End Game*

The hot Afghan sun beats down on the young Marine patrolling near a desolate village in Helmand province.  Fatigue had set in weeks ago and he is on autopilot, just putting one foot in front of the other.  His 35-pound body armor encases him in an airless cocoon of sweat and heat -- slowly sucking out every ounce of energy he still has in him.  The armor prevents bullets from ripping into his chest cavity, but also prevents airflow thereby increasing the flow of sweat, staining his armor and uniform with white stripes of salt.  Sweat, it seemed, was his friend now for it was always with him.  On his head rests a Kevlar helmet, weighing five pounds or so, acting as a heat vacuum for he swore it actually sucks the heat into his head.  The sweat drips into his eyes, causing a slight sting.  He immediately wipes it away for clear vision is the most important thing in the world right now.  It is more important that his armor or his weapon.  It’s his eyes that give him the best chance of staying alive.  Body armor and a weapon cannot see the tale-tale signs of an IED or combine with his sixth-sense to put him on high alert or see the insurgent quickly dart from a house. 

Even when he stops, the eyes constantly move.  He adjusts his 50-pound pack that seems much heavier in the Helmand sun.  As he does so, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end.  Something isn’t right, but he can’t place it.  His eyes dart back and forth, up and down frantically, trying to determine the threat.  Then he sees it, a thin metal tube just barely sticking from behind a wall.  It moves ever so slightly.  He immediately recognizes it as the barrel of an AK-47 and as he turns to sound the alarm, shots ring out.  It is the unmistakable sound of multiple AK-47s.  He and his patrol have run smack into an insurgent ambush.  Instinctively, he drops into the dirt, returning fire and looking for cover.  A nearby tree becomes a lifesaver as it absorbs several shots aimed directly at him.  He and his fellow Marines lay down a base of fire and begin maneuvering toward the insurgents (its what Marines do).  The insurgents put up a fierce fight but ultimately begin a tactical withdrawal toward a house.  As they do so, a Marine is fatally shot.

Once consolidated in the housing compound, insurgent small arms fire increases dramatically.  Breaching the walled compound to get at the insurgents would be foolish for the lightly armed Marine patrol.  The defensive position the insurgents have is formidable and would result in many more casualties from the patrol and attacking it in these circumstances simply does make sound military sense.  Airpower is called in.  As aircraft arrives on scene, the power engines echo across the landscape.  There is no mistaking the fact that pinpoint firepower has arrived.  The insurgents have seen and heard it before and they know that it has come for them.  The jet makes a pass over the housing compound behind which the insurgents hide, tilting his plane slightly so that he can see what is below him.  As he does, his ordnance is there for all to see.  Death hangs on the wings, but the insurgents continue firing at the Marines.  The pilot drops his ordinance, directly hitting the house and killing all inside.  As the dust settles and the firing stops, the patrol enters the compound to confirm the insurgent deaths and collect intelligence.  To their horror they discover that the house that the insurgents choose to use as a defensive position had nine children and two women inside.  They were also killed when the bomb hit.

Death in war is a sorrowful thing, but it is worse when a civilian dies.  Civilians do not choose to be combatants and, thus, do not choose to voluntarily risk their lives in the fight.  However, civilian casualties in war are as old as war itself.  International law seeks to mitigate, as much as possible, death and injury to civilians by placing them off limits as targets.  However, the law does permit civilian casualties.  I’ll say it again: international law permits civilian casualties.  The law requires that civilians not be the targets of attacks and that when civilians are known to be present in or around a target area, the attacker must weigh the military benefit against the potential for civilian harm before attacking.  Thus, if the military benefit is significant enough, the attack can legally take place despite the fact that civilian casualties are likely.  In the US military, lawyers are embedded throughout the command and targeting structure to mitigate civilian casualties as much as possible.  

Here, however, the situation is different.  In the scenario above, which seeks to reference an actual scenario that occurred on 28 May 2011 in Helmand province, the presence of civilians was unknown.  In the heat of a firefight, Marines took action to eliminate the threat posed by insurgents.  Those insurgents chose to set up a defensive base in a housing compound and continue pouring fire on Marines.  With rounds impacting all around them, the Marines took the only action they could take to eliminate the threat.  There was no time for detached reflection or to arrange a discussion with the insurgents to determine whom else might be in the house.  The insurgents chose to make that house a lawful target, not the Marines.  While death was certainly brought about by a bomb dropped at the behest of that Marine patrol, blame rests solely with the insurgents.  They chose to fire on a Marine patrol seeking to establish security on behalf of the Afghan government.  They chose to establish a defensive position in a home.  They chose to remain there with knowledge that civilians were present.  They chose to continue firing at the Marines.  They chose to keep the civilians in the house even after airpower arrived on station.  So if there is blame here, it rests solely with the insurgents.

