This can be summarized easily:
a total mess - which is not surprising, since it has been devastated by
war for decades. Back in the Seventies, when I was a traveler in
South-East Asia, Afghanistan was a
favorite place for low-budget travelers. The people treated you
wonderfully. The women had to cover themselves up, but they felt secure
and stayed for long periods. None of this is left, the country has been
taken over by the warlords, who are criminals of the worst sort - who
were put in power by the Americans to combat the Taliban. As result,
Afghan society has been devastated.
The Dec. Harper's Magazine has an article
The Master of Spin Moldak: undercover with Afghanistan's drug-trafficing border police.
The writer is a Canadian free-lance journalist who is befriended in
Pakistan by some local young Afghan men with good connections back
home. They take him across the border and show him around (while
showing off their new friend to their old friends). I can relate, this
happened to me in Turkey once; in the undeveloped world people like to
show of their friends from the outside world, and this gives you a
fantastic opportunity to see the people as they are.
The
article is long, and I will only share the ending, where he meets the
master of Spin Boldak, Colonel Abdul Razik. The Colonel's grandmother
had just died and he had shown up for her funeral:
------
At last, Samiullah took me by the hand and, picking our way
through the seated congregation, we approached the dais. As we got
closer, I became aware of a young man sitting amid the whitebeards and
knew immediately that this was Colonel Razik. The elders made space for
me, and I got down on the dais. “This is Matthieu. He is a Canadian
guest,” said Samiullah.
Razik and I contemplated each other for a moment. He looked
even younger than his thirty years and had a boyishly handsome,
guileless face with a square jaw and clear eyes. It was not at all the
face of a fire-breathing warlord. A tuft of short hair poked out from
under his hat in what was nearly a widow’s peak. He was dressed simply,
in a white cotton shalwar kameez and a gray pinstriped waistcoat. Only
his full mouth, with its crop of slightly crooked, strong-looking
teeth, gave any hint of his great vigor and violence.
Pausing in his conversation, Razik greeted me with a
reserved tone, and we shook hands. I told him I was a friend of
Sikander’s, and he said I was welcome here. I thanked him for his men’s
hospitality.
---
Military officers like General Vance find themselves in a
peculiar fix when confronted with characters like Abdul Razik. These
entrenched figures hold posts or wear uniforms whose legitimacy must be
respected. But many of those who maintain their power through
corruption and coercion were originally installed by the U.S.
military—a fact not lost on Afghans, who tend to have longer memories
than Westerners here on nine- or twelve-month rotations.
I asked General Vance if he was aware that Razik was
directly involved in the drug trade. “Yes,” he said. “We are completely
aware that there are a number of illicit activities being run out of
that border station.” He had few illusions about Razik, with whom he
interacts directly. “He runs effective security ops that are designed
to make sure that the business end of his life runs smoothly, and there
is a collateral effect on public order,” he told me. “Ideally, it
should be the other way around. The tragedy of Kandahar is that it’s
hard to find that paragon of civic virtue.
”Indeed, honest people in Afghanistan don’t often occupy the
halls of power, and they don’t usually have the resources to be the
first in line for big development contracts. Should one’s security
restrictions allow one to stroll the streets, however, one will find
them there, pushing carts of vegetables, positively begging strangers
to join them for a cup of tea that might cost them half their day’s
salary. If one looks a little harder, one will find them in crumbling
little homes in a poor area on the edge of town:
places of exile, to which honest men have been marginalized either by
force or by choice. In other cases—such as that of Malalai Kakar,
Kandahar’s top female police officer, who was shot in September of last
year by unknown assailants, or that of Alim Hanif, chief judge of the
new Central Narcotics Tribunals Appeals Court, killed outside his house
in Kabul by masked men—the honest Afghans will be found in the cemetery.
As for Razik, he remains alive and very much the master of the
borderlands. Occasionally, outside forces will annoy him: in July, CNPA
teams, working with DEA mentors, raided two caches of hashish in
Razik’s territory, arresting one of his commanders in the process. But
Razik is hardly at odds with his government. After the first round of
national elections closed on August 20, his men forcibly took Spin
Boldak’s ballot boxes into his house for “safekeeping” overnight. It
was just one of the many reports of electoral fraud in Kandahar
Province, which polled overwhelmingly for President Karzai, according
to the independent Election Commision of Afghanistan. The count from
Spin Boldak’s polling stations: Karzai, 8,341; his main challenger, Dr.
Abdullah Abdullah, 4.