MISOGYNISTIC GENDER APARTHEID

With New Taliban Manifesto, Afghan Women Fear the Worst

Three years into its rule, the movement has codified its harsh Islamic decrees into law that now includes a ban on women’s voices in public.
THEY NEED A WOMENS ARMED UPRISING 

Afghanistan is the most restrictive country in the world for women, according to some experts.Credit...Jim Huylebroek for The New York Times


By Christina Goldbaum and Najim Rahim
Sept. 4, 2024

No education beyond the sixth grade. No employment in most workplaces and no access to public spaces like parks, gyms and salons. No long-distance travel if unaccompanied by a male relative. No leaving home if not covered from head to toe.

And now, the sound of a woman’s voice outside the home has been outlawed in Afghanistan, according to a 114-page manifesto released late last month that codifies all of the Taliban government’s decrees restricting women’s rights.

A large majority of the prohibitions have been in place for much of the Taliban’s three years in power, slowly squeezing Afghan women out of public life. But for many women across the country, the release of the document feels like a nail in the coffin for their dreams and aspirations.

Some had clung to the hope that the authorities might still reverse the most severe limitations, after Taliban officials suggested that high schools and universities would eventually reopen for women after they were shuttered. For many women, that hope is now dashed.

“We are going back to the first reign of the Taliban, when women did not have the right to leave the house,” said Musarat Faramarz, 23, a woman in Baghlan Province, in northern Afghanistan, referring to the movement’s rule from 1996 to 2001. “I thought that the Taliban had changed, but we are experiencing the previous dark times again.”

Since the Taliban regained power in August 2021, the authorities have systematically rolled back the rights that women — particularly those in less conservative urban centers — had won during the 20-year U.S. occupation. Today, Afghanistan is the most restrictive country in the world for women, and the only one that bans high school education for girls, experts say.

Girls playing on a hillside overlooking Kabul, last year.Credit...Jim Huylebroek for The New York Times


The publication of the regulations has ignited fears of a coming crackdown by emboldened officers of the so-called vice and virtue police, the government officials who don white robes and are stationed on street corners to ensure that the country’s morality laws are observed.

The manifesto defines for the first time the enforcement mechanisms that can be used by these officers. While they have frequently issued verbal warnings, those officers are now empowered to damage people’s property or detain them for up to three days if they repeatedly violate the vice and virtue laws.

Before the announcement of the laws, Freshta Nasimi, 20, who lives in Badakhshan Province in northeastern Afghanistan, had held on to any shred of hope she could find.

For a while, she was sustained by a rumor she heard from classmates that the government would broadcast girls’ schooling over the television — a concession that would allow girls to learn while keeping them in their homes. But that dream was snuffed out after the authorities in Khost Province, in the country’s east, banned such programs from the airwaves earlier this year. That signaled that other parts of the country could implement similar bans.

Now, Ms. Nasimi says, she is trapped at home. The new law barring women’s voices — they are considered an intimate part of a woman that must be covered — effectively ensures that she cannot leave the house without a male relative. She worries that no taxi driver will speak with her, for fear of being reprimanded by the Taliban, she said, and no shopkeeper will entertain her requests.

At a school in Jowzjan Province in 2021, before the Taliban takeover.

Credit...Kiana Hayeri for The New York Times


She has accepted that her aspirations of becoming an engineer — with the steady income and freedom it would bring — are finished.

“My future?” she asked, resigned. “I don’t have a future except being a housewife and raising children.”

The publication of the vice and virtue laws, analysts say, is part of a governmentwide effort to codify the workings of every ministry to ensure they adhere to the extreme vision of Shariah law institutionalized by the Taliban’s leader, Sheikh Haibatullah Akhundzada. The document is also, analysts say, intended to stamp out any Western principles of the U.S.-backed government that ran Afghanistan before the Taliban’s return to power.

Loss Piles on Loss for Afghan Women
The Taliban’s takeover ended decades of war. But their restrictions, and the economic fallout, threw many women into a new era of diminished hopes.


The Taliban have forcefully rejected outside pressure to ease the restrictions on women, even as the policies have isolated Afghanistan from much of the West. Taliban officials defend the laws as rooted in the Islamic teachings that govern the country. “Afghanistan is an Islamic nation; Islamic laws are inherently applicable within its society,” the spokesman for the government, Zabiullah Mujahid, said in a statement.

