Sunday, May 9, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Early Days on the Job
A large part of my job here is to mentor Afghan prosecutors. That has more parts than I realized when I headed over here. Part of it is relatively simple. I've been a prosecutor for a long time (despite my youthful appearance as I like to say) and I know more about how to put a case together and how to direct an investigation than most of these people. That's not saying that much. Most of the prosecutors here (in these special units) seem smart and hard working. However, even if they have a few years experience, it has largely come in a system with so few resources and so much interference that they are happy to convict the person in front of them and move on. In a country with the biggest drug dealers in the world (the court here doesn't take heroin cases unless they involve more than two kilos), that doesn't begin to cut it. So they need advice and I'm trying. There's a long way to go. But the other parts of the job are more difficult. First, we have to try to make sure the cases are followed vigorously. Without a computerized tracking system or a real docket system, that's not easy but it's vital to make sure a case doesn't "disappear." Second, and worse, we have to protect the line prosecutors from having a case disappeared on them from above, Without going into detail, that does happen. The prosecutors here are not in a good position to argue. However, if we, the US and British mentors, are aware of the case and ask about it we can find out what happened and can often prevent it. The prosecutors love us for that - they seem to appreciate all we do but they are also remarkably courteous so it's hard to tell, based on my extensive 21/2 weeks of experience.
But a few days ago we had a third level of "interference." One of the prosecutors received very believable death threats and ransom demands. He is a man with four children and rightfully took the threats seriously. We did get an investigation going and think we have dealt with it now. As of last week, though, the prosecutor was seeking protection and hadn't gotten it yet. He lives with his family in a three room house and several of his armed brothers from a rural area had moved in with him for the time being but he wanted some official protection. After one of our visits, when we discovered he hadn't gotten it yet, we (two of us mentors) went to see a military officer in charge of one of the protection units. The meeting was a perfect example of clashing attempts to communicate and clashing cultures, I guess. The officer was very polite and well spoken (through an interpreter). He also was a very imposing figure, very erect in his well fitting uniform, a very weathered face and an expression that he had been in more dangerous places than we had ever read about. (Not hard to believe for an army officer in Afghanistan) He was sympathetic, in his way. On the other hand, the prosecutor's safety wasn't really his responsibility; he was responsible for a different branch of security; and his resources were very strained. The officer also explained that he had offered some help earlier but it had been refused because the prosecutor wanted more help than had been offered. All that was true but the prosecutor's life was still very much in danger and only this officer could send an armed guard NOW (it was late afternoon) home with him tonight, when we had reason to believe the threat was particularly acute. We explained our position and the officer explained his and we repeated. We went around and around for a while. Our position was very direct - the prosecutor's life was in danger because of his work and only the officer could help him. His position was very indirect - resources were limited, it wasn't really his problem, he didn't have any orders on the subject, help had been offered and refused, the whole matter could be re-examined further in the next few days, etc. Anyway, this went on for quite a while, with us making a really rude, I guess, direct request after being turned down, and the officer not turning us down but not agreeing either. Happily, after what seemed a very long time, the officer changed his mind and agreed to have an armed soldier not only drive the prosecutor home but stay with his family. Our relief was nearly palpable. But as the tension ratcheted down, I noticed what had been on the (muted) TV in the corner of the large office: Elmer Fudd. All the time we were going around and around about the need for protection for this prosecutor, Elmer Fudd was chasing the Wascally Wabbit. I kid you not; I'm not smart enough nor familiar enough with TV to make this up. Whatever else I do here in this unfortunate country, I will never forget the scene, the tension or my feeling on realizing what was on the TV.
P.S By the way, we think we have identified the source of the threat but the guard remains on duty and the prosecutor thinks we are pretty good people - actually he did anyway, he's one of the best in the whole unit. Jim.
