghan National Strike Unit crest.
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“We paid the highest cost,” he tells me. “Every family lost someone. One, two, three, maybe five brothers from each family. I lost two family members. I’m not even the same person anymore. But I have to act like I’m whole. Like I’m strong.”
I COVERED THE WAR IN AFGHANISTAN for 17 years, and the Zero Units were cloaked in legend. I first encountered them in 2005 at a small U.S. Special Forces base tucked into the Hindu Kush near Asadabad. I stood outside the operations center talking to some of the Green Berets when I saw a group of Afghan soldiers wearing night-vision goggles line up vehicles for a raid. The night vision piqued my interest because you didn’t see it on Afghan troops at that time. I asked one of the Special Forces soldiers who the Afghan soldiers were. He shook his head. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with a reporter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
A few years later, I spotted the Zero Unit soldiers again, at Camp Chapman, near Khost on the Pakistan border. Again, I was told by a special-operations soldier not to ask questions about them. By then, I’d heard about this secret Afghan army. The only news about their operations came in the aftermath of the killing of a terrorist leader or in accusations of war crimes. Even now, U.S. officials cannot officially acknowledge the connection between the intelligence agency and the Zero Units.
“We paid the highest cost,” says Andar. “I’m not even the same person anymore.”
But for the Afghans fighting with Americans, Zero Unit slots were coveted because of better pay, better training, and the chance to work alongside elite U.S. operators. In later years, there were also opportunities to immigrate and resettle in the U.S. after at least one year of service and a U.S. government recommendation . In the final days of the war in 2021, roughly 81,000 Afghan immigrants — including almost 10,000 members of the Zero Units, along with many of their families — were evacuated by the CIA and resettled across the U.S., according to reports. Many were promised Special Immigrant Visas for their service — visas meant for Afghan and Iraqi nationals who worked directly for the U.S. government. There are close to 4,500 living in the U.S. who are still waiting to secure legal status because of paperwork delays from the federal government.
While the war in Afghanistan has been forgotten by most Americans, Andar’s story offers a rare glimpse through the eyes of an Afghan who believed in the promises made by Americans to bring freedom and opportunity to his country. Unlike his American counterparts who fought the war in three-month to one-year deployments, Andar was in harm’s way every day for the 15 or so years he volunteered to fight the Taliban. Now 37 years old, he has a new country and mission, to help his fellow veterans acclimate to a foreign land as he mourns the loss of his homeland.
No one just joined the Zero Units. Soldiers had to be recommended by a close family member or friend who vouched for their loyalty. Andar initially served in 2007 with Special Forces before joining the Zero Units in 2012 after his brother referred him. Unlike other Afghan units infiltrated by the Taliban, Zero Units never suffered an insider attack — when Afghan soldiers who were radicalized turned against U.S. advisers — which former CIA officers say was the by-product of a strict vetting program.
Zero Units were like a scalpel pursuing terrorist targets at the highest level. They mainly operated at night. Their war was a series of high-stakes raids against targets making car and suicide bombs, and terrorist leaders with bodyguards. When the Zero Units went out, they had a better chance than their counterparts to get into a fight, which left them wounded or killed.
“We were fighting for freedom,” Andar tells me. “We were fighting for our land. For our flag. For our dignity. We were fighting for our rights and for humanity. We didn’t want our soil to be used to hurt anyone else. We wanted Afghanistan to stand on the same level as other countries — to be respected, to be trusted. We wanted Afghans to walk through the world with the same kind of pride and recognition as everyone else.”
DESPITE HIGH PRAISE FROM BOTH U.S. special operators and CIA case officers, the Zero Units’ operations were surrounded by significant controversy. Media reports and human rights groups documented the units’ tactics, particularly in the Khost and Nangarhar provinces, including allegations of war crimes.
In 2018, The New York Times published a report focused on the devastating impact of these forces on civilian populations. While the Zero Units fought militant groups such as the Haqqani network and ISIS, their tactics raised serious concerns about human rights abuses. Civilians reported brutal raids, torture, killings, and property destruction. Many of the abuses, such as night raids and executions, were attributed to the looser rules of engagement and operational secrecy that characterized the missions.
Human Rights Watch documented several abuses between 2017 and 2019, including targeted raids that killed civilians, such as the shooting of innocent family members during nighttime operations. In a 2020 story, The Intercept called the Zero Units — 01 in particular — “death squads.” The unit’s raids resulted in the deaths of at least 51 civilians, including women and children, according to the report.
In 2022, ProPublica published a story that the Zero Units’ operations led to hundreds of Afghan civilian deaths. The raids were frequently carried out in remote villages where many innocent civilians were caught in the crossfire. Critics argue that the Zero Units’ operations, far from helping to neutralize terrorist threats, often made enemies out of ordinary Afghan families. Moreover, critics say the Afghan government either lacked capacity or political will to investigate, and that the U.S. military largely ignored the issue because the Zero Units worked for the CIA.
A spokesperson for the CIA tells Rolling Stone in a statement, “With regard to allegations of human rights abuses made against foreign partners, the US takes these claims very seriously and works to strengthen accountability and adherence to human rights standards. We are aware of a persistent false narrative regarding their alleged activities.”
When I asked about allegations of war crimes or rogue operations, three former CIA officers and Andar all insist the Zero Units never operated outside of CIA oversight, and the units went to great lengths to avoid civilian casualties. They say there were no rogue operations.
“We’re with them everywhere they go,” says a former U.S. intelligence officer, who requested anonymity to discuss the still-classified units.