But what does Afghan President Hamid Karzai have to say about this?  As leader of the Afghan people, he must certainly make a statement.  However, given that his place on the throne, as it were, is guaranteed by American military power, he must use a bit of tact, right?  Not so.  Instead, President Karzai issued his “last warning” to the Americans regarding “arbitrary and unnecessary” US-led military operations.  He went on to condemn the “murder” of Afghans at US hands.  WTF?

Let’s analyze these statements separately.  A last warning?  Or what?  Civilian casualties in war are horrible and everything should be done to mitigate the chances of civilian harm.  I understand and agree with this.  But really, what is Karzai going to do?  Will he kick US troops out?  I don’t think so.  His entire regime depends on US military force; it’s what keeps him in power.  His own troops can’t ensure the viability of his government.

Next, he says the operations are arbitrary and unnecessary.  Arbitrary would indicate that no planning goes into the location of such operations.  If this is the case, then the Americans must indeed be the luckiest (or unluckiest depending on your perspective) military in the world because they always seem to make enemy contact.  Indeed, this is the point because the Americans are doing what much of the Afghan Army cannot do; track down, engage, and eliminate forces in conflict with the Afghan government.  This leads us to the unnecessary part.  Reread the last sentence.  American troops are conducting these operations to prop up the current Afghan government, you know, the one Karzai leads.  Yep, Mr. Karzai, those operations keep you in your nice presidential palace.  Are you sure they’re unnecessary?

The last characterization is the worst.  He called it murder – not an accidental killing or an unfortunate side effect of a long and terrible war.  No, he said murder.  He called our Marines murderers.  These Marines were conducting an operation designed to maintain the very power structure that maintains his office and he called them murderers and demand an apology.  How about Karzai apologize for the death of the Marine during the operation?  How about he apologizes for the fourteen Americans killed this past week?  Or what about the 8 airmen killed by one of his soldiers?  Or how about the more than 1500 Americans who’ve died trying to save this country?   

I look around and see my country suffering both in blood and treasure to bring the rule of law and stability to this country.  We seem to be engaged in a Sisyphean task with no end.  Our economy is in shambles.  Our mission here is fairly unclear and timelines have been imposed that make the mission’s accomplishment impossible to achieve.  The danger we came in to eliminate has moved across the border into relative sanctuary.  Politicians at home are just now beginning to demand an end to the war and polls show the people are with them.  Couple this with an ungrateful political apparatus in the country we are trying to help that seems more intent on fending for themselves than building their own country. And I wonder why we’re still here.  I think I know now what my dad must have thought when he was in Vietnam.

*The following narrative is for illustrative purposes only.  Although some of it has been gleaned from news reports, it is not to be taken as fact, but merely as a means of illustrating a similar situation in order to convey a point.

The Light

A lone florescent bulb struggled to light the room, flashing on and off, giving a slight pinging sound as it did so.  “Ping . . . ping . . . ping,” the sound echoes off the bare, beige walls.  The light from the window provided enough to see, but the florescent bulb continued to try and assist, as if it knew the inadequate light gave the room a dinginess not suitable for a governmental office.  The décor in the room also failed to provide the appropriate stature.  It was populated with wooden furniture of a post-modern style that alluded to a 1970s bachelor pad in New York’s Greenwich village or San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood of hippies – a sort of hip, nouveau riche style appropriate for the age, but one that has long lost its luster and certainly not fit for a government office.  The cushions were of a thin, flat, unadorned variety that provided some function in lieu of style.  The wooden and glass coffee table had a distressed look borne of age and use rather than fashion – a small metallic plate bearing the red and white Maple Leaf flag affixed to its corner identified it as a gift from the Government of Canada, cementing the fact that the national government could not even provide suitable furniture for its offices to conduct business.

“Ping, ping, ping.”  The light continued its exercise in futility, serving as an appropriate metaphor for the meeting.  We were there to discuss developments in various pieces of legislation designed to modernize and strengthen rule of law.  The gentleman with whom we were meeting had a slight sophisticated air about him.  He wore a nice, tan colored suit with a bright blue and yellow tie.  His close-cropped beard, of the type most often seen with government officials and other well-to-do individuals here, compensated for his thinning hair.  He motioned for us to be seated on the couch and took a chair from the table and sat down to face us.  His choice of this seating arrangement immediately placed him on a level slightly higher than us; his slight slouch as he leaned back into his chair solidified his status among those of us in the room.  The scene had an air of ever so slight smugness as if he meant to convey an attitude that questioned why we outsiders would patronize him with our inquiries. 