But a few days ago we had a third level of "interference." One of the prosecutors received very believable death threats and ransom demands. He is a man with four children and rightfully took the threats seriously. We did get an investigation going and think we have dealt with it now. As of last week, though, the prosecutor was seeking protection and hadn't gotten it yet. He lives with his family in a three room house and several of his armed brothers from a rural area had moved in with him for the time being but he wanted some official protection. After one of our visits, when we discovered he hadn't gotten it yet, we (two of us mentors) went to see a military officer in charge of one of the protection units. The meeting was a perfect example of clashing attempts to communicate and clashing cultures, I guess. The officer was very polite and well spoken (through an interpreter). He also was a very imposing figure, very erect in his well fitting uniform, a very weathered face and an expression that he had been in more dangerous places than we had ever read about. (Not hard to believe for an army officer in Afghanistan) He was sympathetic, in his way. On the other hand, the prosecutor's safety wasn't really his responsibility; he was responsible for a different branch of security; and his resources were very strained. The officer also explained that he had offered some help earlier but it had been refused because the prosecutor wanted more help than had been offered. All that was true but the prosecutor's life was still very much in danger and only this officer could send an armed guard NOW (it was late afternoon) home with him tonight, when we had reason to believe the threat was particularly acute. We explained our position and the officer explained his and we repeated. We went around and around for a while. Our position was very direct - the prosecutor's life was in danger because of his work and only the officer could help him. His position was very indirect - resources were limited, it wasn't really his problem, he didn't have any orders on the subject, help had been offered and refused, the whole matter could be re-examined further in the next few days, etc. Anyway, this went on for quite a while, with us making a really rude, I guess, direct request after being turned down, and the officer not turning us down but not agreeing either. Happily, after what seemed a very long time, the officer changed his mind and agreed to have an armed soldier not only drive the prosecutor home but stay with his family. Our relief was nearly palpable. But as the tension ratcheted down, I noticed what had been on the (muted) TV in the corner of the large office: Elmer Fudd. All the time we were going around and around about the need for protection for this prosecutor, Elmer Fudd was chasing the Wascally Wabbit. I kid you not; I'm not smart enough nor familiar enough with TV to make this up. Whatever else I do here in this unfortunate country, I will never forget the scene, the tension or my feeling on realizing what was on the TV.
P.S By the way, we think we have identified the source of the threat but the guard remains on duty and the prosecutor thinks we are pretty good people - actually he did anyway, he's one of the best in the whole unit. Jim.
Arrival
Well, I'm here and in my CHU, which is what they call these newer , smaller containers. It's exciting to be here but will take some getting used to. The plane ride was dramatic. We were practically skimming over these very steep, snowy mountains and then the pilot announced we were coming down and had reached 24,000 feet. So that was interesting. The little I saw of Kabul looks pretty poor but this is also their main day off so I didn't get a real appreciation of it I think. Security is tight here but also bureaucratic, so I have to be on dozens of lists and I can't get my permanent access card till I go to a briefing on Monday, etc. The attorneys all seemed happy to see me and met me in front of the Embassy building. That was nice because the "expediter" at the airport didn't meet me so I was wandering around in various parking lots looking for him at the airport. I finally found a car which a local ute told me was an American Embassy car. The driver confirmed that and called the guy who was in the airport, supposedly meeting me. Anyway, it worked out and the kid made a couple of bucks.
The CHU is tiny. It's also filled with the boxes and stuff we already sent over so I need to unpack but there is a very limited amount of places to put stuff. We'll see.
I will try to call Vicky on Skype now and we'll try more calls later. It's now 5:25 pm here. Why we're off an extra half hour I have no idea. Love, Jim.
The CHU is tiny. It's also filled with the boxes and stuff we already sent over so I need to unpack but there is a very limited amount of places to put stuff. We'll see.
I will try to call Vicky on Skype now and we'll try more calls later. It's now 5:25 pm here. Why we're off an extra half hour I have no idea. Love, Jim.
