A Battlefield Tourist

Back in Kabul

Mar 21 at 12:12pm by David Tate

Kabul from the top of the Mustafa Hotel

Sunday, February 22nd – Kandahar Air Field

Once at KAF I could lay all my stuff out to determine what would continue on with me and what wouldn’t.  At this point in the trip, all dirty clothes are gone right off the top.  It seems I’m always organizing my stuff.  When you travel light, I guess that would be expected.  I’m always looking for ways to pack my gear as efficiently as possible, which leads to me never remembering where I put things.  That, of course, leads to me always going through my gear in a ferocious cycle.  Funny thing is:  I have thrown away all sorts of things and my bag is still packed to the maximum and it is still as heavy as ever.

The good news is that my flight back to Kabul is scheduled for the following morning, and with three extra days left in my trip, I should make it to my plane on time come Thursday.  In the meantime, I spent most of my time on the boardwalk, enjoying real coffee and the wireless internet service, which allowed me to get plenty of work done.

Later that evening, I met up with one of my Public Affairs Officers to talk about the goods and bads of my embedment.  I’m not sure what they do with the information, although I would imagine they use it to better accommodate journalists in the future, as well as use it in an ongoing “file” on said journalist.  Regardless, I try to provide constructive suggestions that will help the embedment process grow.

As mentioned before, my embed was a relative success.  I was able to hook up with Marines in Farah and Helmand, as well as get a bit of time with the Brits and Afghans.  My goal in country is to get as many different images as I can.  The wider the variety, the better.  Because I contribute to a historical archive, this is a must to be successful.

Of course the downside, which was NOT a big deal at all, was not being able to go the the specific area of Helmand I wanted to go.  The fact is, I have a goal as do the Marines who are hosting me, and that sometimes isn’t the same goal.  In this case, I wanted to see a front line and the Marines wanted me to see what a majority of their Marines were doing.  That is fair, but as I explained to the Marines, they are not my employers.  However, as the Marines explained to me, “If we didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here.”  Fair enough.  That basically sums up why the embed process comes under fire from journalist watchdogs.

Monday, February 23rd

One of the PAOs came by to pick me up at 1000 for a 1230 flight to Kabul.  That flight was cancelled, but I did make the next flight a few hours later. 

The plane was packed with people and gear; no room for a single person more.  The passengers included soldiers from at least a dozen countries, which really typifies the world effort going on here.  The trip is just over an hour with the last 30 minutes of the trip being unbearable as my morning coffee decided it was time to make its exit.

Stepping off the plane in Kabul was a shock of sorts.  Having boarded the plane with just a T-shirt on, I really wasn’t expecting sleet when I got off, but it was coming down good in Kabul that day, not that I cared as I looked for the closest porta-john.

For the next two nights I stayed at the military base located next to Kabul International Airport (KIA), as I was in no hurry to go back into town and Kabul hotel life.  Besides, I wanted to hook up with TF Phoenix to get some video of Afghan boot camp, but the PAO was not very good at returning email requests.

The guy that billets the transients told me I had to go by Wednesday because all the bunks were needed, which was better than nothing.  After all, there’s decent food, wireless internet and a night club where I could enjoy my first beer in several weeks; Becks has never tasted so good!!  And only $1.20 to boot.

Wednesday, February 25th

I spent the previous day working on a post about kidnappings in Kabul, and the region in general, which left me very paranoid about going back into Kabul, alone, with all my gear.  I actually gave my wife a deadline for me to contact her, that if passed, she should inform the US Embassy that I was missing.

Currently, at least two western journalists (including a top-tier print journalist), and their local companions, are missing as well as a French aide worker, so all I could think about was the walking bag of money I must look like to some enterprising criminals.  While Taliban are a threat here, I more fear the desperate, evil person looking for a ransom.

Which reminds me.  In February I pulled a post regarding the major journalist missing (read above) at the behest of family and friends of the victim.  I’ve also been informed that my future presence in Kabul would be met cooly by my colleagues for disclosing this kidnapping publicly.  Regardless, while I will not name names out of respect for the family, let it be known my stance on this situation.