Andar says he and his unit mates were shoulder to shoulder with Americans on every mission. There were no unilateral missions with just Zero Unit personnel. “We were taking every order from them,” Andar says. “We did not shoot a single round without their permission.”
When Andar talks about the war, he talks about a fight for the soul of his country. He had opportunities to leave Afghanistan. He received his approval to seek a visa in 2016 but never applied. He wanted to stay and fight, and would have continued if his government hadn’t fallen in August 2021.
“We were fighting for freedom,” Andar says. “We were fighting for our land. For our dignity.”
ANDAR WAS IN THE LEAD TRUCK heading into Kabul on Aug. 16, 2021, despite still nursing his injuries — including braces on his legs and shrapnel in his chest — from the suicide bomber. It was a few days after his country was overrun by the Taliban. Behind him were hundreds of Zero Unit soldiers coming from Eagle Base, a former brick factory turned CIA interrogation facility and Zero Unit base located almost three miles from Kabul. The Zero Units’ final mission was to safeguard U.S. and coalition personnel, including at Kabul airport, in the final days of the 20-year U.S. presence.
The Zero Unit convoy entered through a gate on the north side of the airport. A Turkish recon vehicle had been set ablaze in the middle of the road. Andar spotted some Marines nearby and called out to them that he was friendly. The convoy continued advancing. As it approached the runway, there were thousands of people trying to make it to the departing aircraft.
In the months leading up to the collapse, Andar says, the Zero Units were promised a lot of things. For one, they were told each soldier would get a bonus, which he didn’t care much about. They were also promised weapons and ammunition to continue to fight after their U.S. counterparts left. The last promise was if the Taliban took over, the Zero Units would take to the mountains and keep fighting. But when the Afghan government collapsed after the Taliban entered Kabul on Aug. 15, 2021, a CIA adviser told Andar he was sorry, but there was nothing he could do. Andar still won’t accept defeat today, even exiled to Texas, arguing that the Taliban didn’t hold one province in Afghanistan before the fall of Kabul.
“The soldiers never, ever got defeated,” Andar tells me last fall at his San Antonio home. “Never.”
Over the next few days at the airport, Andar and his men worked alongside Marines and State Department officials to process civilians and evacuate as many as they could. The Zero Unit soldiers were instrumental in screening evacuees because the Marines didn’t speak the language or know the culture. They also ran missions into Kabul to pick up stranded Americans. Andar remembers the feeling of dread and desperation. He warned the Marines about the risk of suicide bombers and wasn’t surprised when on Aug. 26, 2021, one killed 13 U.S. military service members and about 170 Afghans waiting to evacuate.
Andar thought after securing the airport, all the Zero Units would push out and retake Kabul. But as time passed, he heard rumors he and his men would evacuate. The CIA advisers ordered him to contact his wife and one-year-old son, who were in Kabul. He called them, and they made it to the gate in time to board a C-17 to Bahrain. From there, they went to Germany before landing in the U.S.
“It wasn’t until the last minute that I realized we were evacuating, and not staying to fight,” he tells me.
Andar and the other Zero Unit soldiers arrived in America with only their clothes and whatever they could carry on the plane. A few weeks later, Geeta Bakshi, a former CIA counterterrori sm operations officer who founded and leads FAMIL, a nonprofit dedicated to resettling Zero Unit veterans, and some of the former CIA advisers went to Quantico, a Marine base outside of Washington, D.C., to meet with Zero Unit veterans. The meeting was brief, and the veterans said little. Everyone was still in shock. After the meeting, Bakshi was stopped by Andar, who’d attended the meeting.
“Blackbird,” he said — her nickname while in Afghanistan. “I helped support one of your ops.”
They stepped out of the tent, and Andar confessed many of the soldiers were coming to him for help. They exchanged numbers. A few weeks later, Bakshi’s phone rang. It was Andar. Three families were in a suburban Maryland hotel with no food. The children were going hungry. Bakshi went to the supermarket and delivered a few days’ worth of groceries.
After that, Bakshi and Andar started talking regularly as they solved problems for the veterans. They tackled everything from providing food to hungry families to helping with green-card applications to facilitating prosthetics for amputees. Bakshi founded the nonprofit FAMIL to pay the Zero Unit veterans back for protecting her in Afghanistan.
“I remember thinking, resettlement agencies are not going to be able to deal with these soldiers and all of the things they’ve been through,” Bakshi says. “They’re not going to be able to relate to their experiences. They need people who understand what they’ve been through and what they’ve done to contribute, who can be there to be a lifeline for them.”
Most nights, Andar spends hours in a San Antonio hookah cafe talking to Zero Unit soldiers from across the country on his phone as he helps them finish applications, find jobs, and get benefits. Promises made by the CIA.
“It’s not about the war anymore,” he says. “It’s about what we promised those guys we’d do. We said we’d take care of them. And now we’re the ones waiting for someone to keep their promise.”
Living in the U.S. isn’t always smooth for the Afghan refugees. Abdul Rahman Waziri, who served with Special Forces, was recently killed in the parking lot of his west Houston apartment complex after a neighbor allegedly shot him multiple times over a parking spot, according to Houston police. Many of the Zero Unit veterans are viewed with suspicion, especially when dressed in the long shirt and baggy pants of Central Asia or speaking in Pashto, Andar’s native language.
A few months after he arrived in San Antonio with his wife and two children, Andar stopped at a Walmart to get baby formula for his newborn son. It was December 2023, and he’d been in the U.S. for almost two years, when a woman approached him.
