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vicemag: A Mercy Killing in Kabul The restaurant opens to the street and the jumble of Kabul’s downtown bazaar. Stray dogs move in uneven packs past vendors whose listing burlap stalls lean into a quicksand of low lying fog. Police flatten the tires of illegally parked cars and the cars sink into the mud and potholes of the ruined road wheezing air in an odd sort of gasping unison while their irate owners shout obscenities at the police. In the sky above this splintered section of city, a plane’s white contrail cuts lazy curls that vanish almost as fast. Inside the restaurant, wood tables full of bearded men wrapped in shawls crowd the uneven floor, the air heavy, the room seeming to swell and pulse against the smudged walls with the odor of sweat and unwashed bodies and the heat from burning charcoal. I see no place to sit. Then a man waves to me and points at a space open beside him. I wash my hands in a sink by the door. Frigid water trickles from the faucet. A cook stands nearby in clothes blackened with grease; behind him hangs the carcass of a lamb, its fur a bundle at his feet, a bloody knife entangled in the matted hair. He hacks off chunks of meat and throws them into a pan popping with oil; then, as it browns, he cracks an egg over the meat. The yolk slides off and dances in the hissing, popping oil until it floats white and bubbly. I shake my wet hands, and the cook throws me a grimed washcloth to dry them. I hand it back to him and make my way through the crowd toward the table where the man who had waved me over waits. He tells me his name, Ghul Rahman. Deep lines river out from around his eyes and mouth. Beside him sits a gaunt man who stares at me as do the rest of the men seated at the table, a singular contained attention focused entirely on me. Westerners don’t often go downtown by themselves for fear of being kidnapped or targeted in some other way. A drive-by shooting perhaps or a bomb or a rogue Afghan policeman emptying his gun into the chest of a western contractor. But I get more than a little stir crazy remaining behind the walls of my hotel when I am not working until I get hit with the feeling that I must leave, go somewhere. However, as an American in Afghanistan, I remain caged no matter what I do. There is a quality of “whites only” when I leave my hotel for some other place—a restaurant usually—considered safe for Westerners. Afghans are not allowed in these places and armed guards stand at every entrance. So today, I’ve decided to venture out on my own away from the sanctum of my hotel, restaurants and other safe retreats. With so many eyes on me, however, I wonder with the growing unease of a child who cavalierly entered a dark room on a dare only to imagine the sounds of ghosts, if I’ve made a terrible mistake. “Where are you from?” Rahman says leaning back as if he needs to regard me from a distance.            “United States,” I tell him. “Journalist. Where did you learn English?”            “The university. Do you need a translator?”            “No. I have one.” Continue
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vicemag:

A Mercy Killing in Kabul

The restaurant opens to the street and the jumble of Kabul’s downtown bazaar.

Stray dogs move in uneven packs past vendors whose listing burlap stalls lean into a quicksand of low lying fog. Police flatten the tires of illegally parked cars and the cars sink into the mud and potholes of the ruined road wheezing air in an odd sort of gasping unison while their irate owners shout obscenities at the police. In the sky above this splintered section of city, a plane’s white contrail cuts lazy curls that vanish almost as fast.

Inside the restaurant, wood tables full of bearded men wrapped in shawls crowd the uneven floor, the air heavy, the room seeming to swell and pulse against the smudged walls with the odor of sweat and unwashed bodies and the heat from burning charcoal. I see no place to sit. Then a man waves to me and points at a space open beside him.

I wash my hands in a sink by the door. Frigid water trickles from the faucet. A cook stands nearby in clothes blackened with grease; behind him hangs the carcass of a lamb, its fur a bundle at his feet, a bloody knife entangled in the matted hair. He hacks off chunks of meat and throws them into a pan popping with oil; then, as it browns, he cracks an egg over the meat. The yolk slides off and dances in the hissing, popping oil until it floats white and bubbly. I shake my wet hands, and the cook throws me a grimed washcloth to dry them. I hand it back to him and make my way through the crowd toward the table where the man who had waved me over waits.