But the regulations have drawn widespread criticism from human rights groups and the United Nations mission in Afghanistan. The mission’s head, Roza Otunbayeva, called them “a distressing vision for Afghanistan’s future” that extends the “already intolerable restrictions” on women’s rights.


Even visual cues of womanhood have been slowly scrubbed from the public realm.

Over the past three years, women’s faces have been torn from advertisements on billboards, painted over in murals on school walls and scratched off posters lining city streets. The heads of female mannequins, dressed in all-black, all-concealing abayas, are covered in tinfoil.

Defaced wall posters featuring beauty advertisements for women in Kabul.Credit...Victor J. Blue for The New York Times


Even before the new manifesto, the threat of being reprimanded by the vice and virtue police lingered in the air as women were barred from more and more public places.

“I live at home like a prisoner,” said Ms. Faramarz, the woman from Baghlan. “I haven’t left the house in three months,” she added.

The reversal of rights has been perhaps the hardest for the girls who came of age in an era of opportunity for women during the U.S. occupation.

Some girls, determined to plow ahead with their education, have found ad hoc ways to do so. Underground schools for girls, often little more than a few dozen students and a tutor tucked away in people’s private homes, have cropped up across the country. Others have turned to online classes, even as the internet cuts in and out.

Mohadisa Hasani, 18, began studying again about a year after the Taliban seized power. She had talked to two former classmates who were evacuated to the United States and Canada. Hearing about what they were studying in school stoked jealousy in her at first. But then she saw opportunity, she said.

She asked those friends to spend an hour each week teaching her the lessons they were learning in physics and chemistry. She woke up for the calls at 6 a.m. and spent the days in between poring over photos of textbooks sent by the friends, Mina and Mursad.

A street in Kbul last year.Credit...Jim Huylebroek for The New York Times


“Some of my friends are painting, they are writing, they are doing underground taekwondo classes,” Ms. Hasani said. “Our depression is always there, but we have to be brave.”

“I love Afghanistan, I love my country. I just don’t love the government and people forcing their beliefs onto others,” she added.

The classes and artistic outlets, while informal, have given girls, especially in more progressive cities, a dose of hope and purpose. But the reach of those programs goes only so far.

Rahmani, 43, who preferred to go by only her surname for fear of retribution, said that she began taking sleeping pills every night to dampen the anxiety she feels over providing for her family.

A widow, Ms. Rahmani worked for nonprofit groups for nearly 20 years before the Taliban seized power, earning more than enough to provide for her four children. Now, she says, she not only cannot provide for them after women were barred from working for such groups — but she has also lost her sense of self.

“I miss the days when I used to be somebody, when I could work and earn a living and serve my country,” Ms. Rahmani explained. “They have erased our presence from society.”

A high school student who lost access to class in Kabul, in 2022.

Credit...Bryan Denton for The New York Times


Christina Goldbaum is the Afghanistan and Pakistan bureau chief for The Times, leading the coverage of the region. More about Christina Goldbaum


Najim Rahim is a reporter in the Kabul, Afghanistan, bureau. More about Najim Rahim
A version of this article appears in print on Sept. 5, 2024, Section A, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: Unspeakable New Suffering for Afghan Women

WOMAN, LIFE, FREEDOM

WOMENS SELF DEFENSE BRIGADES

 YPJ / YPG

The Rise Of The Baloch Liberation Army In Pakistan

September 01, 2024 
By Abubakar Siddique

People look at a charred vehicle near a collapsed railway bridge a day after a blast by separatist Baloch Liberation Army militants at Kolpur in Bolan district, Balochistan Province, on August 27.

The Baloch Liberation Army (BLA) has waged an over 20-year insurgency against the Pakistani state, carrying out mostly small-scale attacks against government forces.

But that changed last week when the separatist militant group claimed responsibility for major coordinated attacks across the vast and impoverished southwestern province of Balochistan, killing over 70 people.

The bombings and shootings on August 25-26 were the deadliest in years in Balochistan, which borders Afghanistan and Iran and is home to Pakistan’s Baluch ethnic minority.

Experts say the attacks highlight the growing strength of the BLA, which has boosted its recruitment and gained access to modern weapons. The U.S.-designated terrorist group has also adopted more lethal tactics like suicide bombings in recent years.