“Are you a terrorist?” she asked. Andar didn’t know what to say. “No,” he said. “Why would I be a terrorist?”
“You just look like one,” she said.
When Andar, who wore a T-shirt, jeans, flip-flops, and a camouflage Punisher hat that day, told her he was a soldier, she begrudgingly thanked him for his service.
Last June for Eid, I meet Bakshi and Andar at his San Antonio apartment complex. A few children come outside. The girls wear colorful red and green dresses. I follow Andar into a second-floor apartment for a feast of rice, roasted goat, and fresh fruit.
Over the next few days, I get a glimpse of Andar’s San Antonio. A place we dub “San Antanistan” by the end of the trip because, in Andar’s bubble, Texas falls away. The Afghan community is tight-knit, with the Zero Unit veterans sticking together. Between trips to a halal market, where Andar and the others gather sometimes to eat sweets, and a grocery store owned by an Egyptian who stocks Middle Eastern foods and goods, it is rare to hear a word of English.
Near the end of the Eid celebration, Andar joins the larger Afghan community at O.P. Schnabel Park at sundown to sing and dance. While the boys play cricket, the men gather in a circle waiting for the music. When the first song starts, a hush falls over the men. Slowly, one after another starts to sing the Afghan national anthem.
“This land is Afghanistan; it is the pride of every Afghan; the land of peace; the land of sword, each of its sons is brave.…” The lyrics — written in 2006 when the Taliban were on the run — sound like a ballad now.
“We’ve been through hell and back together,” says Bakshi, who helps resettle vets..
We arrive at a ramshackle, ranch-style house tucked in the back of a cul-de-sac in a dusty neighborhood. A tall fence opens into a small courtyard covered in ornate rugs and couches. Andar sits on a couch with a leg propped up scrolling through his phone. Bakshi sits next to him. Bakshi and Andar act like family — they bicker and tease each other. While we wait for the other guests, Bakshi jokingly tells Andar to stop talking because his story about a previous operation is boring. This familiarity comes from working weeks and months through crises — soldiers who died by suicide or immigration nightmares.
“We’ve been through hell and back together,” Bakshi says.
As more Zero Unit veterans roll in for dinner, Andar makes introductions, usually in the form of a humorous story. The men talk and laugh. They like to joke about how ugly someone’s wife was because, until the evacuation, none of the soldiers ever saw their unit mates’ spouses. Men and women in Afghanistan traditionally don’t socialize together. One topic of agreement is the desire to go back to Afghanistan and finish the job. The mission that the United States government laid out — destroy Al Qaeda — is unfinished. And Andar would like nothing more than to accomplish it.
Liberating his country is still his only goal.
“We lost everything,” he tells me. “We lost our country. We lost our flag. We lost our family, we lost our brothers, and we lost our dignity.”
Until that’s restored, the war isn’t over.
When a pile of sandals has grown to a mound, a large plastic tablecloth is spread on the floor and covered with Afghan dishes. Lamb with rice. Fried chicken legs. Bakshi and the men huddle around the spread. Some men have prosthetic legs, and at least one has an eye patch. The talking and laughing fades as they eat. So do the frustrations about delayed visas. For a few hours, everyone is home with the San Bernardino and San Gabriel mountains standing in for the Hindu Kush.
As I leave, it only takes a few steps outside the gate to break the illusion. Kind of like the magic of Disneyland when the happiest place in the world ends and the real world returns with a traffic jam on the way out. But that faint echo of their life and culture is all they have left of home.
3
General Discussion / Tough situation for these Hmong folks?
« on: Today at 01:25:35 AM »
Hmong Minnesotan ordered deported to Laos speaks out about arrest: ‘It’s a tear in my heart’ Chia Neng Vue, one of 15 Hmong Minnesotans facing deportation, was arrested at his Coon Rapids home a week after his yearly check-in at immigration court.
Chia Neng Vue was napping after a night shift when his 5-year-old son saw officers in armored vests outside the window of the family’s Coon Rapids home.
“Hey buddy,” said one of the officers, when Leon opened the door. “Is your dad home?”
It was a week after Vue’s most recent check-in with the Federal Immigration Court at Fort Snelling. At the time, court officers had told him to check back with them in six months, a temporary reprieve in a climate of escalating immigration enforcement.
But when he came to the door, officers from Homeland Security Investigations waved him out to the driveway.
“They just pulled me right out of my front door and arrested me,” Vue, 43, said in an interview from the Freeborn County jail, where he’s being detained.
Vue reached out to Sahan Journal to share the story of his arrest — and a Ring camera video of him hugging his kids before he was taken away by officers — because he wanted the community to know how these arrests are happening to people who have turned their lives around after past convictions and built families and lives in the community.
When he spoke with Sahan on June 27, 12 other Hmong men were in detention with him and facing deportation. They are among at least 15 Hmong individuals arrested by federal agents in early June around the Twin Cities. Several immigration attorneys and family advocates told Sahan Journal they expected the detainees to be deported by the end of June.
“There’s a whole mix of emotions: One, I’m sad because I miss my family like crazy. I miss my kids, I miss my wife,” Vue said. “Second, I’m mad. Is this the kind of thanks that my people get for sacrificing blood and sweat for them?”
Despite nightly phone calls, Vue’s wife, Linda Xiong, still doesn’t know when he will be deported, most likely to Laos.
“It felt like in the blink of the eye, everything changed,” she said. “Now, my life has to shift. His life has to shift. I was shocked and mostly in fear.”