First Day
First day down here and I'm still jet lagged beyond my real understanding. It will work out eventually. Anyway, I was in the office in the Embassy today and I walked down the hall and casually glanced into a big conference room.. I saw that one side of the table was occupied by Afghans, which was not surprising, but they were wearing the most incredible headwear I had ever seen. I admit my jaw dropped. It included turbans in odd colors and piled incredibly high, the flat wool pakol hats in garish colors and other hats which reminded me of Easter bonnets or maybe a Carmen Miranda movie. Anyway, by the time I got back to the office, I had convinced myself it was no big deal, everyone had probably seen this dozens of times. So I didn't say anything. Half an hour later someone else, who had been working there for over a year, walked down the hall and came sprinting back telling everyone to come take a look at the people in the crazy hats. So I had to admit I'd seen them and not told them. pretty funny. As to the work, it seems interesting but I have to admit I have little idea of what I'm really supposed to be doing. I'll start finding out this week.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Buzkhashi
: Buzkhashi - Or Horsemen 3 - Goats and Calves 0
I had the incredible opportunity to attend a buzkashi match yesterday. Buzkhashi is the traditional Afghan game and has been played here for a couple of thousand years, they say. People in our office were invited by a minister with whom we work. We met him at his office and followed his group of SUVs north out of town and maybe 40 minutes further. We were clear of the city and there was a line of hills between us and the city so the air was clear and there was little traffic. We could also see the higher peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains to the north and west, which are spectacular. Because we were VIPs or at least with a VIP, when we got to the field someone opened a gate and we drove right across the field and parked up the hill, by a beautiful house. We then walked down a steep set of stairs through what must be spectacular gardens in the summer, practically shooing the peacocks and turkeys out of our way. The "stadium" was really just a set of concrete bleachers plus a few rows of covered seats for the dignitaries. The "field" was a field of a few acres surrounded by a stone wall with the bleachers on one side. There were two teams of 17 players each. One team wore red padded jackets and round leather hats with fur edges. The hats looked exactly like my mental picture of the kinds of hats worn by Genghiz Khan's soldiers. The other team was called the black team but was pretty much the non-red team, wearing a strange combination of clothes and hats or turbans. The game itself was spectacular. The field had a chalk circle, maybe 15 or 20 feet in diameter near one end, in front of the middle of the stands. Near the other end was a post. To start the game, the body of a goat (decapitated) was dropped and a melee started as riders tried to pick up the goat and get out of the scrum. They pick it up by leaning down from the saddle and picking it up by hand. While they are trying to do that, their rivals are trying the same, shoving their horses against each other, whipping each other's horses and shoving each other with their arms, shoulders and occasionally the butts of their whips. Sooner or later someone comes up with the carcass and tries to break free of the crowd. His opponents try to keep him penned in and also try to pull the carcass away from him. If he breaks free he races to the other end of the field (while leaning way over in the saddle holding the goat by hand or trying to lock it partially under his leg), goes around the post and tries to come back to the original end to drop the carcass in the chalk circle. While he's doing that, the opponents try to use their horses to block him from the circle and to slow him down so they can rip the carcass away from him. I realize this description doesn't do it justice. There are 34 mounted men either in what looks like a rugby scrum or racing at full speed up and down the field, right next to each other, essentially wrestling while they ride or using their horses to push the others in the wrong direction or into the walls. While they are in the scrum, while some are clinging to the saddle with one leg while trying to pick up the carcass, others are getting their horses to rear up and come down on their opponents. I saw at least on occasion where a horse reared up and came down with one forefoot on each side of another rider, with the rearing horse's head right in the face of the other rider.
One of the more brutal parts of the game of course is that it's hard on the goats and calves. In the match we saw, they started with a goat carcass. After a while, it literally started coming apart. When it disintegrated, it had to be replaced. We saw a couple of guys walk a calf to the corner of the field, wrestle it down and cut its throat. A few minutes later there was a new carcass in the game. That was repeated an hour or so later. A couple of the people in our group are real animal lovers, always rescuing dogs and cats in the area, etc. Their faces showed their shock at the procedure and the Afghans noticed and were grimly amused.
I was also fascinated by the biggest VIP, a high politician and former warlord. He looks like central casting's idea of a central Asian villain - very heavily built, hooded eyes, big robe covering the rest of his clothes. When he showed up a big upholstered chair was set out for him and a soldier with a Kalashnikov stood right behind him, with other soldiers scattered all around. The omnipresent green tea with trays of nuts and candies was then served also. Anyway, he was a big fan and evidently owned a few of the horses being used (good Buzkashi horses are very valuable). Later in the game, when he evidently decided that the game wasn't being played hard enough, he would mutter a few words to one of his aides and the announcer (one guy with a bullhorn) would call out (in Dari) $100. That meant that the next rider to score - to get the carcass, ride down the field and back and drop the carcass in the chalk circle - would get $100. This clearly was an incentive and whoever accomplished it would ride over to the stands and the aide would reach down to him and hand him an American hundred dollar bill. $100 is a lot of money in this country and it was repeated a number of times.
Anyway, despite the brutality, it was an incredible spectacle. The riders' costumes were almost all authentic and the horses themselves were beautiful and obviously well cared for. The saddles and saddle blankets were mostly very colorful and well tended also. By the way, at the beginning of the actual match, once the real VIP had showed up, all the riders retreated to the far side of the field and then lined up and galloped across to our side, stopped in front of us and bowed. Except for the bullhorn and the Kalashnikovs, the match could have been happening 500 years ago. I had read about Buzkashi before coming over and vaguely hoped I might see it but doubted I would. This was a spectacular day. Jim
I had the incredible opportunity to attend a buzkashi match yesterday. Buzkhashi is the traditional Afghan game and has been played here for a couple of thousand years, they say. People in our office were invited by a minister with whom we work. We met him at his office and followed his group of SUVs north out of town and maybe 40 minutes further. We were clear of the city and there was a line of hills between us and the city so the air was clear and there was little traffic. We could also see the higher peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains to the north and west, which are spectacular. Because we were VIPs or at least with a VIP, when we got to the field someone opened a gate and we drove right across the field and parked up the hill, by a beautiful house. We then walked down a steep set of stairs through what must be spectacular gardens in the summer, practically shooing the peacocks and turkeys out of our way. The "stadium" was really just a set of concrete bleachers plus a few rows of covered seats for the dignitaries. The "field" was a field of a few acres surrounded by a stone wall with the bleachers on one side. There were two teams of 17 players each. One team wore red padded jackets and round leather hats with fur edges. The hats looked exactly like my mental picture of the kinds of hats worn by Genghiz Khan's soldiers. The other team was called the black team but was pretty much the non-red team, wearing a strange combination of clothes and hats or turbans. The game itself was spectacular. The field had a chalk circle, maybe 15 or 20 feet in diameter near one end, in front of the middle of the stands. Near the other end was a post. To start the game, the body of a goat (decapitated) was dropped and a melee started as riders tried to pick up the goat and get out of the scrum. They pick it up by leaning down from the saddle and picking it up by hand. While they are trying to do that, their rivals are trying the same, shoving their horses against each other, whipping each other's horses and shoving each other with their arms, shoulders and occasionally the butts of their whips. Sooner or later someone comes up with the carcass and tries to break free of the crowd. His opponents try to keep him penned in and also try to pull the carcass away from him. If he breaks free he races to the other end of the field (while leaning way over in the saddle holding the goat by hand or trying to lock it partially under his leg), goes around the post and tries to come back to the original end to drop the carcass in the chalk circle. While he's doing that, the opponents try to use their horses to block him from the circle and to slow him down so they can rip the carcass away from him. I realize this description doesn't do it justice. There are 34 mounted men either in what looks like a rugby scrum or racing at full speed up and down the field, right next to each other, essentially wrestling while they ride or using their horses to push the others in the wrong direction or into the walls. While they are in the scrum, while some are clinging to the saddle with one leg while trying to pick up the carcass, others are getting their horses to rear up and come down on their opponents. I saw at least on occasion where a horse reared up and came down with one forefoot on each side of another rider, with the rearing horse's head right in the face of the other rider.
One of the more brutal parts of the game of course is that it's hard on the goats and calves. In the match we saw, they started with a goat carcass. After a while, it literally started coming apart. When it disintegrated, it had to be replaced. We saw a couple of guys walk a calf to the corner of the field, wrestle it down and cut its throat. A few minutes later there was a new carcass in the game. That was repeated an hour or so later. A couple of the people in our group are real animal lovers, always rescuing dogs and cats in the area, etc. Their faces showed their shock at the procedure and the Afghans noticed and were grimly amused.
I was also fascinated by the biggest VIP, a high politician and former warlord. He looks like central casting's idea of a central Asian villain - very heavily built, hooded eyes, big robe covering the rest of his clothes. When he showed up a big upholstered chair was set out for him and a soldier with a Kalashnikov stood right behind him, with other soldiers scattered all around. The omnipresent green tea with trays of nuts and candies was then served also. Anyway, he was a big fan and evidently owned a few of the horses being used (good Buzkashi horses are very valuable). Later in the game, when he evidently decided that the game wasn't being played hard enough, he would mutter a few words to one of his aides and the announcer (one guy with a bullhorn) would call out (in Dari) $100. That meant that the next rider to score - to get the carcass, ride down the field and back and drop the carcass in the chalk circle - would get $100. This clearly was an incentive and whoever accomplished it would ride over to the stands and the aide would reach down to him and hand him an American hundred dollar bill. $100 is a lot of money in this country and it was repeated a number of times.
Anyway, despite the brutality, it was an incredible spectacle. The riders' costumes were almost all authentic and the horses themselves were beautiful and obviously well cared for. The saddles and saddle blankets were mostly very colorful and well tended also. By the way, at the beginning of the actual match, once the real VIP had showed up, all the riders retreated to the far side of the field and then lined up and galloped across to our side, stopped in front of us and bowed. Except for the bullhorn and the Kalashnikovs, the match could have been happening 500 years ago. I had read about Buzkashi before coming over and vaguely hoped I might see it but doubted I would. This was a spectacular day. Jim
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