Afghan Refugee’s Journey: From CIA “Zero Unit” to American Tragedy

In a tragic turn of events that has shaken the nation, 29-year-old Afghan refugee Rahmanullah Lakanwal stands accused of a shocking act of violence – gunning down two National Guard troops near the White House. Behind this headline lies a complex story of trauma, displacement, and the devastating psychological toll of warfare. According to those who knew him best, Lakanwal, a father of five, carried deep psychological wounds from his time serving with a CIA-backed paramilitary outfit known as a “Zero Unit” in Afghanistan. “When he saw blood, bodies, and the wounded, he could not tolerate it,” revealed a childhood friend who spoke to The New York Times. “It put a lot of pressure on his mind.” This personal struggle with violence paints a more nuanced picture of a man whose alleged actions have now forever linked him to an American tragedy.

The secretive “Zero Units” that operated in Afghanistan represented one of America’s most controversial tactics in the long-running conflict. These paramilitary forces recruited local Afghans to conduct specialized nighttime raids and covert operations against Taliban targets. While militarily effective, humanitarian organizations have raised serious concerns about their methods, with some labeling them “death squads” that carried out executions and terrorized villages. The exact nature of Lakanwal’s involvement remains unclear, but according to friends, whatever he experienced or participated in left deep psychological scars. “He would tell me and our friends that their military operations were very tough, their job was very difficult, and they were under a lot of pressure,” his friend told reporters, suggesting the intense strain of serving in such a controversial unit.

Lakanwal’s journey from Afghanistan to America appears to follow a path similar to many who served alongside U.S. forces during the war. After the Taliban’s return to power in 2021, many Afghans who had worked with American forces feared retaliation and sought refuge in the United States. While details of Lakanwal’s immigration process haven’t been fully disclosed, his status as both a former Zero Unit member and a refugee highlights the complex relationship between America and those who served its interests abroad. Like thousands of others, he likely came to the United States hoping for safety and a new beginning, carrying both hope for his family’s future and the invisible burden of wartime experiences that would prove difficult to escape.

What makes this case particularly troubling is how it reflects the ongoing challenges of providing adequate mental health support for refugees and veterans alike. Trauma doesn’t respect national boundaries or citizenship status. Whether American-born or foreign-born, those who have experienced warfare often struggle with its psychological aftermath. For refugees like Lakanwal, these challenges can be compounded by cultural differences, language barriers, and limited access to specialized care that understands both the trauma of combat and the displacement of migration. While we don’t know what specific support systems were or weren’t available to Lakanwal, his case tragically highlights the potential consequences when psychological wounds from conflict zones remain unaddressed.

The shooting near the White House now forces America to confront difficult questions about its international military engagements and their long-term consequences. Beyond the immediate tragedy of two National Guard members losing their lives, this incident represents a broader failure of systems designed to help those affected by America’s longest war. The Zero Units, created and funded by the CIA, were controversial precisely because they operated in moral gray areas, conducting operations that sometimes blurred ethical lines in service of strategic objectives. Those who served in them, like Lakanwal, became instruments of American policy without necessarily receiving the support needed to process their experiences once that policy shifted and the war ended. As the nation grapples with this tragedy, it must also reckon with its responsibility toward those it employed in conflict zones.

As this case moves through the justice system, it serves as a somber reminder that wars don’t truly end when troops withdraw or when headlines fade from public consciousness. The ripple effects continue for generations, affecting families, communities, and individuals on all sides of conflicts. For Rahmanullah Lakanwal, a man who allegedly could not tolerate the sight of blood and bodies during his service, the journey from Afghan military operative to accused shooter represents a profound human tragedy nested within larger geopolitical failures. While nothing diminishes the gravity of the crime he’s accused of committing, understanding his background offers critical context about the true cost of war—a cost measured not just in immediate casualties, but in the long shadows of trauma that can follow participants home, sometimes with devastating consequences for both the individuals involved and the societies that receive them.