A complicated path growing up
Since the arrival of the first Hmong in Minnesota 50 years ago, Hmong refugees have rarely faced deportation, even those who were convicted and served time for crimes. However, the Trump administration’s campaign to deport millions and tighten immigration enforcement is causing a ripple effect for those with final orders of removal dating back decades.
Vue said he and some of the Hmong men detained in Freeborn County refused to sign notices for deportation to Laos.
Take the survey
Vue was born in a Thai refugee camp and arrived in the country when he was 5, moving into what he described as “the projects” in north Minneapolis.
At 16, he was charged as an adult and convicted of first-degree criminal sexual misconduct as part of his involvement in gang activity. He pled guilty in 1998 and was sentenced to about a decade in prison.
Linda Xiong, Vue’s wife, said he felt constant shame and regret over his criminal history.
“I wish that, you know, that you can just go and tell the whole world, ‘Hey that’s not who he is,’” Xiong said. “He did do bad, there’s no denying that, but he paid his time.”
Both of Vue’s parents died when he was a child. His uncle and aunt raised him and his brother and sister in Minneapolis. Vue said he was too young to apply for U.S. citizenship or obtain a green card before he ended up in prison.
Under the Child Citizenship Act, children born outside the United States can obtain citizenship before they turn 18 if their parents become naturalized as citizens. However, the child can be barred from becoming a U.S. citizen after committing crimes considered removable offenses under immigration law.
Vue also believed that his aunt and uncle had adopted him and his siblings, and that he had U.S. citizenship under their custody, Xiong said, adding that he later found out that they were wards of the state.
“He didn’t even get the chance to try to get his citizenship because at 16, he was already basically on the removal list,” she said.
When he completed his sentence, he was ordered for deportation to Laos. In the past, Laos rarely issued travel documents to U.S. deportees, so when Vue was released from custody, he was required to complete yearly check-ins with immigration authorities.
Turning his life around
Vue said he has spent decades focused on improving his life.
“My life was just starting to get good. I mean, I was making six figures a year. I stayed out of trouble for all these years,” Vue said. “All of sudden, everything just ripped apart. I never thought this day would happen.”
Vue attended Hennepin Technical College to obtain several degrees, including as a supply chain technician and in mechatronics. He worked full-time as a licensed electrician for years before taking a job as a maintenance technician to support his family. He also started a small business selling plants he grew in the family’s backyard.
Vue said he was motivated to turn his life in a positive direction after seeing others become successful. Xiong met Vue in 2018, and they married a year later.
“He’s very driven,” she said.
Chia Neng Vue at his 2024 graduation from Hennepin Technical College, where he studied mechatronics and supply chain management, among other subjects. Credit: Linda Xiong
They bought their Coon Rapids house in 2020, where they are raising Vue’s oldest son from a previous marriage and their couple’s two small children. Vue has two other children from a previous marriage who spend time with them as well.
“The hardest thing is that if they [federal agents] would have got me when I never started a family, I would’ve said, ‘Let’s go,’” Vue said. “But now I have a family, and I’m trying to be a father for my kids, and husband for my wife. I try so hard to have my kids not walk the same footsteps that I walk.”
Vue takes his sons fishing and hunting to “keep them out of trouble,” and said he encourages his children to pursue their interests, like dancing and collecting rocks.
“He wanted to show a good example to his children that you work hard and you get rewarded at the end,” Xiong said. “He’s just always wanted to teach his kids that: I came from nothing and look at where I am now.”
A week before the arrest
Typically once a year, Vue went to the Fort Snelling Immigration Office to check in with immigration authorities. Xiong said Vue talked to his family “to be prepared” for the possibility of his deportation from seeing the flood of news showing ramped up immigration enforcement.
At his immigration check-in May 30 — about a week before his arrest — Vue brought his family with him “just in case” he was detained, Xiong said, so they would get to see him “that one last time.” Xiong, his children, siblings, aunt and uncle, attended his check-in.
Xiong said after the immigration check-in, Vue left and he was told to return for another immigration check-in in six months. When Vue was arrested a week later, Xiong said she felt angry that he was told that he could leave and return in six months.
“For you guys to even let him out and almost, to me, deceive him that you have six months to stay with your family, right? Just to come and take him a week later — at that moment I was just scared, but I was more angry at them because it feels like they’re not sympathetic with us,” she said.
Vue is one of several men arrested earlier this month whose photos were posted on the HSI St. Paul account on X. He said the photo of him was taken without permission.
The posts show Hmong men in handcuffs, facing the camera, while anonymous officers restrain them, facing away. Each of the men is identified by name, age, criminal conviction and most are labeled “illegal alien” in the post.
Xiong said Vue was the family breadwinner. She’s now relying on relatives to care for her children while she’s at work. Her family also set up a GoFundMe page to help with the finances.
Aside from the financial impact, Xiong said the experience with the arresting officers has made her family fearful of opening the door. She also said her family is dealing with the emotional pain of not having Vue there at milestones for the children, like graduations and birthdays. Leon, Vue’s youngest son, turned 6 while he was in detention.
Xiong and Vue said they feel anxious from not knowing the exact date of his deportation. They also feel worried he could be sent to a third country. Last week, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled, at least for now, that the Trump administration can deport immigrants to countries where they have no ties.
“It’s a tear in my heart,” Vue said. “If they don’t send me back to the country they say I’m a citizen of, I don’t want to go back to any other country except the country where that’s closest to who I am.”
Still, Xiong said on her phone calls with Vue every night, they both focus on being positive.