A Lesson in Ethics

When a journalist goes off to interview the Taliban, they take on inherent risks.  Several western journalists have recently tried; some have been successful, others have not.  One who has not is a Canadian woman being held in Pakistan after trying to report from the tribal region.  The other is a well known investigative reporter who most recently worked for one of the biggest papers in the country.  He disappeared in November trying to meet the Taliban south of Kabul.

Since his disappearance, the western press as a whole has decided not to report the incident.  I am not part of this “agreement”, so I do not know the reasons for the self-censorship, but judging from the response I got following my post, it seems that money and the man’s life are the key concerns.  

“I have heard it will cost a fortune to get him out,” said one Kabul journalist who has been one of the few to openly report the story.  Everyone wants to be quiet so not to upset the negotiation process, which involves the lives of three men; three men who made the decision that led to their capture.

And that’s where the money comes into play?  I’m just guessing, but I assume the more publicity there is (and there would be) the higher the ransom.  This is where I just can’t let it go.  Let us just say a ransom is paid (the Canadian woman’s kidnappers want two million).

The question I have is:  How many people will die from the weapons bought with the ransom money? Seriously, an untold number of farmers, soldiers, teachers, etc… will die because of ransom money paid to these criminals.  People who did not make a very poor choice of trying to get a face-to-face interview with the Taliban.  

While I hope these journalists get out alive and write books about their ordeal, if it is done with ransom money, the blood of many innocents will be on their bill in debt.  The journalists keeping hush hush about this need to keep that in mind.

Of interesting note:  One of the journalists who is ignoring the story is a famed writer, on the Afghan beat, and colleague of the missing.  Ironically, a week before her friend went missing, she wrote a large story on the rise of kidnappings in the region and focused on the kidnapping of the French aide worker who was taken the day before (who is still missing).

End of Rant and Moving On

So after getting rid of anything extra, I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed out the front gate, not knowing if I’d be able to get a taxi or not.  Last time I walked out this gate in 2004, I hitched a ride with a truckload of Afghan Police (much to their delight), however things have changed here and I wasn’t sure what to expect.  Fortunately, luck was on my side and I had a taxi within just a few minutes and was on my way back to the Mustafa Hotel for my last night in Afghanistan.

I was glad to be back at the Mustafa.  They are extremely nice, catering and fair.  While there are no armed guards, there are a dozen machine gun-toting cops just outside the front door manning a checkpoint.  So other than it being a little chilly (the heaters they provide seem deadly to me, carbon monoxide-wise), I love the place, as does my wallet ($30 p/night).

I spent much of this day looking for small gifts to bring back to certain people.  My primary thinking was to get silk scarves for my wife.  So I headed down Chicken Street to the main drag, in the area, and headed toward  Shar-a-Now where my favorite carpet shop used to be.  I hoped it, and my friend Fahrad, would still be there.

Finding the shop was easy and walking in was like walking in five years ago.  Looked exactly the same, as did Fahrad.  ”You look the same, Daud.”  We did some catching up as we sat on the floor, drinking green tea and looking through the scarves.  I had $50 to spend and wanted to do the best I could, in the sense of numbers and colors.  In the end I found a great lot and ended up with seven silk scarves.  Not bad at all (and yes, Heidi loved them).  Thanking Fahrad, I headed out onto the street.

Daud’s Militia

“We are your bodyguards,” they would say.  The hotel owner said they always say that to westerners.  I can’t go anywhere without getting an army of children following me.  I think some of them genuinely like me, but for the most part, they want bakeesh… money.  This time in Kabul, the begging was stifling.  I would literally have 10 kids following me as I warded off burqa-clad women attacking from the front, all holding the saddest looking babies.  “Badcha,” they would say, which means, “baby”.  I would spend 15 bucks every time I left the hotel.  I gave money, bought cakes, food, medicine.  I even gave away my cell phone.  It was unbelievable to the point that I didn’t leave the hotel but a few times after that.

That’s ok because I would spend the evening having a nice party at the Mustafa, with everything I needed right there.