One Child (19 page)

Chapter

33

Outside Spin Buldak, Afghanistan

"We've got something cool for you,"
Andrew
said. He propped himself against the doorjamb. "If you want it."

Andrew
's wiry frame was silhouetted against the bright afternoon sun and
Russell
squinted to see the soldier's backlit features. "What's that?"

"An interview. A meeting with one of the tribal elders from the Dabarey region."

Russell
arched an eyebrow. "Now that's something I'd be interested in. When can we meet him?"

"Now. He's camped about three hundred meters outside the FOB."

Russell
jumped to his feet. "He's here to see me?"

Andrew
nodded. "Captain Hocking has spent a lot of time working with the people here and has a certain level of trust with the elders. He asked if one of them would meet with you and they agreed."

"Let's go,"
Russell
said. He grabbed his laptop and stuffed some blank paper and pens in with his camera. "Can I photograph him?"

"I'm not sure, you'll have to ask. And this is your lucky day. The guy they sent to meet you speaks English."

"Thank God. I've worked with enough translators to know how tough it can be,"
Russell
said.

A line of five Strykers was waiting near the front gate and
Andrew
and
Russell
piled into the third one, their heads poking out the rear hatch. Outside the wire the air was calm and the sun blistering hot. The eight-wheeled armored vehicles churned up clouds of dust as they tracked along the road leading west. Ahead, a group of three tents were pitched by the side of the road. The Strykers pulled up a bit short of the encampment and stopped. A soldier jumped to the ground and was met by four men in traditional Afghan garb, their tunics hanging limp in the dry, still air. A brief conversation ensued, then the soldier yelled up to the Stryker commander. A minute later the command came over the radio to set up a perimeter around the tents, and that the entire area had already been checked carefully for IEDs. The Strykers rumbled into position and shut down their engines. An eerie silence settled over the group.

"His name is Pacha Khan Zadran. Please don't insult him,"
Andrew
said as they approached the tents.

"I'll do my best,"
Russell
said, taking in the situation. The tent was open to the desert on the north side, from which they were approaching. Six men were in the tent, three seated and three standing. No weapons were in sight, but
Russell
wasn't naive enough to think that the tribal men weren't armed. Baggy clothes were of great benefit for hiding handguns, even rifles.

The man sitting in the middle appeared to be in his mid-sixties, with a flowing grey beard and a light orange turban. He wore eyeglasses with large dark frames and
Russell
was struck with the ridiculous thought that if Buddy Holly had been alive and living in southern Afghanistan, it could be him. He reached the edge of the tent and bowed slightly to the elder.

"
Salaam aalaikum
," he said.

"
Pikheyr
," Pacha Khan Zadran replied. The tribal elder motioned to a pillow opposite where he sat and said in accented English, "Please sit."

"Thank you."
Russell
slipped off his shoes and sat with his legs crossed and his toes pointing away from the tribal leader. This seemed to please the man and the next fifteen minutes was filled with offers of
chai sabz
and sweets and proper introductions. Pacha Khan Zadran spoke proudly of his Pashtun heritage - he was descended from Qais, an influential man who was like a brother to the Prophet Mohammed, and a member of the ruling Durrani clan.

"Why do you call it the
ruling
clan?"
Russell
asked. He sipped the
chai sabz
carefully, without making noise.

"Good question,
Russell
Khan," Zadran said, smiling. "Ahmad Shah Durrani was responsible for founding Afghanistan in 1747, and the Durrani clan has ruled Afghanistan ever since. As a member of the Popolzai clan, Hamid Karzai is a descendent of the Durranis. We have great influence over this country, both historically and today." The tribal elder adjusted his pillow slightly and said, "You are a journalist."

"Yes."

"For what newspaper?"

"It's not a newspaper. I work for a television station in Boston."

Zadran nodded approvingly. "Do many people listen to you?"

Russell
laughed, but not too loudly. "Yes, I think so. But not my wife."

It was Zadran's turn to chuckle. "So this is a problem everywhere, not just Afghanistan." He sipped his tea and said, "You can ask questions if you wish."

"Thank you."
Russell
slipped his notepad and pen from his computer bag. There was no sense pushing things by pulling out a bunch of electronics. "The ISAF troops have been in your country for some time now. What do you think they have accomplished?"

Pacha Khan Zadran thought about the answer for a minute, then said, "I think the troops provided the Afghan people with a psychological sense that America is here. That the western world cares. For a time we felt protected. But that feeling waned with time. We, as a people, as a country, had high expectations. Perhaps too high. Now it is difficult. We bend and flex like the stem of a poppy, unsure who to stand behind."

"Us or the Taliban?"
Russell
asked.

"That's a very limited view, but if I were forced to answer it, I would say yes. Afghans want to believe the coalition troops will not only defeat the Taliban, but will also remain to help us rebuild. What happens if you don't? What happens if you leave? Having thrown our support behind you, we will face the wrath of the Taliban with no protection. That," Zadran paused, "is an alarming thought."

"Your government is ramping up its focus to protect you. The Afghan National Police and the Army are getting stronger every day."

"That is true, but the perception of the Afghan people is that our government is weak. We believe a firm and just hand is needed." He shifted to get comfortable on the pillow and waved for more chai. "Let me give you an example."

"Please,"
Russell
said, his pen poised over the paper.