“I feel like they’re always forever judged. They can live 20, 30, 40, 50 years as a good person, but then that one crime would just always make them a bad person,” Xiong said, referring to the Hmong deportees. “It doesn’t matter all the good that they do — just that one crime, it’s all made their image who America sees them as.”
Chia Neng Vue was napping after a night shift when his 5-year-old son saw officers in armored vests outside the window of the family’s Coon Rapids home.
“Hey buddy,” said one of the officers, when Leon opened the door. “Is your dad home?”
It was a week after Vue’s most recent check-in with the Federal Immigration Court at Fort Snelling. At the time, court officers had told him to check back with them in six months, a temporary reprieve in a climate of escalating immigration enforcement.
But when he came to the door, officers from Homeland Security Investigations waved him out to the driveway.
“They just pulled me right out of my front door and arrested me,” Vue, 43, said in an interview from the Freeborn County jail, where he’s being detained.
Vue reached out to Sahan Journal to share the story of his arrest — and a Ring camera video of him hugging his kids before he was taken away by officers — because he wanted the community to know how these arrests are happening to people who have turned their lives around after past convictions and built families and lives in the community.
When he spoke with Sahan on June 27, 12 other Hmong men were in detention with him and facing deportation. They are among at least 15 Hmong individuals arrested by federal agents in early June around the Twin Cities. Several immigration attorneys and family advocates told Sahan Journal they expected the detainees to be deported by the end of June.
“There’s a whole mix of emotions: One, I’m sad because I miss my family like crazy. I miss my kids, I miss my wife,” Vue said. “Second, I’m mad. Is this the kind of thanks that my people get for sacrificing blood and sweat for them?”
Despite nightly phone calls, Vue’s wife, Linda Xiong, still doesn’t know when he will be deported, most likely to Laos.
“It felt like in the blink of the eye, everything changed,” she said. “Now, my life has to shift. His life has to shift. I was shocked and mostly in fear.”
A complicated path growing up
Since the arrival of the first Hmong in Minnesota 50 years ago, Hmong refugees have rarely faced deportation, even those who were convicted and served time for crimes. However, the Trump administration’s campaign to deport millions and tighten immigration enforcement is causing a ripple effect for those with final orders of removal dating back decades.
Vue said he and some of the Hmong men detained in Freeborn County refused to sign notices for deportation to Laos.
Take the survey
Vue was born in a Thai refugee camp and arrived in the country when he was 5, moving into what he described as “the projects” in north Minneapolis.
At 16, he was charged as an adult and convicted of first-degree criminal sexual misconduct as part of his involvement in gang activity. He pled guilty in 1998 and was sentenced to about a decade in prison.
Linda Xiong, Vue’s wife, said he felt constant shame and regret over his criminal history.
“I wish that, you know, that you can just go and tell the whole world, ‘Hey that’s not who he is,’” Xiong said. “He did do bad, there’s no denying that, but he paid his time.”
Both of Vue’s parents died when he was a child. His uncle and aunt raised him and his brother and sister in Minneapolis. Vue said he was too young to apply for U.S. citizenship or obtain a green card before he ended up in prison.
Under the Child Citizenship Act, children born outside the United States can obtain citizenship before they turn 18 if their parents become naturalized as citizens. However, the child can be barred from becoming a U.S. citizen after committing crimes considered removable offenses under immigration law.
Vue also believed that his aunt and uncle had adopted him and his siblings, and that he had U.S. citizenship under their custody, Xiong said, adding that he later found out that they were wards of the state.
“He didn’t even get the chance to try to get his citizenship because at 16, he was already basically on the removal list,” she said.
When he completed his sentence, he was ordered for deportation to Laos. In the past, Laos rarely issued travel documents to U.S. deportees, so when Vue was released from custody, he was required to complete yearly check-ins with immigration authorities.
Turning his life around
Vue said he has spent decades focused on improving his life.
“My life was just starting to get good. I mean, I was making six figures a year. I stayed out of trouble for all these years,” Vue said. “All of sudden, everything just ripped apart. I never thought this day would happen.”
Vue attended Hennepin Technical College to obtain several degrees, including as a supply chain technician and in mechatronics. He worked full-time as a licensed electrician for years before taking a job as a maintenance technician to support his family. He also started a small business selling plants he grew in the family’s backyard.
Vue said he was motivated to turn his life in a positive direction after seeing others become successful. Xiong met Vue in 2018, and they married a year later.
“He’s very driven,” she said.
Chia Neng Vue at his 2024 graduation from Hennepin Technical College, where he studied mechatronics and supply chain management, among other subjects. Credit: Linda Xiong
They bought their Coon Rapids house in 2020, where they are raising Vue’s oldest son from a previous marriage and their couple’s two small children. Vue has two other children from a previous marriage who spend time with them as well.
“The hardest thing is that if they [federal agents] would have got me when I never started a family, I would’ve said, ‘Let’s go,’” Vue said. “But now I have a family, and I’m trying to be a father for my kids, and husband for my wife. I try so hard to have my kids not walk the same footsteps that I walk.”
Vue takes his sons fishing and hunting to “keep them out of trouble,” and said he encourages his children to pursue their interests, like dancing and collecting rocks.
“He wanted to show a good example to his children that you work hard and you get rewarded at the end,” Xiong said. “He’s just always wanted to teach his kids that: I came from nothing and look at where I am now.”
A week before the arrest
Typically once a year, Vue went to the Fort Snelling Immigration Office to check in with immigration authorities. Xiong said Vue talked to his family “to be prepared” for the possibility of his deportation from seeing the flood of news showing ramped up immigration enforcement.