“These attacks were unprecedented and mark a new escalation in the tensions in Balochistan,” said Kiyya Baloch, a Pakistani journalist and commentator who tracks militancy in the region. “It shows the BLA’s determination to showcase its growing strength.”

Demonstrating Dominance

In an operation that began late on August 25, BLA fighters bombed a railway bridge linking the province to the rest of Pakistan, attacked police and military posts, and targeted buses and trucks on a major highway.

In the deadliest attack, BLA fighters stopped a bus and shot dead 23 of its passengers, many of whom were from Punjab, Pakistan's most populous and prosperous province.

The coordinated attacks coincided with the anniversary of the death of Baloch nationalist leader Akbar Bugti, who was killed by Pakistan's security forces in 2006.

Railway officials inspect the remains of a collapsed railway bridge the morning after a blast by separatist militants at Kolpur in Bolan district, Balochistan Province, on August 27.

Aziz Baloch, an independent security expert in Balochistan, said the BLA is keen “to demonstrate that it can demoralize the [Pakistani] Army” and establish itself as the “dominant militant group” in the province.

Balochistan has been the scene of a low-level insurgency and a brutal army crackdown for decades.

The BLA and other separatist Baluch groups seek independence from Pakistan, which they blame for exploiting the vast natural resources in Balochistan and committing grave human rights abuses in the region.

The BLA is considered the largest armed group operating in Balochistan. Experts believe the BLA has several thousand members.

Researchers have documented a sharp increase in the number of attacks carried out by Baluch groups so far this year.

Better Guns, Deadlier Tactics

Experts say the BLA has become a more organized and increasingly potent fighting force.

Pakistani militant groups, including the BLA, are believed to have obtained American weapons and military equipment. When U.S. and international forces pulled out of Afghanistan in 2021, they left behind billions of dollars’ worth of military gear and weapons that were then seized by the Taliban after it captured power.

“Its acquisition of modern weapons has enhanced BLA’s combat capabilities,” said Baloch, the journalist and commentator.

Baloch added that the BLA, a secular group, has also adopted more lethal tactics used by Islamist militant groups like the Afghan Taliban and the Tehrik-e Taliban Pakistan, also known as the Pakistani Taliban.

They include the use of suicide bombings, improvised explosive devices, or IEDs, and so-called complex attacks involving multiple attackers and vehicle-borne IEDs.

The Majeed Brigade, the BLA’s suicide squad, is believed to have carried out most of the group’s complex attacks.

In 2022, a 31-year-old mother became the first woman to carry out a suicide bombing for the BLA. The move was considered a “paradigm shift” by some observers.

Exploiting Local Anger

Experts say local factors have also strengthened the BLA.

Baloch, the security expert in Balochistan, said the BLA has been successful in recruiting Baluch youth. Around 65 percent of Balochistan’s population of 15 million are under the age of 30.

Pakistani soldiers inspect a collapsed railway a day after a blast by separatist BLA militants at Kolpur in Bolan district, Balochistan Province, on August 27.

“They have a lot of manpower and have been attracting female [recruits], too,” he said.

Baloch, the journalist and commentator, said poverty, high unemployment, alleged abuses by the authorities, and political suppression have made Balochistan a “fertile ground for the BLA to attract and recruit more youth.”

Many BLA leaders and fighters are former trained professionals and university students.

Observers say Pakistan has resorted to brute force to crush successive Baluch insurgencies and ignored the long-standing grievances of the Baluch ethnic minority.

“The BLA is a manifestation of the state’s failure to manage and govern Balochistan,” said Baloch, the security expert.

Abdul Malik Baloch, a politician and former chief minister of Balochistan, said many Baluch are becoming increasingly disillusioned with what they call Islamabad’s political meddling in the province.

Baloch said rigged elections in Balochistan aimed at empowering pro-Islamabad figures have disenchanted those who believe in “peaceful politics.”

“Political activists tell me that democracy here is a fraud,” he said. “They feel we are wasting their time.”

Abdul Malik Baloch, who leads the secular National Party, was among several prominent Baluch leaders who lost their seats in parliamentary elections in February. The lawmaker remains a member of the provincial assembly.

Opposition figures accused Pakistan’s powerful military, which has an oversized role in the domestic and foreign affairs of the country, of rigging the vote.