He tells me his name, Ghul Rahman. Deep lines river out from around his eyes and mouth. Beside him sits a gaunt man who stares at me as do the rest of the men seated at the table, a singular contained attention focused entirely on me. Westerners don’t often go downtown by themselves for fear of being kidnapped or targeted in some other way. A drive-by shooting perhaps or a bomb or a rogue Afghan policeman emptying his gun into the chest of a western contractor. But I get more than a little stir crazy remaining behind the walls of my hotel when I am not working until I get hit with the feeling that I must leave, go somewhere. However, as an American in Afghanistan, I remain caged no matter what I do. There is a quality of “whites only” when I leave my hotel for some other place—a restaurant usually—considered safe for Westerners. Afghans are not allowed in these places and armed guards stand at every entrance.

So today, I’ve decided to venture out on my own away from the sanctum of my hotel, restaurants and other safe retreats. With so many eyes on me, however, I wonder with the growing unease of a child who cavalierly entered a dark room on a dare only to imagine the sounds of ghosts, if I’ve made a terrible mistake.

“Where are you from?” Rahman says leaning back as if he needs to regard me from a distance.
           

“United States,” I tell him. “Journalist. Where did you learn English?”
           

“The university. Do you need a translator?”
           

“No. I have one.”

Continue

nickturse: Afghan youth throw stones toward US soldiers at the gate of Bagram airbase during a protest against Koran desecration on February 21, 2012 at Bagram about 60 kilometres (40 miles) north of Kabul. Afghan protestors firing slingshots and petrol bombs besieged one of the largest US-run military bases in Afghanistan, furious over reports that NATO had set fire to copies of the Koran. Guards at Bagram airbase responded by firing rubber bullets from a watchtower, an AFP photographer said as the crowd shouted “Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar” (God is greater). AFP PHOTO/SHAH Marai
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nickturse:

Afghan youth throw stones toward US soldiers at the gate of Bagram airbase during a protest against Koran desecration on February 21, 2012 at Bagram about 60 kilometres (40 miles) north of Kabul. Afghan protestors firing slingshots and petrol bombs besieged one of the largest US-run military bases in Afghanistan, furious over reports that NATO had set fire to copies of the Koran. Guards at Bagram airbase responded by firing rubber bullets from a watchtower, an AFP photographer said as the crowd shouted “Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar” (God is greater). AFP PHOTO/SHAH Marai

thepoliticalnotebook: Twitter War of the Day. Except this one’s a real war, too. NATO’s International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) Twitter feed and the Taliban Twitter feeds (yes, they’re real, the Taliban are on Twitter) frequently come to cyberblows, trashtalking one another in 140 characters or fewer. They’ve been at it since the Taliban joined up in spring, welcoming the group to the Internet by saying “We can’t wait until the Taliban start using @Foursquare too.” Track it here on Al Jazeera.  This is snark-laden nerdbait at its best. Popcorn optional. HT @bashirgwakh
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thepoliticalnotebook: Twitter War of the Day. Except this one’s a real war, too. NATO’s International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) Twitter feed and the Taliban Twitter feeds (yes, they’re real, the Taliban are on Twitter) frequently come to cyberblows, trashtalking one another in 140 characters or fewer. They’ve been at it since the Taliban joined up in spring, welcoming the group to the Internet by saying “We can’t wait until the Taliban start using @Foursquare too.” Track it here on Al Jazeera.  This is snark-laden nerdbait at its best. Popcorn optional. HT @bashirgwakh
Zoom
thepoliticalnotebook: Twitter War of the Day. Except this one’s a real war, too. NATO’s International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) Twitter feed and the Taliban Twitter feeds (yes, they’re real, the Taliban are on Twitter) frequently come to cyberblows, trashtalking one another in 140 characters or fewer. They’ve been at it since the Taliban joined up in spring, welcoming the group to the Internet by saying “We can’t wait until the Taliban start using @Foursquare too.” Track it here on Al Jazeera.  This is snark-laden nerdbait at its best. Popcorn optional. HT @bashirgwakh
Zoom
thepoliticalnotebook: Twitter War of the Day. Except this one’s a real war, too. NATO’s International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) Twitter feed and the Taliban Twitter feeds (yes, they’re real, the Taliban are on Twitter) frequently come to cyberblows, trashtalking one another in 140 characters or fewer. They’ve been at it since the Taliban joined up in spring, welcoming the group to the Internet by saying “We can’t wait until the Taliban start using @Foursquare too.” Track it here on Al Jazeera.  This is snark-laden nerdbait at its best. Popcorn optional. HT @bashirgwakh
Zoom

thepoliticalnotebook:

Twitter War of the Day. Except this one’s a real war, too. NATO’s International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) Twitter feed and the Taliban Twitter feeds (yes, they’re real, the Taliban are on Twitter) frequently come to cyberblows, trashtalking one another in 140 characters or fewer. They’ve been at it since the Taliban joined up in spring, welcoming the group to the Internet by saying “We can’t wait until the Taliban start using @Foursquare too.”