At his immigration check-in May 30 — about a week before his arrest — Vue brought his family with him “just in case” he was detained, Xiong said, so they would get to see him “that one last time.” Xiong, his children, siblings, aunt and uncle, attended his check-in.
Xiong said after the immigration check-in, Vue left and he was told to return for another immigration check-in in six months. When Vue was arrested a week later, Xiong said she felt angry that he was told that he could leave and return in six months.
“For you guys to even let him out and almost, to me, deceive him that you have six months to stay with your family, right? Just to come and take him a week later — at that moment I was just scared, but I was more angry at them because it feels like they’re not sympathetic with us,” she said.
Vue is one of several men arrested earlier this month whose photos were posted on the HSI St. Paul account on X. He said the photo of him was taken without permission.
The posts show Hmong men in handcuffs, facing the camera, while anonymous officers restrain them, facing away. Each of the men is identified by name, age, criminal conviction and most are labeled “illegal alien” in the post.
Xiong said Vue was the family breadwinner. She’s now relying on relatives to care for her children while she’s at work. Her family also set up a GoFundMe page to help with the finances.
Aside from the financial impact, Xiong said the experience with the arresting officers has made her family fearful of opening the door. She also said her family is dealing with the emotional pain of not having Vue there at milestones for the children, like graduations and birthdays. Leon, Vue’s youngest son, turned 6 while he was in detention.
Xiong and Vue said they feel anxious from not knowing the exact date of his deportation. They also feel worried he could be sent to a third country. Last week, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled, at least for now, that the Trump administration can deport immigrants to countries where they have no ties.
“It’s a tear in my heart,” Vue said. “If they don’t send me back to the country they say I’m a citizen of, I don’t want to go back to any other country except the country where that’s closest to who I am.”
Still, Xiong said on her phone calls with Vue every night, they both focus on being positive.
“I feel like they’re always forever judged. They can live 20, 30, 40, 50 years as a good person, but then that one crime would just always make them a bad person,” Xiong said, referring to the Hmong deportees. “It doesn’t matter all the good that they do — just that one crime, it’s all made their image who America sees them as.”
4
Marriage & Family Life / Never treat it as a requirement
« on: Today at 01:17:03 AM »
..Reason why one should only get married if he/she really wants to:
Quote
"It's Mentally Exhausting." Married Women Are Revealing The Difficulties Of Marriage That No One Talks About
Married men recently opened up about the difficulties of marriage they never expected, so of course, we wanted to hear a different point of view. When we recently asked married women of the BuzzFeed Community to tell us the "hardest parts" of marriage that surprised them the most, they gave candid answers about their struggles, hard lessons, and realizations. Here's what they had to say:
1."Carrying the burden. Men are not raised to raise a family, do housework, or pay attention to anyone else's needs. They are raised to believe that all they have to do is work and then come home and do nothing. I work two jobs, have raised two children, do literally everything in the house, and it's mentally exhausting. I'm exhausted from constantly telling my husband what needs to be done to the point where I just do it myself and move on. It's ridiculous."
"I can't decide if men do this on purpose to get out of everything or if they are seriously that damn dumb and backwards. Either way, being married is like having a child that never grows up. And I know everyone isn't this way — but my marriage is."
—amandaharris1
A couple stand sin a narrow hallway, talking intensely
Anchiy / Getty Images
2."You have to be prepared to be willing and open to speak about two of the toughest topics: finances and the circumstances around death. It's the worst, but you have to know how to survive without the other. Financially, if you have significant differences in pay, you need to figure out what 'equal' actually looks like in the home. This can be ugly if you're with someone unable to see the bigger picture, or selfish."
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—Anonymous, 26, UK
3."It's hard to coexist with someone all day, every day sometimes. It's the little things! Like leaving the cupboards open or not putting things where YOU want them to go. It's amazing, and I love being married, but no one tells you about the little idiosyncrasies you have to get used to!"
—Anonymous, 25, California
4."I married for the second time a week ago, so I'll speak on my first marriage. I just felt like I had higher expectations of my partner than when we were dating. For him, nothing changed but legality, but for me, having the title of wife was a big deal. I was able to grow and evolve with the relationship, and I guess it's on me that I was expecting him to do the same. He didn't, and he still hasn't."
"We weren't super young when we got married (25 and 26) and had been together for eight-ish years, but it seemed like he still acted 18, and I had grown a lot."
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—Anonymous, 34, Canada
Person sitting on a couch wearing a chunky knit sweater and jeans, holding a delicate ring in their fingers
Grace Cary / Getty Images
5."When you marry the wrong man and don't realize it for 38 years. I sometimes wonder what I would have done with all those years if I'd walked a different path."
—momsequitur
6."Sexual incompatibilit y. It ebbs and flows throughout the years. More people than you think live in sexless marriages."
—Anonymous, 56, Massachusetts
7."The hardest part is planning everything, coordinating everything, and never being surprised or gifted anything. I've been married for two years and have been with my husband for seven. Guess who has had to plan everything for our birthdays and anniversaries. Guess who doesn't get complimented unless she prompts her husband. Guess who has to make a list down to the letter to get a birthday or Christmas present. More women need to know just how little effort men can get away with putting into marriages."