"The region between Pakistan and Afghanistan is almost lawless. There are many small villages, few roads, no border outposts and the government has very little influence. In one of these regions there is a man who everyone refers to as the commander. He is the acknowledged leader of the entire area. One day, a man is brought in front of him, accused of raping a local woman. The commander listens to all sides of the story, and makes a decision after all witnesses have spoken. The man accused of rape disappears and is never seen again." Zadran set his empty teacup on a small sliver tray and held out his hands. "Problem - evidence - solution." His hands moved like the scales of justice as he spoke. "What the people of Afghanistan want is a government that operates like the commander. One with benevolence, intelligence, and the strength to make difficult decisions."

"I understand,"
Russell
said. He scanned the notes on his page, then asked, "You perceive that your government is failing you. Are we, the troops and the NGOs, failing you as well?"

"It's not that you're failing us,
Russell
Khan, it's that there are different agendas. Contradictory ones."

Russell
looked puzzled.

"You have to ask,
What do the Afghan people really want?
and then decide if that is what you are trying to do. It's not the same. The guns and the bombs aren't a permanent solution. You're fighting the wrong war."

Russell
shifted slightly on his pillow. "All right. What war should we be fighting?"

"The war to win the people. To gain their trust. We don't want your brand of democracy. Help us improve the simple things - safe streets, electricity, clean water. Everyone can agree on this. Stop imposing your version of what is right and help with the basics."

"That seems so obvious,"
Russell
said, nodding. "Okay, here's a simple question. In one word, what's the answer?"

Pacha Khan Zadran smiled. "You are a crafty man,
Russell
Khan. That is anything but a simple question."

"True,"
Russell
said.

"I will give you two answers. First - corruption. This is the root of everything wrong in Afghanistan. It is impossible to get anything done without bribing someone. I have heard that the average bribe is something like one hundred and sixty US dollars. Most Afghans earn between four and eight hundred dollars a year." He shrugged his shoulders. "How does this work?"

"It doesn't,"
Russell
said.

"The government can't stop the corruption, but if they can slow it down then important issues like security can be addressed. Until then, nothing can change. Corruption breeds insecurity, and with insecurity comes the Taliban."

"You said there were two answers,"
Russell
said.

Pacha Khan Zadran waved for more sweets and tea. He waited until both men had tasted the delicacies and their cups refilled. The wind picked up slightly and a touch of sand blew in through the open tent flaps. One of Zadran's men covered the food with an engraved silver lid and another man adjusted the flaps to keep the wind at bay.

"Education," Zadran said when the flurry of activity was over. "We have lost this generation. Any person who is thirty years old has seen nothing but war since they were born. First the Russians, then civil war, then the Taliban and now the insurgents. Thirty years of war." Zadran stared hard into
Russell
's eyes. "For thirty years all we've known is war. It has become what is normal. Peace is an unknown. Is it possible for you to understand this?"

Russell
shook his head. "Honestly, no."

Zadran nodded slowly at the journalist's sincerity. "We must look to the next generation for change. And that change starts with educating them. Boys...
and
girls. The Afghan way has always been to view women on a different level from men, but for many of us that is changing."

"I've been noticing a lot of different attitudes,"
Russell
said.

"Yes, that is true. Even among some of the elders there is a desire to educate our women."

"How can this be accomplished if the children can't risk going to the school? The NGOs build schools and the Taliban leave night letters on the doors threatening death to any teacher or student who attends."

Zadran waved his arm in a wide arc. "It all comes back to where we started. We need security, and to have this the corruption must be stifled."

They continued to talk for another hour, about drugs and intimidation, culture and expectations, tradition and religion. It was almost noon when
Russell
slipped his notebook back in his case and shook Pacha Khan Zadran's hand. He left the tent with a low bow.
Russell
was quiet on the short trip back to the FOB.

The guns and the bombs aren't a permanent solution. You're fighting the wrong war.

Zadran was right. Bombing villages or strafing convoys of insurgents and civilians would never win the war. Every time the troops killed a Talib or an innocent, three of their relatives or friends left their villages and picked up arms. The fight to win the country would be won by working with the villagers, earning their trust, rebuilding infrastructure and educating the next generation. This was not a short-term exercise.

He sequestered himself in his tent when they were back inside the wire and wrote his copy. It took three hours. There was so much to pack into a couple minutes of airtime. All of it important. When he was satisfied with how it read, he set up the video with the rocky terrain in the background and pushed the record button. He walked over to the rock and sat down.

Four days ago I reported on a vicious firefight in the town of Dabarey, only a few miles from our Forward Operating Base. We were ambushed, and three soldiers died in that fight. Today I met with the tribal elders from Dabarey. They wanted to meet - to talk about their lives - their country -and their future. What I heard were real answers to the problems that plague Afghanistan. Honest answers to difficult questions. The answer - according to one of the elders who wished not to be identified - lies in stemming the endemic corruption that is crippling this country. According to world statistics, only Somalia is more corrupt. Billions of dollars are siphoned off every year by a select few, while the masses suffer. Nothing new there. But in Afghanistan, there is little motivation for anything to change. The government of Hamid Karzai is often named as the most powerful thief in a dangerous nest of thieves. Corruption breeds insecurity. Stem it and you bring the insurgency to its knees. Then, stay - help the Afghans - some of whom have never known peace - to rebuild their schools, their hospitals, their police forces and the infrastructure necessary to provide water and electricity. And most importantly, provide education. Teach them to read and write - to build bridges and treat the sick - to design new buildings and open banks. These are an intelligent, resilient people, and if we gain their trust, we can help change lives. But we cannot gain this country's trust solely through military means. We need to help them rebuild. To stem the corruption. To educate the upcoming generation. That's the message I heard today. This is
Russell
Matthews, reporting from Spin Buldak, Afghanistan.

(Click here to watch this video)