Track it here on Al Jazeera. 

This is snark-laden nerdbait at its best. Popcorn optional.

HT @bashirgwakh

nickturse: How many military bases in Afghanistan? Back in early 2010, I got the military to count up its whole inventory of bases in Afghanistan and was floored by the total — nearly 400!  With talk by the Obama administration of drawdowns, withdrawals, and shifting the fight to special operations forces, I decided to take another look at the state of base building.  Have the numbers dropped?  On the contrary, they’ve risen higher! For a full accounting of the hundreds of U.S. and coalition bases in Afghanistan and the story of a new intelligence facility devoted to the drone war that military refuses to talk about (they cancelled an interview when they learned about my line of questioning), see my latest investigative piece on the Pentagon’s Afghan Basing Plans for Prisons, Drones, and Black Ops. Photo: A Predator drone inside a hangar at Kandahar Airfield. (USAF/David Carbajal)  
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nickturse:

How many military bases in Afghanistan?

Back in early 2010, I got the military to count up its whole inventory of bases in Afghanistan and was floored by the total — nearly 400!  With talk by the Obama administration of drawdowns, withdrawals, and shifting the fight to special operations forces, I decided to take another look at the state of base building.  Have the numbers dropped?  On the contrary, they’ve risen higher!

For a full accounting of the hundreds of U.S. and coalition bases in Afghanistan and the story of a new intelligence facility devoted to the drone war that military refuses to talk about (they cancelled an interview when they learned about my line of questioning), see my latest investigative piece on the Pentagon’s Afghan Basing Plans for Prisons, Drones, and Black Ops.

Photo: A Predator drone inside a hangar at Kandahar Airfield. (USAF/David Carbajal)  

Prisoners Are Not Pawns

brosephstalin:

Washington—THE British government will be held in contempt of court later this week if it does not physically produce a prisoner of war whom its special forces captured in 2004 and then handed over to American soldiers.

The current legal drama began in February 2004, when two Pakistani rice merchants, Yunus Rahmatullah and Amanatullah Ali, disappeared on a business trip to Iran. They were held incommunicado for nearly a year before their families learned that they had been captured by British forces in Iraq and then turned over to American soldiers.

The two men were transferred in accordance with an American-British-Australian agreement mandating observance of the Geneva Conventions and stipulating that all prisoners must be returned, if requested, to the country that originally transferred them.

Several weeks later, American forces put both men on a plane and sent them to BagramAir Base in Afghanistan, where they have been held for the past seven years in conditions far worse than those at Guantánamo Bay. During those seven years, no charges have been filed against them, and both the British and American governments have refused to provide any hearing or account for their continued detention.

A British human rights organization, Reprieve, sought a writ of habeas corpus in the British courts on behalf of Mr. Rahmatullah. An American human rights organization, the International Justice Network, on whose board of directors I serve, sought a writ of habeas corpus on behalf of Mr. Ali in the United States courts. A bulwark against arbitrary or incommunicado detention since the 14th century, habeas corpus requires that the jailer produce the prisoner in court and provide the court with a legal justification for his continued custody.

(Read More)

nickturse: Afghanistan’s poor face difficult decisions amid winter cold Laura King of the Los Angeles Times writes: “Seasonal hardship is nothing new for Afghans, but a combination of factors is making this winter harder than usual to bear. The number of refugees from other parts of the country, known as internally displaced people, has ballooned to an estimated half a million. Many end up in the capital after fleeing fighting elsewhere, and make their homes in slum encampments that authorities euphemistically call ‘settlements.’” Read the rest here.
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nickturse:

Afghanistan’s poor face difficult decisions amid winter cold

Laura King of the Los Angeles Times writes:

“Seasonal hardship is nothing new for Afghans, but a combination of factors is making this winter harder than usual to bear. The number of refugees from other parts of the country, known as internally displaced people, has ballooned to an estimated half a million. Many end up in the capital after fleeing fighting elsewhere, and make their homes in slum encampments that authorities euphemistically call ‘settlements.’”

Read the rest here.

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