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—Anonymous, 25, Virginia
Woman with curly hair sitting pensively on a sofa, holding phone, surrounded by wrapped gifts and a small decorative tree
Riska / Getty Images
8."Marriage takes commitment every single day. You have to communicate every day. You have to show your love in some way every day. You need to make sure you agree on the important things (kids, faith, goals, money, family) BEFORE you get married. You will absolutely hurt each other at some point; no one is perfect. Your spouse is not responsible for your happiness, but your marriage is the responsibility of both of you."
"If you have children, the BEST thing you can do for them is to have a happy marriage, so make that a priority. It takes compromise and communication. I've learned to put God first, and your spouse second."
—Anonymous, 46, Florida
9."Their mental health will affect your life. For better or worse. You can't fix them."
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—Anonymous, 33, South Carolina
10."Many people won't want to hear this, but there are no hard parts if it's right. I've been married twice. The first time wasn't the right person. It was difficult, tiring. We had the same arguments over and over. My second marriage: No hard parts. We've been together 17 years, and every moment is a joy. It's easy, fun, passionate, and supportive. It's everything I dreamed of and more."
—Anonymous, 43, UK
A woman in an elegant off-shoulder wedding dress holding a bouquet, smiling while looking out a window
Artur Debat / Getty Images
11."The sadness I feel with my husband not putting in any effort anymore. It's like when we got married, he thought he didn't need to try anymore. No nice gifts, no thank you, no cooking, and no effort. I stay for the kids, but it's a very lonely and sad marriage."
—Anonymous, 35, Canada
12."Never being alone. My husband traveled for work, averaging one week per month. Then, he retired, and I'm never alone for more than an hour or two. I didn't realize how much I needed alone time."
—superchicken44
13."The hardest part: age. Second marriage for us both. We are older adults, having met as we both retired. Now that we're married, we're facing going from a hot relationship to age-related issues with health. It has impacted the formerly sexy relationship. I don't think either of us considered the road we were heading toward."
—bubblytrout185
Older couple sits together holding a walking cane, hands gently resting on each other, symbolizing support and companionship
RUNSTUDIO / Getty Images
14."Expectation of sex. It becomes expected. The spontaneity and emotional part of it disappears. It becomes a role act."
—Anonymous, 57, Arkansas
15."Sometimes, you discover things about your spouse that you never knew, and it can potentially be enough to make you rethink who you chose to spend your life with. I have heard of women finding out about arrests and criminal records that had been expunged. I have heard about women finding out about medical issues their spouse had hidden for many years that deeply impact the marriage."
"It's not to say we don't all have some form of skeleton in our closets, but some things are too much for anyone to handle."
—Anonymous, 39
16."Losing your independence — putting your life on hold to raise children, and then when they're grown up, you don't feel wanted anymore."
—Anonymous, 75, UK
And finally...
17."Learning there is a fine line between compromise and bending until you break. In my first marriage, I had to eliminate my wants and desires for the marriage to exist. He had to be the only one with needs; everything was flipped as my fault. After years of bashing, I listened to his definition of my worth. I lost myself."
"Now, I am in a much healthier (and happier) relationship, and we see and respect each other for who we are."
—Anonymous, 46, Massachusetts
Person in a contemplative mood holding an engagement ring, wearing a casual button-up shirt
Dragana991 / Getty Images
Note: Some responses have been edited for length and/or clarity.
Married women, what are the "hardest parts" of marriage that surprised you the most? Tell us in the comments, or if you prefer to remain anonymous, you can use the form below.
5
Marriage & Family Life / This need very important to so many women out there so test drive it first
« on: Today at 01:12:45 AM »
...That's why having the engagement period before tying the knot is so important:
Quote
My husband is bad at sex — how do I break the news?
After years of disappointment, I finally found the man of my dreams. How do I tell him he isn’t doing certain things right in the bedroom without it being uncomfortable? I have mentioned it before, but it didn’t stick. This is the only problem with our relationship. I don’t want to hurt his feelings or make either one of us uncomfortable, but he’s just not getting the job done.
6
General Discussion / Two White boys fighting over a Hmong girl?
« on: Today at 01:05:37 AM »
Macaulay Culkin Considering Taking Legal Action Against Trace Cyrus Following Brenda Song Insults
Furious Macaulay Culkin has plunged into an ugly verbal attack on his baby mama Brenda Song by her ex boyfriend Trace Cyrus and sources say the Home Alone kid is set to unleash a furious legal war and humiliate Billy Ray 's son by forcing him to eat his words.
/i.s3.glbimg.com/v1/AUTH_e7c91519bbbb4fadb4e509085746275d/internal_photos/bs/2025/D/0/1atrOQSGqqRftn0G89vg/gettyimages-112762024.png)
Furious Macaulay Culkin has plunged into an ugly verbal attack on his baby mama Brenda Song by her ex boyfriend Trace Cyrus and sources say the Home Alone kid is set to unleash a furious legal war and humiliate Billy Ray 's son by forcing him to eat his words.
7
General Discussion / Sure many Whites complain about minorities' protests & riots but that's nothing
« on: Today at 12:58:02 AM »
...compared to how they used to protest and riot against minorities due to their HATE and SORE LOSER behaviors:
Quote
'The Fight of the Century': How Jack Johnson vs. Jim Jeffries inflamed a nation 115 years ago on the Fourth of July
The July 4, 1910 fight resulted in riots, mayhem, murder — and also the unprecedented legal persecution of boxing's first Black heavyweight champion
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General Discussion / The dog King is back! And the Asian Queen continues to dominate!!
« on: Today at 12:44:20 AM »
Top Dogs Again: Joey Chestnut and Miki Sudo Win 2025 Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest
Joey Chestnut and Miki Sudo won the men's and women's editions, respectively, of the 2025 Nathan's Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest.