“Disappointment is pushing people into the arms of the insurgency,” said Baloch, the former chief minister.    

Abubakar Siddique a journalist for RFE/RL's Radio Azadi, specializes in the coverage of Afghanistan and Pakistan. He is the author of The Pashtun Question: The Unresolved Key To The Future Of Pakistan And Afghanistan. He also writes the Azadi Briefing, a weekly newsletter that unpacks the key issues in Afghanistan.

BALOCHISTAN IS A COUNTRY

The Baloch question

Aasim Sajjad Akhtar 

August 30, 2024
DAWN

IT is not as if we have not been here before. Balochistan has bled for so long that the mainstream Pakistani consciousness has tuned it into the background. Yet every so often, the Baloch national question is thrust into the spotlight and everyone suddenly becomes an expert on everything Balochistan.

What has transpired after the gruesome killing of civilians in Musakhel — most of them reportedly of Seraiki and Punjabi backgrounds — is a microcosm of everything that is wrong about the way most Pakistanis, particularly in the core regions of our highly fragmented country, conceive of the Baloch question.

First came the frenzied demands for retribution. Expressing outrage at the killings is one thing, but giving the state license to crush ‘terrorism’ is another thing altogether. The current insurgency in Balochistan has raged for almost two decades, and was originally triggered by the dictatorial regime of General Pervez Musharraf, who, some readers will remember, publicly announced ‘they won’t know what hit them’.

Ever since, Baloch youth have been criminalised to no end, thus providing further fuel to the insurgency. Even staunch Pakistani nationalists have, on occasion, acknowledged that insurgencies, past and present, represent a failure of state policy. Militarisation of the Baloch question has not worked before, and will not work now.


Militarisation of the Baloch question has not worked.

Second was the lack of knowledge about Balochistan on display. Among other things, the term ‘Balochi’ was bandied about in reference to the people, whereas the correct term is ‘Baloch’. Then there was almost total neglect of the fact that Pash­tuns, Hazaras, Punjabis, Seraikis and others also call Balochistan their home. They do not all hold the same political opinions just because of their ethnic backgrounds. Indeed, the Baloch people are extremely diverse — the Makran belt in the south, for instance, comprises a distinct social formation to the northeastern parts of the province, including the Bugti, Mengal and Marri heartlands as well as Balochistan’s ‘green belt’ on the Sindh border.

Finally, there was the reduction of the entirely organic Baloch national question to great games and international conspiracies. It is certainly not implausible that there are regional and global players active in Balochistan, but the concerns that many Baloch have vis-a-vis the grand ‘developmental’ claims of projects like CPEC are long-standing and undeniable. Gwadar’s historic fishing communities, for example, have seen their livelihoods destroyed by corporate trawlers, while the wider population has been ravaged by state and private profiteers, who have made a killing through bogus real estate schemes.

Yet all of this seems to matter little in a social media universe where nuance, history and facts count for little. It is certainly true that social media has provided impetus to peaceful movements such as the Baloch Yakjehti Committee, but recent days confirm how the Facebook and Twitter algorithm as well as the statist trolls and bots ensure the de-intellectualisation of political debate.

It is also telling how supposedly broad-based consensuses around matters like enforced disappearances and ethnic profiling dissipate rapidly, and so many people outside the ethnic peripheries start displaying outright racism by calling for a boycott of Quetta cafes and banishing Baloch students from Punjab.

The obvious tensions which do exist between ethnic-nations in Pakistan should, in fact, make clear that the Pakistani state continues to fail spectacularly in addressing the Baloch and other national questions. The weaponisation of reli-

gion continues to be the calling card of choice, which is why the militants of the TLP and TTP thrive while even entirely peaceful Baloch youth who are demanding accountability of the state are called terrorists.

Thirty years ago, Eqbal Ahmad delivered a lecture entitled ‘Terrorism: Theirs & Ours’, which many ‘experts’ should listen to. In it, he meticulously outlined the manner in which the term ‘terrorism’ was instrumentally used by states to pursue their narrow, cynical interests. Of all the forms of political violence that can viably be called ‘terrorism’, it is the modern state, in fact, that has perpetrated the most terror.

There is little evidence that the master strategists who run this country are interested in genuinely resolving the eight-decade-old Baloch question. Those who claim to be on the side of the people, particularly those in the core regions of the country, must not do their bidding, and at the very least use critical analytical lenses to make sense of what is going on in Balochistan.

Working people from Punjab to Balochistan are not perpetrators of hate. They can, however, become conveyor belts for the politics of hate. It is this which must be resisted at all costs.

The writer teaches at Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad.

Published in Dawn, August 30th, 2024

Balochistan — a way forward

Abbas Nasir 

Published September 1, 2024 
DAWN

AS violence erupted in Balochistan on the 18th anniversary of Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti’s killing, about two dozen unarmed civilian bus travellers and lorry drivers, mostly from southern Punjab, were among the 50 killed. Baloch insurgents also targeted infrastructure, such as a railway bridge and a number of security force bases.

Those killed included a woman suicide bomber and one man, who reportedly drove a VBIED (ve­­hicle-borne improvised explosive device or a vehicle bomb) to breach a security force base’s perimeter. They were followed by other attackers who entered and engaged law-enforcement personnel.

There were at least seven coordinated attacks, from Musakhel near the Punjab border, where the murders of unarmed travellers took place, to other areas where different sites were targeted. In my memory, these were some of the most violent, coordinated attacks targeting state writ in the province.

The province has been on the boil since the killing of Nawab Bugti in a military assault on his mountain hideout near Dera Bugti, where he had moved from his ancestral home anticipating state action. (Suffice it to say that it was the ego of the late General Pervez Musharraf and some horrendous counsel by his belligerent Military Intelligence chief, a relative of his, that led to the escalation and blocked a peaceful resolution).

The state has ushered poster-boy proxies into public offices, and disenfranchised Baloch of credible representation — to disastrous results.

Since then, the state has relied solely on an iron fist to ‘deal’ with the ‘Balochistan issue’, rather than address the ‘issue of Baloch rights’ against the backdrop of increasing alienation of the local population and escalating violence.

While the lead security player in the province, apart from reissuing past statements, remained largely silent on the Aug 26 violence, it was left to the civilian leading lights of the hybrid set-up to speak and share their understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif presided over a security meeting attended by the army chief and all security officials. The official statement highlighting the decisions taken at the meeting informed Pakistanis that the country’s chief executive had decided to “post police and administration officers of the 48th Common … to be followed by the 49th Common.”

Officers from the two batches, or courses, of the Police Service of Pakistan and the Pakistan Adm­i­­nistrative Service were offered a number of incentives to serve in the restive province, including two tickets every quarter to visit their families.

Perhaps the prime minister had read the excellent piece by respected former law-enforcement boss, Tariq Khosa, in last Saturday’s Dawn, headlined ‘Quest for justice’, and was inspired by it. (Please do read it if you missed it). But if that is all he found inspiring in that all-encompassing piece, I can only despair.

Despair is what many Pakistanis have to live with, and this must include all of us who try and analyse the situation and comment on it. But there is despair and then there is despair, if you know what I mean. And if you don’t, allow me to explain.

How would you react if the day after some four dozen of your citizens, half of them or more unarmed, have been killed by a hail of bullets, even if they survived the suicide bombing, and your interior minister has this to say: Dehshatgard ek SHO ki mar hein (The terrorists can be sorted out by an SHO). An SHO is a local, low-level police officer.

This statement comes against the backdrop of an escalation by both sides and after years of enforced disappearances and apparent kill-and-dump state policy and insurgent violence. If we add up the total number of police, paramilitary personnel, including FC and Levies, I am sure it´ll run into thousands across the province. And everyone knows that the military back-up is also there. This indicates that far too many of our brave security personnel have perished in the spiral.

Asma Jahangir, the iconic human rights advocate-campaigner, once told her critics, who were targeting her for supporting talks with Baloch separatists while opposing any such dialogue with TTP, that, ‘There is a difference’. The Baloch are struggling for their political and economic rights, while the Taliban want to impose their warped interpretation of faith on the country at gunpoint.

I wish the state could make that distinction. It has ushered poster-boy proxies into public offices and disenfranchised Baloch of legitimate and credible representation — to disastrous results. Perhaps it is time to look for a different approach. In fact, it is the patriotic duty of each and every decision-maker to explore other avenues.

And if such a path is pursued, it should be adh­e­red to with more sincerity than when Dr Malik Ba­­loch, as the chief minister, and retired Lt-General Qadir Baloch, then of the PML-N, established contact with an estranged Baloch leader who was willing to enter dialogue, promised to revert to him with a response to his queries, and were, in all probability, vetoed by the security establishment and never returned to the discussions.

This lack of political engagement will have very definitely strengthened the hands of the hostile external forces invested in fuelling instability in Pakistan and would, in fact, play directly into their agenda. That is neither wise, prudent nor will it deliver any security dividend.

Perhaps, once they are done reiterating their iron hand resolve to deal with it, they might be persuaded to look at the British government’s policy formulation and execution in its dialogue with the IRA, or how Spain ended its years-long war with the Basque separatist group ETA. Both countries and their people benefitted from peace, and nobody accused their governments of being lily-livered.

Specifically, if they agree, there should be a brainstorm among Balochistan experts such as Tariq Khosa, Akhtar Mengal, Dr Malik Baloch, Aslam Bhootani (an old friend of mine; just go and see the development in his constituency in Dureji, in the Hub-Lasbela area), the current DGI Lt-Gen­eral Nadeem Anjum and Dr Mahrang Baloch, who continues to support a peaceful struggle for rights. Add Rana Sanaullah, the PML-N leader, because he knows what it is like to be on the receiving end. And see if a way forward can be found.

The writer is a former editor of Dawn.
abbas.nasir@hotmail.com

Published in Dawn, September 1st, 2024

REBELLION IN BALOCHISTAN

Muhammad Amir Rana 

Published September 1, 2024
DAWN

AN unprecedented wave of province-wide violence in Balochistan, launched by the banned Baloch Liberation Army (BLA), has raised significant concerns about the level of unrest in the province and the state’s response. The situation escalated further when passengers were forcibly removed from trucks and buses and shot after their identities were checked in Musakhel district. This incident sparked outrage in Punjab, as the victims were targeted due to their ethnic identity, being from Punjab.

In response, a few social media users from Punjab initiated a campaign against Quetta-based restaurants spread across Punjab, run mainly by Pakhtuns. These individuals also called for the expulsion of Baloch students from universities in Punjab. This reaction played directly into the insurgents’ hands. In conflicts, the identities of the real perpetrators and victims often become blurred, exacerbating the situation and widening the scope of the conflict.

The Musakhel incident has once again sparked debate about why Baloch insurgents specifically target labourers and travellers carrying computerised national identity cards from Punjab. The existing literature on the subject fails to provide a convincing and updated explanation of the insurgents’ motivations, typically focusing on the historical grievances of the Baloch against the federation, ethnic differences, and a sense of political disenfranchisement. To gain a more comprehensive understanding, it’s crucial to consult informed individuals on the ground and consider observations that offer a broader perspective on how insurgents and counterinsurgents view the issue.

A common perception is that Baloch insurgents target Punjabi labourers and travellers because they believe the Punjabi establishment is exploiting their resources. While this may be one factor shaping their narrative, it is not the whole story. The insurgents also target Baloch labourers and travellers from south Punjab, a region with a sizeable Baloch population and where Baloch nationalists lay claim to several districts. The insurgents argue that they target those whom they believe are serving in security services or are part of any state-led development project, regardless of their ethnic background. In the past, they have similarly targeted Sindhi and Pakhtun labourers under the same suspicion. However, most victims have proven to be ordinary citizens without ties to the security services. For instance, Sindhis working as private labourers or in fruit markets have generally not been targeted, unlike those employed by public contractors.


In conflicts, the identities of the real perpetrators and victims often become blurred.

Targeting civilians is a challenging decision for any insurgent or violent movement, as it can be counterproductive, damaging their image and raising questions about their ideological and political foundations. A similar situation occurred with the Tehreek-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) when they began targeting civilians, leading to divisions within their ranks. Internal discussions eventually forced them to alter their strategy of targeting non-combatants. A similar dynamic might occur within the Baloch insurgent ranks, where the BLA is more radical than other factions. The BLA justifies targeting non-combatant Punjabis by arguing that these are ‘retaliatory attacks’ in response to the disappearance and mutilation of Baloch individuals in the province. The BLA believes that targeting Punjabis inflicts the most harm on the military and stirs anger in Punjab against state institutions.