“Ping, ping, ping.”  The frantic activity of the light betrayed the haughty demeanor of our host and seemed to suggest that the meeting needed a different tone.  As we made our way through the pleasantries and began sipping our tea, our host started to open up to our questions, perhaps intuitively hearing the unspoken suggestion of the light.  We asked about particular pieces of legislation in such a manner that conveyed our understanding of the difficulty of his job.  This caused him to sit up in his chair and then lean forward, as if he was sharing information not to be shared with others, as if he had found an ally.  He began to explain that he, along with others, had advised his Minister of methods of bringing their legislation into compliance with international law.  However, the Minister continually dismissed their advice and went his own way.  The Minister, he said, wanted to draft legislation using the older ways of doing things, while he and his allies looked toward the modern, European style.  It was a classic case of old-world meets new.  This information was consistent with reports I had from other sources, so I began to sympathize with him.  He then showed me a draft of one law that he had scrupulously worked on with the international community; I knew this because I was present at some of the working groups.  It was in complete compliance with international law, even if the international community didn’t get all they wanted out of the law.  However, the Minister had ripped it to shreds with commentary and red ink changes. 

This was disheartening to me, but seemed almost devastating to him.  Unfortunately, this is not an isolated event.  Throughout the Afghan government, and indeed the country, the forces of modernity continue to clash with those of the past.  While the past most certainly must be respected in some fashion, modernity must be permitted to give Afghanistan a chance to grow.  Stasis is not sustainable; the status quo will lose in an increasingly interconnected, fast-paced world.

“Ping, ping, ping,” the light continued with its seemingly Sisyphean task.  I looked at our host and saw that he was like the light.  He, like others across this country, is striving against the odds to do something, to accomplish something in spite of the odds.  I looked to the light again and thought that perhaps it just needed some assistance, a little twist to seat it properly in place.  Perhaps that is what Afghanistan needs, at least at some level, a little help to put it on the right track.  Some days that seems to be an impossible, idealistic dream but on other days one comes across a flickering light and there is hope.         

The Reality of Realism in Afghanistan

Her eyes were among the most beautiful I’d ever seen.  They were a deep, penetrating blue, the color of a crystal clear sky on a summer day – pure and innocent – a beauty exacerbated by the innocence in her face.  Her left eye was playing peek-a-boo behind a strand of auburn hair that had escaped her headscarf.  In contrast, her dress was plain; nothing remotely remarkable about it, as if it knew it had little chance of competing with the eyes for attention.  The dress fell about her ankles, gently swaying with the summer breeze.  She had no shoes – only dust covering her feet.  She was staring at me, her bottom lip slightly pursed into a pout, her left hand griping a homemade bracelet.  “Please mister,” she begged, “Buy something from me.”  I knew better than to buy something because a single purchase would cause every kid within eye-shot to come out of the woodwork, surrounding me like a school of sharks in the hopes I would dispense more American cash.  She was extremely persistent and was, I think, quite accustomed to getting what she wants from the males with whom she came into contact.  A sweet voice, auburn hair, and a pouty face were powerful weapons at her disposal, but it was the eyes that got me.  That, and she appeared to be the same age as my little girl.       

I haven’t seen this little girl since that day, but I think of her on occasion – mostly when I become involved in discussions of whether American involvement here should continue.  It is at these moments that realism clashes with moral reality.  It is one thing to sit in my living room in America and contemplate the fate of a country dependent upon the graces of American foreign policy.  It is quite another to stare into the eyes of a beautiful little girl and realize the inevitable results of placing her country on the back burner of American foreign policy.  The fickleness of the American attention span will inevitably determine her fate although little thought is often given to such issues when the topic of withdrawal enters into discussions 8000 miles away.  The clue, however, as to her future in the event of American withdrawal from Afghanistan is right there on the same street that I first saw her, if one cares to look.

The street runs from the Kabul International Airport in the north through Massoud Circle, past the American Embassy to another roundabout just in front of the Presidential Palace.  Massoud Circle is named for Ahmad Shah Massoud, a hero of modern day Afghanistan known as “the Lion of Panjshir” (his province) for his role in driving out Soviet invaders.  He was the charismatic leader of the northern alliance, the ally of the Americans in the opening days of this war.  Having fought the

Taliban tenaciously for nearly five years before Afghanistan once again caught American attention, he made them pay dearly for every inch of ground as he fought a delaying action to cover his troops’ movement to the safety of the mountainous north, hoping someone would come to their aid.  Massoud was never to see this aid because he was killed just two days prior to 9/11 in an elaborate Al Qaeda plot ordered by Osama bin Laden, who was smart enough to recognize the military brilliance Massoud could offer the Americans.  Photographs of him are ubiquitous here, a political statement to what might have been.

South of Massoud Circle, the street upon which the little girl plied her trinkets is a fortress.  From the Circle, past the American Embassy, to the point at which Afghan governmental ministries begin is a maze of armed men, bomb-sniffing dogs, concrete barriers (called Jersey or Texas barriers according to their size), mountain-size speed bumps, and armored vehicles.  Moving by vehicle from the Embassy to where the Afghan ministries begin is impossible to do quickly as one must stop repeatedly for identification checks and to let the dogs sniff around.  Only after this has been accomplished will each station raise the long red and white painted steel arm that crosses the road to let you pass.  On the opposite side of the Afghan ministries, there are similar security measures.  These outposts of security form a set of dragon’s teeth protecting valuable institutions of Afghan and American government.  They also serve as an illustration of the past as prologue for this beautiful little girl.

The latent hostility and potential for armed aggression that is represented by this security matrix demonstrates the history of war this country has faced since long before this little girl was even born.  To be sure, she knows of it; she lives it daily.  She enters this surreal world of violence in stasis every day.  As she looks north, past the American portion of the security matrix, to the American portion of the street near the Embassy, she notices that it is cleaner, more orderly than where she spends her days.  She likely watches as American civilians in clothes that cost more than the average Afghan makes in a year cross the street from one compound to another.  Perhaps she’s been told that within those compounds are things she cannot yet have, but are within her grasp as long as the Americans and their allies stay: potable water, three meals a day, 24 hour electricity, an education, a viable future.  But if she could see past the American embassy from her side of the street, she’d see Kabul as it really is.  Crumbling buildings surrounded by trash, a mostly uneducated population easily manipulated by the Afghan power structure that appears only to be in it for themselves.  Yes, the very existence of these security measures demonstrates Afghanistan’s future once the Americans leave.  The little girl will move from war, through hope, to despair.  It’s as inevitable as the beauty in her eyes.

Along the wall that parallels the little girl’s daily domain are men.  They squat down, leaning against the wall, watching everything.  They seem to have no purpose, but I instinctively know they are unarmed because they have been permitted entry to this area.  I, however, am armed as I walk down the street with the little girl in tow, her legs moving at light speed, desperately trying to keep up with me in the hopes that I’ll change my mind and buy something.  The Afghan soldiers interspersed along the street barely take notice of us, but the men are fixated on us.  But it is not me they are watching; they watch the little girl like predatory animals contemplating the kill.  One of them is her handler, a father, brother, or perhaps a cousin.  They are watching to see if she makes a sale because it is one of them who will benefit.  Once a purchase is made and the purchaser is out of sight, the little girl will immediately turn over the money to her handler.  The whole transaction has a sickening similarity to prostitution.  The girl will do all the work, but reap very little of the benefit.  Maybe she’ll get something out of it, but as sure as I’m walking down the street, I know one of those men will extract the most benefit from any purchase I make.

But the manipulation of this little girl will not stop there.  At some point after the Americans leave, the security situation will deteriorate to a point that permits an opening for the Taliban and their ilk.  Once this foothold gains, it will then only be a matter of time before they take over again, for it is within the Afghan culture to await the winning side before deciding with whom to throw in your lot.  This is why the effort here is so difficult today.  But this little girl will not see these political developments; she will only see the world through the prison that is called the burka.  She will likely be forced to deprive the world of the benefit of seeing her beautiful eyes as an ugly blue screen that permits the girl to see only a sliver of the world at a time covers them.  She will see the hope offered by international presence slowly choked to death by the misogyny that accompanies the local fundamentalist interpretation of religion.

This is the reality of realism in Afghanistan.  In a nutshell, realism calls for nation-states to make calculated decisions based solely on their own security interests.  Today, it is argued, America faces such a choice.  It is contended that the death of bin Laden demonstrates that the security threat no longer emanates from Al Qaeda in Afghanistan but from the mounting debt in America that is exacerbated by the billions spent here.  It is one thing to spend billions in a successful effort, it is quite another to throw away billions in pursuit of the unattainable.  More and more Americans, polls show, now believe we cannot build Afghanistan into a functioning democracy.  From my vantage point, there is some truth to this line of reasoning.

From a realist perspective, this is a valid argument.  America cannot continue to pour money into a mission with little chance of success, particularly if, as is argued, the threat to America is no longer present.  Realism, however, does not account for morality.  It does not ask what the moral responsibility is because within realism, the highest form of morality is preservation of the State and its power.  Now, this is a perfectly acceptable method of viewing international relations (indeed I believe that most States subscribe to some form of this model), but not factoring morality into the question doesn’t mean we can simply ignore it.  Sure, we can choose to abandon Afghanistan because it makes sense for the health, security, and continued viability of our own country, but we cannot fool ourselves into thinking that no one will be hurt by this.  We cannot wish away the reality of the consequences of our choices.  It may be that leaving is indeed the right choice and the point of this piece is not to advocate a particular position.  I just ask that before you make an informed choice what the proper course of action in Afghanistan should be, you consider what that choice means.  I have.   

I think next time, despite her handler, I’ll buy something from that little girl for the sheer possibility that she will derive some brief benefit from my purchase for I know, more than she, that her future doesn’t look bright. 

Simplicity

Representatives of various agencies and military units crowded around the table – it was late in the day and folks were tired.  I had just returned to the compound from the Ministry of Interior to attend a negotiation regarding the assumption of security of the Afghan Supreme Court by a US-trained unit.  The meeting went extremely well and I was able to watch a US Marshal friend of mine cap off an excellent tour of duty here with a win.  Of course, wins here are relative as it is always the details that end up causing problems.  I’ll work with his replacement to overcome the plethora of issues and inevitable foot-dragging that will come.

But now I was in a meeting to discuss transition goals and a “win” seemed a distant desire rather than a close reality.  Specifically, we were meeting to discuss proposed “minimum essential conditions” for transition.  Two things immediately came to mind.  First, were we taking about little “t” transition or big “T” transition?  Little “t” transition refers to the transition that will occur as the military draws down while big “T” transition involves transition to complete Afghan responsibility.  Two issues arise here:  An over-focus on the big “T” results in little attention to the little “t” and the implication that big “T” is conditions-based.

The inattention that little “t” transition receives is best illustrated by a discussion I witnessed in Kandahar.  A panel was discussing a program that offered money for small projects at the district (think county) level.  A gentleman rose and asked about money for his district and was rebuffed with the comment that his district was doing well.  This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever when considered in the context of little “t” transition.  His district was doing well for two reasons: (1) it had been cleared of insurgent activity and (2) money poured in for assistance programs. 

Basically, the Americans (through the Commanders Emergency Response Program) and Canadians (through their equivalent) had used bullets to drive out the insurgents and money to keep them out.  Don’t mistake the power of money in a combat zone; it is every bit as important as kinetics (thus coining the term “Money as a Weapons System”).  The problem is that as military forces move out of the district, a gap will occur.  The Afghan government is not yet ready to assume full responsibility for the district and insurgents are all too willing to fill that gap.  Districts such as this are walking a line between reformation and regression.  As the military (and its money) moves out of such districts, there has to be a plan to bridge this gap by linking the end of the military effort with the beginning of Afghan governmental control.  Ignoring a district simply because it is “doing well” ignores the obvious and dynamic nature of counterinsurgency; the enemy gets a vote.  As soon as we lapse into complacency, the enemy will take advantage by setting up a shadow government and all the blood and treasure spent becomes wasted. 

Back at the meeting in Kabul, however, it was big “T” transition that was the topic of discussion.  This presents a slightly different problem.  The problem is one of syncing time and expectations.  Simply put, there is not enough time to construct an ideal rule of law system in Afghanistan.  Thus, in setting minimal expected conditions for transition, we cannot set the bar so high as to guarantee failure.  From a political perspective, it simply makes good sense to set the bar as low as possible so politicians can do what they do best – declare victory and use the blood and sweat of the military to increase their chances of reelection.

There are 370 districts in Afghanistan (depending on how you count them) and 34 provinces.  Putting a primary court in every district and a primary and appellate court in every provincial capital results in 404 courts.  Throw in national level courts and the number of courts climbs to 408, not counting all the subject matter-based courts such as juvenile and traffic.  This begs two questions: (1) do we really think we can generate over 400 courts between now and 2014?  Sure, we have a head start since there are many courts up and running, but very few of them are efficient in any measure of the word.  (2) Is this number of courts sustainable?  By some accounts, security costs alone account for nearly half of the Afghan government’s budget.  What will happen as international funding begins to dry up; do we really think Afghanistan will be able to afford 400 plus courts?

Meanwhile, many continue to argue that nothing short of a functional formal system is necessary.  This is nonsense.  The Afghans used informal systems of justice for centuries before Americans and their ISAF allies arrived.  What is needed are regional justice centers established in populated areas; we need to reach the most people, not all of them.

Afghanistan has a road that the circles the country.  This is called “Ring Road” and it includes spurs heading off toward other countries.  These are economic corridors and are vital to Afghan security since these roads will allow trade and development in the long term.  Importantly for the Rule of Law effort, however, is that 66% of Afghanistan’s population lives within 50 kilometers of the Ring Road.  Thus, establishing a formal justice system along the Ring Road, interspaced properly to account for population, will reach the majority of people.  But what to do about the rest of the population?  This is easy since we can rely on the informal or traditional justice system of jirgas or shuras, with which Afghan culture is already accustomed.  A link can then be established between the informal and formal system by requiring informal judgments to be filed with the formal system and permitting the appeal of informal judgments through the formal system. 

If this sounds a bit simplistic, it is and it is meant to be that way.  Time simply will not allow for complex methodologies and grand ideas.  Like it or not, when the military leaves it will take the bulk of funding and manpower with it and our desired end-state here needs to account for that fact.  Sometime simple is better.

Choices

Imagine if you will, living life as a subsistence farmer.  Your lot in life is fairly miserable.  You know it is miserable because of the backbreaking work trying to scratch out a meager existence for you and your family from the sun-baked earth that is southern Afghanistan.  Only you really don’t know how miserable you are because you’ve never left your province.  Your entire life, and that of your father and your father’s father, has been within a thirty-mile radius of where you currently live.  There is no phone, no television, no running out to the mall – there is only the sweat and blood that you’ve poured into the soil so that your spouse and children may eat.

Every morning you awake before the sun paints the sky with yellow and orange streaks as it rises over the mountains to the east.  You chew on bit of bread made yesterday while you await your chai tea to become sufficiently hot.  There is no sugar to sweeten the taste, nor is there a bit of chocolate to accompany your tea.  There is only the warm liquid itself.  Sugar is a luxury that is rarely affordable in your life; you barely make enough to purchase your food much less something to sweeten it.

As you drink the last drop of tea, you walk to your prayer rug.  You kneel to demonstrate your subservience to God and pray to thank Him for His blessings.  You have not been given anything, save your life.  But you are thankful because it has brought you children.  It is for those children that you rise so early in the day.  Just outside is your field.  It is not a large field and it doesn’t sit next to the river but it is big enough and close enough for you to grow your crop. 

Exiting your home, you glance back at it.  It isn’t much, even here.  It is four mud walls, hardened in the hot Afghan sun.  The logs that comprise the roof jut out of the mud, as if they do not want to be covered in such mess.  But it is not a mess to you; it is shelter from the summer heat and the winter cold.  It, like you, protects your children as if in a warm embrace – seeking to insulate them from the dangers of the world outside.  Standing next to your home, already awake and ready to work, is your only companion during the hot, hot days in the field – your donkey.  He is the one who works with you day in and day out.  He walks the rows with you; plodding along at your pace, pulling the plow to break up the hard soil so that a seed may be planted – a seed that brings life not just to a plant, but to life for your family.

You and he move along the ground, him pulling and you guiding a wooden and iron plow.  It is the same plow your father used; your son will use it too one day for there is no escape from this life.  As you walk the fields guiding the plow, the sweat begins to drip off your body.  It digs into your eyes, burning them with the salt it contains.  You wipe away the sweat with a hand calloused from years of toiling in the soil.  Once your small field is tilled, you place a seed at intervals ever so gently along the rows; you are patient and careful doing so as you cannot afford more seeds.  Your back aches from walking the rows and placing the seeds, but you move on.  The pain is bearable because it must be.  For the next few months, you will continue walking the rows of your field, constantly checking on your seeds like you would your babies.  You will do so with an attentiveness that cannot be broken by sickness or laziness or whatever excuse one might invent to avoid the work because these seeds are your children in a sense.  Indeed, if these seeds do not grow your children do not live.  This is life as a subsistence farmer in Afghanistan.

As your plants reach up into the sky and grow strong, evidence of your labor is reflected in the tiny flower at the top of each stalk – a thing of beauty within a field of dirt and sweat.  It is the only true color you typically see.  Your work has paid off.  All the months of dragging a plow, walking hunched over down the rows, carefully attending to the needs of the plant, has finally paid off.  A beautiful flower at the top of rows and rows of green stalks blooms as proof of your success.  You go to the prayer rug again, kneeling to thank God for His blessing, to thank Him that your children may survive the winter with the food this crop will buy.  You smile as you lay your head down that night; it is a smile of a contentment that comes with the realization that hard work will pay off with the harvest tomorrow.

Suddenly, you thrust from your slumber by the sound of “thump, thump, thump” in the cool night air.  Your donkey is pulling at his rope in fear, seeming to almost pull the house down.  He sounds as if he is screaming in the night.  You rush outside to see the helicopters diving down low over your fields.  With the first pass they spray a liquid.  You are unsure what the liquid is or why these helicopters have chosen your fields to spray it on.  Then, you hear the Toyota truck pulling up to your house.  Soldiers of the Afghan National Army jump out before the trucks have even come to a full stop.  As the helicopters circle overhead, a few of the soldiers point their rifles at you and yell for you to remain still in the doorway of your home.  The remaining soldiers toss three things (you cannot tell what) into your field.  These things explode and immediately cause your field to burn. 

Within minutes, your entire field is ablaze.  As you stare at your field in shock, the soldiers, unnoticed by you, get into their trucks and leave.  Soon, you recognize that the helicopters have left too.  As the fire begins to burn out and smolder, you continue looking at your field in a state of shock.  You barely hear the cries of your children.  Your only thought is that your livelihood has just been taken from you.  It is too late to plant again because the growing season has gone.  How are you to feed your children? 

As the smoke mixes with the rays of the rising sun, you see a lone figure walking toward you from the distance.  You do not acknowledge him as you are still confused by what just happened.  The stranger walks right up to you and says that the Americans and the Afghan government have punished you for growing poppy.  But poppy is the only crop that pays enough to feed your family, you tell him.  Now you have nothing, no money to feed your children.  "You can feed your family," he says, “We’ll pay you $100 to plant an IED along the road the Americans use.”  What would you do?  

While the specific details of poppy eradication may vary, the end result is the same.  This is what was done here in previous years.  This policy arose from an inability to engage in ex ante thinking.  This method of thinking asks what effects a decision may have in the future.  No thought was given to the secondary or tertiary effects of poppy eradication.  Drugs are bad, poppy is used to make drugs ergo poppy must be destroyed.  Thankfully, some began to realize that, for subsistence farmers, it was either poppy or joining the insurgency in some form.  They cared only about having enough money to feed their family.  Wouldn’t we all?

Today, there are many programs trying to handle this issue.  Some seek to eliminate poppy at the distribution level rather than at the source.  This way, a famer gets paid.  However, that can only work for so long since the distributors will inevitably stop buying if they cannot get their product to market.  Another innovative program is to pay farmers a subsidy to grow another crop.  This program thus uses one form of law (contract) to enforce another (criminal law).  The farmer can feed his family, interested countries defeat or disrupt the drug trade, and the insurgency is denied a funding source and potential new recruits.  The best part, I’m told, is who finances most of the program.  Japan and Iran.  Yep, Iran.  If you think politics makes strange bedfellows, try war.  

"Afghan Good Enough"

It’s a simple phrase with a complex meaning.  To some, it is a phrase that smacks of western ethnocentrism while others view it as some form of neo-colonialist thinking.  Essentially, the neo-colonialist theme implies a desire to westernize Afghanistan, but acknowledges that complete westernization is not possible because Afghans simply “aren’t ready for it.”  This is the thinking that America used in its own weak attempt at the practice of colonization.  In the aftermath of the Spanish-American War, many Americans sought to “educate our brown brothers” in the Philippines.  No thought was given to what they wanted or to their own cultural makeup.

Sure, this happens in Afghanistan to some extent.  It is seen in attempts by some to reel in the traditional dispute resolution process and it definitely occurs when the Afghan legal system is viewed through legal eyes trained in common law (Afghanistan follows civil law which is very different, but I won’t bore my readers with an explanation of that topic).  But the phrase doesn’t necessarily have to have that connotation, particularly when one considers the notion of transition.

Transition is a topic that looms large here.  This concept is one of transitioning from US/NATO responsibility to total Afghan responsibility.  How is this going to be accomplished?  How will the Afghan National Army provide security in the absence of nearly 150,000 coalition troops?  How will the justice system function without international funding?  Sure, the funding will not dry up completely, but do you really think the American public is going to continually pour a massive amount of money into a country that no longer has American troops?  The party is going to end soon and while the more corrupt Afghan politicians see the writing on the wall (hence the bags of money leaving Kabul International Airport for banks in Dubai and Abu Dhabi), some members of the international coalition fail to see this.  Hence the other meaning of “Afghan good enough.”

In the proper context, Afghan good enough simply speaks to sustainability.  The first question that must be asked when contemplating any project in this country is not how much or can we do it?  We must ask: Is it sustainable?  Sustainability means that Afghans can use the project for the purpose for which it was intended even in the absence of international funding or presence.  If it can, then it’s Afghan good enough.  Make sense?

Let’s explore this a bit.  Imagine that we want to set up a provincial justice center in a medium size Afghan city (and we do).  What might that justice center need?  Perhaps the first thing that comes to mind is infrastructure.  We need a courthouse, right?  But what type of building should we build?  Whatever you decide, will the Afghan government be able to finance its upkeep?  How many lights are in the building; what’s the annual cost of that?  Can the local electric grid, if it exists, maintain the power requirements?  Who will pay for that?     

After infrastructure, we might think of employees: judges, clerks, lawyers, security personnel, etc.   How many do you need?  Who will pay their salaries?  If they are serving in a high threat area, will there be incentive pay to keep them on the job like there is now?  Does local population support for the formal justice system match your manpower requirements?  In other words, if local support is weak, you may have too many employees.   Will you generate political unrest by laying them off after the coalition leaves?

Next, you may think about equipment for the court and offices.  Computers, printers, copy machines and the like come to mind.  Again, will the local electric grid, if it exists, support the use of such equipment?  Is there internet capability?  Who will pay for electricity and internet?  What about paying for repairs to equipment or supplies such as ink cartridges and paper?  Another question that comes to mind is even whether the local population is trained to use such equipment.  There are places right now where computer equipment sits collecting dust because of the lack of electricity or training to use it (if it hasn’t been sold on the black market).

Any notions of installing a western-style justice system are delusional at this point.  This country has been at war for more than 30 years.  During those 30 years the only justice system was dysfunctional at best, but mostly non-existent.  Without a formal justice system in most of the country, save Kabul in which the constant change of governments generated distrust of formal justice even if it did function in some form, most Afghans relied on jirgas, a meeting of village elders that decided legal questions of all types.  Although this traditional legal system still exists throughout Afghanistan, it is not reliable in the sense of compliance with Afghan Constitutional or International law because there are no effective checks.  It is highly susceptible to Taliban influence.  However, even this form of justice is not available in such parts of the country because the elders have either been killed or run off by the Talibs or other radical insurgent organizations.  It should be noted though that recent polls demonstrate that a majority of Afghans place more trust in the traditional system than they do in the formal system.  This speaks volumes and must be accounted for in justice sector planning. 

While a formal legal system, of some sort, must certainly be part of the Afghan governmental system, we must ask what we can accomplish.  Given unlimited time and money, we most certainly could put this justice system on par with any in the world.  However, we have neither unlimited time nor money.  President Obama has assigned a deadline for our effort here.  The US military (the organization here that has the most money) will begin withdrawal this summer and, essentially, be gone by 2014.  The recent death of Osama bin Laden and American war fatigue most certainly guarantees this, if not a faster, timeline. 

There is no clear-cut solution or even end-state here.  There will be no concerted “Marshall Plan” like the one that created the economic successes in Germany and Japan.  There will be no “victory” however defined.  There will only be “Afghan good enough.”  We just have to determine what that is.  

Complexity

“Sir,” he said over the rotor blast of the Huey helicopter, “Is this bird going to Ghazni?”  He looked dejected when I said the helicopter was headed back to Kabul.  I had just landed at FOB Shank in Logar Province.  As I waited for my contact to come get me, I asked the soldier what brought him to Shank if he was from Ghazni.  He walked toward me with a slight limp: “I had to come to the medical center here,” he said.  Then without provocation he said, “I really need to get out of this country.  I don’t want to be a part of any place where a ten year old child tries to kill you with a grenade.” 

FOB Shank at dusk

The rule of law advisor in Logar serves that province as well as the provinces of Bamiyan and Wardak.  Together, the three provinces provide a diverse tribal population that illustrates progress in the rule of law effort in Afghanistan.  Interestingly, Bamiyan is scheduled to be one of the first provinces turned over to Afghan control sometime this summer.  I made inquiries as to whether it was ready for transition and received an unhesitant affirmation of its readiness.  However, this may owe mainly to the tribal composition of the province.

Bamiyan, as some may recall, is where the Bamiyan Buddhist statues were prior to the Taliban blowing them up to the protest of most of the world.  It is home to a mostly Hazara population, with some Tajik, Tatar, and Pushtun tribal representation as well.  The Hazara are Shi’a and thus were viewed as kafir (infidels) by the Sunni Taliban.  As a result, they were persecuted and subjected to something akin to genocidal killing.  Since the Taliban are Pashtun, there is no love lost between the two.  Lest you think the Hazara are completely innocent, they’ve also engaged in the killing of Kuchi (nomads) over grazing territory in Bamiyan.

In any event, recent Hazara past and the conflict over grazing territory have led the Hazara to embrace modern notions of rule of law to a great extent.  Therefore, while they may or may not support foreign presence (Bamiyan is relatively safe for foreigners), they most certainly buy into a functioning justice system.  The Pashtuns, however, see it quite differently.

Although spread throughout Bamiyan, Wardak and Logar, Pashtuns are concentrated in south Logar and southeastern Wardak.  In fact, the most volatile sections of these provinces contain the highest percentage of Pashtuns.  Two particularly “hot” areas are Baraki Barak district and a valley area that separates Logar and Wardak provinces.  For a while, the valley area, known as Tangi to Americans, was a no-go area.  Attempting to remedy the problem, US forces set up COP Tangi (COP is a Combat Outpost) along with some Afghan forces.  Things got so bad that US forces couldn’t get more than a hundred yards or so outside the COP before hitting an IED. 

This difficulty ultimately led US forces to turn the COP over to the Afghan forces.  The last report was that these Afghan forces were flying the Taliban flag at the COP.  This gives you an idea of the fight here.  The Pashtuns simply have not bought in to what we’re selling.  They want no part of an Afghan government or any inkling of a western-style legal system.  This is unfortunate for them because economic success cannot be had without foreign investment and foreign investment is contingent upon the establishment of rule of law (e.g. contract enforcement, enforceable land titles, etc.).  Thus, in opposing rule of law, the Pashtuns harm themselves in the long run.  But, apparently, they do not care. 

The driving factor behind this rejection of western concepts is Pashtunwali.  Although composed of diverse practices and beliefs, the concept of Pashtunwali is a code of extreme honor to the extent that entering a Pushtun home without invitation, warrant or not, is seen as a grave offense which must be avenged with blood.  I was told of one story where an 8 year-old boy was compelled to seek vengeance under Pashtunwali despite the fact that he could barely hold a weapon.  This code permeates everything and results in an almost complete rejection of any form of central government.  In fact, there is a district in Logar that has no government whatsoever.  Indeed, a senior embassy official described local-level government as “shallow” in the Logar area.  Logar is within commuting distance of the Afghan capitol of Kabul.

This is what we are up against.  Most of the fighting and difficulties in establishing the rule of law (or at least some measure, even if imperfect) takes place in the south and east.  These are the areas predominantly occupied by Pashtuns.  It makes you wonder whether division of the country or some form of independently administrated Pashtunistan is necessary.  Of course, that brings it’s own set of problems.  The rule of complexity is the only constant here.