Chestnut ate 70.5 hot dogs and buns in 10 minutes, and Sudo downed 33 hot dogs and buns.
Both Chestnut and Sudo are past winners and the top male and female champions of all time, winning their 17th and 11th titles overall with their victories this year. While Sudo was defending her top finish from last year, Chestnut returned after he was banned from last year's event over a sponsorship with Impossible Foods.
Joey Chestnut and Miki Sudo won the men's and women's editions, respectively, of the 2025 Nathan's Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest.
Chestnut ate 70.5 hot dogs and buns in 10 minutes, and Sudo downed 33 hot dogs and buns.
Both Chestnut and Sudo are past winners and the top male and female champions of all time, winning their 17th and 11th titles overall with their victories this year. While Sudo was defending her top finish from last year, Chestnut returned after he was banned from last year's event over a sponsorship with Impossible Foods.
9
General Discussion / Re: as a BROKEBACK guy who don’t get out much… never gone to 50 states
« on: Today at 12:37:08 AM »
The neutral PH members are spot on regarding hmgLIAR's "fake wife":
"SEEING IS TRULY BELIEVING YO"
Left hand?
Left or right hand?
"SEEING IS TRULY BELIEVING YO"
10
General Discussion / Re: as a BROKEBACK guy who don’t get out much… never gone to 50 states
« on: Today at 12:34:33 AM »Your wife is your hand. Thank goodness you actually did by showing some part of your wife (the thumb).
11
Debate Central / Re: hey…. ummm…. grocery is still kinda of expensive
« on: July 04, 2025, 12:20:47 AM »that’s expensive dog
egg is still $4/dozen
What's "$4" to an "almost millionaire"?
i'm almost a millionaire guys...no clickbait post....click to learn
YOUR CLAIM, NOT "we all" SO JUST CURIOUS...
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Debate Central / Re: hey…. ummm…. grocery is still kinda of expensive
« on: July 04, 2025, 12:20:06 AM »i don’t even know what RALEYS is
is that west coast store
Of course you don't as you've never been to the "west cost"...
good point......whe re hmgrock doesn't get out much, so one little thing intrigue him.
I've been to the midwest and houses do have wooden fences. You don't get out much from the basement other than P'ing in the snow lol.
"SEEING IS TRULY BELIEVING YO"
13
General Discussion / "always right", like MASTER like his PH closet slave
« on: July 04, 2025, 12:16:12 AM »
NOT SURPRISED as to why Trump and hmgLIAR are so similar in terms of their "negative" (per the neutral PH members) behaviors, LIES and hypocrisies...
hmgLIAR claimed to be "the hmong Nostradamus and is always right" ..."YEARRRSSSS" ago and now his closet "MASTER TRUMP" also claimed the same..:
hmgLIAR claimed to be "the hmong Nostradamus and is always right" ..."YEARRRSSSS" ago and now his closet "MASTER TRUMP" also claimed the same..
:Quote
Trump Begs Republicans to Pass His Bill Because He’s Always Right About Everything
Congress is barreling toward a knife-edge vote on President Donald Trump’s spending proposals and he is feeling the pressure.
“Our Country will make a fortune this year, more than any of our competitors, but only if the Big, Beautiful Bill is PASSED!” he wrote in an early morning Truth Social post Wednesday.
“As they say, Trump’s been right about everything, and this is the easiest of them all to predict,” he went on. “Republicans, don’t let the Radical Left Democrats push you around. We’ve got all the cards, and we are going to use them.”
The president’s post comes after the Senate cleared his gargantuan spending bill by barely a hair with just 51-50 votes, and as the proposals now make their way toward an equally fractious House ahead of a self-imposed deadline of Friday.
A number of GOP Reps have taken issue with changes made to the legislation by the upper house, described by Arizona’s Andy Biggs as “amazingly bad stuff” that had rendered the bill, in the words of his Tennessee counterpart Andy Ogles, a “dud.”
Even stalwart MAGA loyalist Marjorie Taylor Greene has expressed reservations about the vote. While the Georgia congresswoman says she largely supports the president’s proposals, she’s lamented the “dire situation” that’s now seen Congress facing “a lot of pressure” to get the measures through before the deadline, adding the whole thing is fast turning into a “s--tshow.”
Severe weather has posed another obstacle, with storms and headwinds grounding a number of D.C.-area flights on Tuesday to leave representative s scrambling to get back to the Capitol in time to cast their votes, which could be held as early as Wednesday afternoon.
“Driving through the night to make votes,” South Carolina Congresswoman Nancy Mace posted Tuesday night, accompanied by photos of her on the road while also, somewhat inexplicably, wearing pink-heart spotted pajamas.
“Flights up and down the East Coast are being canceled, but I’m not going to chance being stuck in Myrtle Beach in this historic opportunity,” her fellow South Carolina Representative Russel Fry wrote, after his flight into D.C. from Myrtle Beach was cancelled.
14
General Discussion / Re: Tomorrow's July Bloub, like Juneteenth we'll do it the day before cause everyone
« on: July 04, 2025, 12:07:36 AM »
Not a bad outing at all and yes, gotta have dogs as it's fitting for this holiday. And yes, I'm the only one that eats rice with my dog at work along with buns. What can I say, I'm Hmong after all 
:
:
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General Discussion / Re: WOAH REALLY? This is THE RED spot in California so how could MAGA lose??
« on: July 03, 2025, 11:19:01 PM »
Before the recent GOP collapse in Huntington Beach:
