Jean MacKenzie's Notebook:

Upbeat poll on life in Afghanistan must have been compiled in a parallel universe

There is a brave new Afghanistan out there, where people love their government, are hopeful about the future, and are enthusiastic about the presence of foreign forces on their soil.

It sounds like a great place. I’d like to go sometime. But the pollsters who compiled the ABC/BBC/ARD survey on Afghanistan released last week must have been in some parallel universe, one that bears little resemblance to the country of the same name in which I’ve been living for the past five years.

If the figures are correct, then over 1,000 of the 1,543 people polled are optimistic about their future. I have been in Afghanistan for over five years, have spoken with thousands of people, and I have not found even one.

In my Afghanistan people are depressed and angry, half of the country is now a no-go area, little girls are given in marriage to 40-year-old men, and boys join the Taliban because it provides an exciting alternative to their drab existences.

I have good friends, educated, young, modern Afghans, who applauded when a Helmandi soldier picked up a machine gun and mowed down six British soldiers, such is the antipathy to the foreign military presence.

Five journalists I trained are now in hiding — some from the Taliban, some from warlords, some from the government. One has been killed; several others have fled the country. Freedom of the press is still touted as one of the major achievements of the Karzai government.

It could be the methodology, or the analysis, or the vagaries of trying to get people here to give you an honest opinion. Afghans handle truth very carefully, and dole it out in miniscule portions. Ask an Afghan how much salary he makes, and he will adjust up or down by a factor of three, depending on whether you are a tax inspector, a former colleague whose envy he is trying to provoke, or a relative who might be asking for a loan.

Afghanistan is hardly unique; I spent a great deal of time in the Soviet Union, and then Russia, and public opinion polls in the early days were very much the same thing — an exercise in futility. I still remember a comedy sketch by the legendary Arkady Raikin, whom I saw in concert sometime in the late 1980s. He was miming a marketing survey, a very new concept in those fragile years when the State’s iron grip was just beginning to relax.

“How many spoonfuls of sugar do you use in your tea?” asks the pollster. Raikin squints suspiciously. “How many am I supposed to use?” he asks. “There is no right or wrong answer, just answer truthfully,” says the puzzled surveyor. “I use the correct amount, no more, no less,” says the wily Raikin. After 20 minutes or so, the interviewer departs, none the wiser.

Asking Afghans how they feel about their government, or the Taliban, or the warlords, is much the same. “I feel the way I am supposed to feel,” will be the veiled answer. The interviewee has no real understanding of how this information is going to be used — he just wants to avoid difficulty.

This is supposing that the interviews were actually conducted, and not concocted by the researchers in the privacy of their own homes. Surveyors are paid by the interview; many of them work in areas that are so insecure that there is little chance that an inspector from the parent agency will be able to check up on them. Afghanistan did not gain its place as second most corrupt nation on earth in Transparency International’s annual index by being overly scrupulous on details. I know that the polling agency, Acsor, insists that it conducts rigorous quality control, but it also wants to convince us that over 60 percent of Afghans think that women’s rights are pretty good, overall.

I cannot, like the White Queen, manage to believe six impossible things before breakfast. It will take much more than a widely promoted opinion poll to get me through this particular looking glass.

Afghanistan, with its "little savages," is one place the message of Avatar hits home

KABUL — You can take the girl out of Afghanistan, but Afghanistan will never release its grip on the girl. I realized this as I sat in those ridiculous Buddy Holly glasses watching “Avatar” for the second time.

I cannot be the only person on the planet who saw the film as a parable of our engagement in this part of the world. Afghans are not blue, of course, and not many of them are eleven feet tall. Nor do they have tails that I am aware of. But those are minor quibbles.

I may be accused of having “gone native” — it won’t be the first time — but I could easily put the foolishly brave, hopelessly hot-headed and ultimately noble Na’vi in the place of the Afghans, trying to defend their way of life against a superior force that they do not understand. In the film, the Na’vi culture is despised and ridiculed — shown clearly as a roomful of Blackwater-style mercenaries guffaws when told that the “blue monkeys” consider their Home Tree to be “sacred.”

I myself have heard Afghans referred to by contractors in Helmand as “little savages.” And who could forget the mindless jokes in circulation when the United States was contemplating the invasion of Afghanistan in 2001.

“We’re gonna nuke ‘em back to the Stone Age!” began an especially offensive riff. “Oops! Too late, they’re already there!” went the punch line. Ha, ha.

The parallels in “Avatar” were quite intentional, I am sure. Ham-fisted, even. Why else would the dweeby scientist be waffling on about “winning local hearts and minds” or the soldiers talk about a “shock and awe” campaign to dislodge the stubborn natives from their prime real estate? The evil colonel even talks about “fighting terror with terror.”

I almost threw my popcorn at the screen at that one.

The military side was spot on. I would wager that the training briefing given by the battle-scarred colonel has been echoed in dozens of military tents in southern Afghanistan:

“You are not in Kansas anymore. You’re on Pandora (or Khost, Helmand, Kandahar). Out there beyond the fence every living thing that crawls, flies or squats in the mud wants to kill you and eat your eyes for jujubes.”

What, in fact, were the Avatars but a much more sophisticated take on the Human Terrain Teams sent out by the U.S. military to penetrate the terrifyingly opaque world of the local population?

Our hero, Jake Sully, the erstwhile Marine, starts out sympathizing with the “company.” He’s in it for the money, proud of his past, going so far as to introduce himself to the Na’vi chief as “a warrior from the jar-head tribe.”

He is sent as a poison arrow into the heart of the Na’vi — to learn their ways and then betray them. The beautiful Neytiri is having none of it: “You Sky People cannot learn,” she spits at him during their first meeting. “It is hard to pour water into a glass that is full.”

I was uncomfortably reminded of many self-important journalists, consultants, and diplomats I’ve encountered in Kabul, many of whom have their minds already made up before they step off the plane.

I know I am being wildly short-sighted in my interpretation here. The beautiful shining Na’vi have little in common, character-wise, with the brutal Taliban, the power-hungry warlords, and the inefficient and corrupt Afghan government. And very few of the money-grubbing grunts on Pandora were under any illusions that they were bringing peace, freedom and democracy to a war-torn nation.

I do not mean to suggest that the U.S. military is in it for some self-serving monetary interest — the “unobtanium” of Pandora. I am convinced that most of our officers and soldiers truly believe that they are trying to make things better in Afghanistan.

But at its core, “Avatar” is a film about an arrogant uber-entity that seeks to impose it will and its vision on a reluctant world.

It is a cautionary tale, and one that we might do well to bear in mind.

The 130-year war

The news that an otherwise normal-seeming Afghan policeman killed five British soldiers and wounded six more in Helmand this past week was shocking. It was not, unfortunately, surprising for anyone who has spent a significant amount of time in the volatile southern province. Animosity against the British runs deep in Helmand — much deeper, perhaps, than the British are aware.

When Gulbuddin seized a machine gun and started firing, he was continuing a grudge that had been building in Helmandis for the past 130 years or so.

The Battle of Maiwand may not rank alongside Trafalgar, Waterloo, or Gettysburg in the annals of military history taught to impressionable young schoolchildren in London, Paris, or Boston. But the tale of valiant Afghan warriors triumphing over a superior British army is imbibed with mother’s milk in Helmand.

Facts are much less important than the myth, of course. In reality, the British were outnumbered by at least three to one, operating in unfamiliar terrain. They were betrayed by some of their Afghan supporters, who mutinied and changed sides, and mnay of the thousands of Afghans were untrained and barely armed.

Be that as it may, the British lost most of their expeditionary force — some sources put the total as high as 1700 men; the Afghans lost even more, but given their greater numbers, they were the unquestionable victors.

But Maiwand is a symbol of pride for all Afghans, and for Helmandis in particular. Ask any child over four and he or she will tell the tale of the brave and beautiful Malalai, who rallied the Afghan troops when their fighting spirit was about to fail. Using her veil as a standard, the indomitable heroine cried out “Young love! If you do not fall in the Battle of Maiwand, By God someone is saving you as a token of shame.”

I had never heard of the Battle of Maiwand when I first went to Helmand, in the fall of 2006. But by the time I left in the spring of 2008 it had become a fixture in my mental landscape.

“It’s not as if it was all that long ago,” said an Afghan friend who works as a journalist in Lashkar Gah the provincial capital.

I was astonished the first time an Afghan friend told me with certainty that the British had come to Helmand because they wanted to avenge the blood of the ancestors. I dismissed it as foolishness until I had heard it 20 or 30 times, from people in all walks of life and from many different socio-economic strata. I have also heard from numerous sources the urban legend that Afghans living near Maiwand are often attacked by British soldiers.

“They go crazy when they see the cemetery, and just kill any Afghans they can find,” said one friend. It does not matter that this is nonsense. Afghans believe it.

The Helmandis call the British “ingrezi” — a pejorative term. “Son of an ingrezi” is a popular insult, apt to provoke fisticuffs in the hair-trigger Pashtun-south.

The British came to Helmand in the summer of 2006 as part of the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), taking over from the U.S.-led Coalition forces. The then defense secretary, John Reid, voiced the hope that the British could quit southern Afghanistan “without a single bullet being fired.”

Millions of ammunition rounds later, the situation is worse than ever.

Given the historical record, Helmand was a strange choice for the British forces. As soon as they got there, things began to unravel. Helmandis nodded sagely and said “see, we told you so.”

They could not believe that the mighty British army could not defeat a ragtag bunch of insurgents, so they chalked up the mess to conscious policy decisions on the part of the “avenging” army.

The Taliban undoubtedly rejoiced when they heard that the British were coming to Helmand. It made their recruiting that much easier.

It was not a Talib but a respected tribal elder who voiced the chilling words “The bones of the British lying in Maiwand are lonely. We will make sure they have company very soon.”

Perhaps Gulbuddin, the soldier who fired the fatal machine-gun burst on Tuesday, had Taliban sympathies. Perhaps he simply snapped. But it is also possible that, regardless of the camaraderie that the British felt they were enjoying with the Afghan police, Gulbuddin regarded them as his historical enemies. He certainly would have had Malalai and Maiwand in his blood.

It is a bitter lesson, but one that needs to be taken on board. The Afghans are not fighting only this war — they are acting out a centuries-old history that to them seems like yesterday.

The unexpected hazards of life in a war zone

It is most inconvenient to take a shower wearing a flak jacket and helmet, but that may have to be my new morning routine. I was at the Kabul Serena Hotel today when two mortar rounds interrupted my post-workout ablutions.

The mind plays strange tricks in times of crisis, and I was determined not to believe that I could really be caught at such a delicate moment.

“It’s just the pipes acting up,” I thought when I heard the boom. “Or perhaps thunder.”

I should have been prepared: The Serena had been attacked once before, in January, 2008. That time was much worse — suicide bombers and gunners gained entry to the hotel itself, killing at least eight, before the police managed to kill or capture the perpetrators. Today it was just mortars, which killed no one and caused little damage.

But I did not know that when an Afghan employee stormed into the locker room and screamed at me to “come, right now!”

I was reluctant to leave the warmth and relative safety of the women’s spa area. In the 2008 attack, it was the one part of the hotel that the insurgents did not invade. The possibility that they might see a woman in dishabille was apparently too daunting for the murderous gunmen who shot people dead as they worked out on the treadmill.

But the woman was insistent, so I quickly threw on some clothes and followed her. Luckily, I had my mobile phone in my hand as I left.

The gym’s reception area was filled with acrid smoke, and I glanced around uneasily, expecting to see the Taliban storm in at any moment.

We ran down into the basement, where about 100 of us huddled in the employee cafeteria while waiting for news.

Those who lived in the hotel had been evacuated from their rooms, and most of them were better prepared than I was. I glanced enviously at their iPhones and body armor, while I flicked my wet hair and wondered nervously what was happening to my documents and other belongings upstairs.

Everyone was in a jovial mood once we learned that nobody had been killed. Most of us had been in Afghanistan for years, and this was all in a day’s work. The biggest inconvenience was the lack of brewed coffee — the employees’ cafeteria could manage only instant.

But the atmosphere turned somber as details emerged of the attack on the U.N. guest house across town. A compound that housed international election workers had been attacked at 6:00 this morning. First we heard that three people had been killed, with several hostages.

The death toll rose as the gun battle continued. By the end we knew that at least six were dead. Many of my co-evacuees were elections workers themselves, and they spent the 90 minutes of our captivity frantically sending and receiving messages, trying to ascertain which of their colleagues might be involved.

By noon I was at my office, located just a few blocks from the U.N.’s besieged guest house. My Afghan colleagues shrugged off the attacks with their customary nonchalance, born, I suppose of years when such things were an everyday occurrence.

“It’s just the beginning,” said one.

He is probably right. We are facing a second round of elections in just 10 days’ time — a poll that few believe in and no one, it seems, really wants. The first round was a shameful charade, and most observers expected little better from this one.

The Taliban have threatened to disrupt the poll — no idle boast, it appears from today’s events.

The war has come to Kabul. I am not sure how much longer it will be before we either have to leave or acquire the hardened carapace of my Kabuli co-workers.

In the meantime, I’m packing my armored vest in my gym bag.

Karzai in Wonderland

I swear I saw a Cheshire-cat grin slowly evaporating around President Hamid Karzai at today’s press conference, where he was hailed as a statesman and a leader for obeying the law.

Karzai beamed as he announced that a second round of elections would be held on Nov. 7, barely two weeks away, even as he obliquely rejected the findings of the Electoral Complaints Commission that necessitated the runoff.

“I leave it to the Afghan people to decide … if I am the winner or not," he said, referring to the first round of voting.

Well, not exactly, Mr. President. According to the law, it was the Independent Election Commission, upon instructions from the Electoral Complaints Commission, that decided that you, in fact, did not receive the 50-percent-plus-one that was secured through what we now know was widespread fraud.

Once the ECC released its findings yesterday, after days of under-the-rug wrangling by various international bulldogs, the IEC, and Karzai himself, had little choice but to bow to the inevitable. Still, the international community treated the Afghan president like Metternich in Vienna for graciously agreeing to do what he was sworn to do – uphold the Constitution and the law of the land.

The array of international figures who stood with Karzai on the dais – the ambassadors of the United States, the United Kingdom, and France, plus U.S. Senator John Kerry and UN Special Representative Kai Eide — raised questions as to whether the international community was maintaining its impartiality.

“It was like a political love-in for Karzai,” was how one international election observer put it.

My Afghan colleague was just as mystified.

“Why are all those diplomats there?” murmured Nasimi, who watched the event with me.

“Karzai is one of the candidates, isn’t he? Where is Abdullah?” Nasimi asked, referring to Abdullah Abdullah is the second-place finisher who will face Karzai in the runoff.

The question is a good one, of course. But with U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton  announcing to CNN that Karzai would almost certainly win a second round, most election watchers here say it is clear who Washington favors.

We keep being told in the international media that Afghanistan is not Switzerland. I, for one, have never been in the slightest doubt that Kabul and Zurich are wildly different entities. I happen to live in the former.

I suppose it is meant to soothe us into thinking that we cannot expect free and fair elections in a conflict-ridden state that is only now emerging from three decades of nightmare.

I agree. But what is the international community’s excuse? One diplomat, who requested anonymity, told me that her boss had just shrugged at the persistent rumors of fraud during the first round.

“What do you expect?” he said. “This election is good enough for the Afghans.”

The United Nations, another international body, was tasked with overseeing the process, and facilitating a valid election.

Ashraf Ghani Ahmadzai, who ran a distant fourth in the presidential elections, was scathing in his criticism of the UN.

“The UN dropped the ball,” he said. “(They) cannot be trusted to conduct free and fair elections.”

I can only imagine what the runoff will look like. The August poll was bad enough, and that was after months of painstaking work. A hastily cobbled-together vote will cost millions of dollars, and more importantly, dozens of lives. And in the end, it will not give us what we so badly need from it – legitimacy.

The Afghan electorate are neither stupid not unsophisticated. One look at Karzai with his honor guard today would quickly dispel the notion that they are in control of their own destiny.

“Good enough for the Afghans”? I don’t think so.

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