However, since the inception of the current phase of insurgency from 2002 to 2007, insurgents began threatening and killing Punjabi settlers in Quetta and later in other Baloch districts, despite Nawab Akbar Bugti condemning these actions and arguing that targeting innocents cannot be justified. In response to this criticism, insurgents developed the narrative that these settlers, particularly barbers, are the eyes and ears of intelligence agencies.

Beyond these justifications, targeting Punjabis is a well-developed strategy for the insurgent groups. By doing so, they can provoke the security forces into launching large-scale military campaigns, which often lack widespread acceptance among the population and generate more sympathy for the insurgents. Military operations reduce the space for political dialogue, which benefits the insurgents, as they feel more threatened by political initiatives than military action.

The insurgents are well aware of the consequences of attacking innocent Punjabi civilians, knowing it can provoke anger against the Baloch, particularly the youth studying and living in Punjab. However, Baloch insurgents, especially the BLA, believe that their survival depends on complete isolation from the rest of the country, particularly from Punjab. Hard-line Baloch nationalists also support this view, arguing that retaliation against Baloch students in Punjab and Islamabad is beneficial, as it will fuel anti-Punjab sentiments and deepen the divide, increasing hatred against Punjab.

State institutions can counter the insurgents’ designs through a well-crafted strategy rather than reacting impulsively. There is growing support for the idea that one of the most effective counterinsurgency strategies would be to sincerely address the issue of missing persons — unlike past attempts, such as the Justice Javed Iqbal-led Commission, which proved counterproductive and further eroded public trust in the state.

Engaging with figures like Mahrang Baloch could be a strategic move, as she has gained significant influence in the province, outshining nationalist parties, including Maulana Hidayatur Rehman. Rehman, who once championed the rights of the people of Gwadar, has remained silent since his election to the provincial assembly. If state institutions are unwilling to engage her in any political process, they must devise a policy to address the issue that earns the complete trust of the victims’ families. Such an initiative could involve trusted parliamentarians and civil society actors. In either case, it would help to pacify the anger among the broader Baloch community.

The state’s real challenge is to counter the insurgents’ propaganda, which claims that the state aims to eliminate Baloch identity by exploiting its resources and encouraging mass migration from other parts of the country, particularly Punjab. Only the Baloch themselves can help the state devise an effective strategy to combat this narrative — not those sharing power with the establishment and benefiting from the prolonged conflict.

The writer is a security analyst.

Published in Dawn, September 1st, 2024

Amin Saikal on the United States’ Many Mistakes in Afghanistan


The United States “overestimated the power that the U.S. military could bring to bear in changing Afghanistan.”

By Catherine Putz
September 01, 2024

Taliban fighters celebrate the third anniversary of the withdrawal of US-led troops from Afghanistan, in Kabul, Afghanistan, Aug. 14, 2024

Credit: AP Photo/Siddiqullah Alizai

In the wake of the September 11 attacks, the United States and its allies ousted the Taliban from power in Afghanistan in retaliation for providing safe havens to al-Qaida. By the 20th anniversary of the attacks, however, the Taliban had returned to Kabul.

The story of how and why the U.S. fought a 20-year war in Afghanistan – and how it ultimately lost that war – is a complicated tale. Four U.S. presidents oversaw the war in Afghanistan. The mission evolved, as did the wider foreign policy strategies onto which it was mapped. By one measurement, the United States spent $2.3 trillion on the war from 2001 to 2021 – a mind-blowing sum in light of the devastating conclusion.

In his book, “How to Lose a War: The Story of America’s Intervention in Afghanistan,” Amin Saikal lays out the convoluted path from a retaliatory intervention to defeat. In the following interview, Saikal, emeritus professor and founding director of the Centre for Arab and Islamic Studies at the Australian National University, helps explain the war’s evolution, the dysfunction of successive Afghan (and American) governments, and the fatal mistakes that doomed the effort to re-make Afghanistan into a democracy.

The Bush administration envisioned a “light footprint” as sufficient to achieve its aims in Afghanistan. It also sought to set the war within its wider foreign policy aims of “democracy promotion” and the “war on terror.” How did this constellation of circumstances and strategies hamper its ability to actually achieve its stated aims in Afghanistan?

Initially, the U.S. limited force deployment, spearheaded by the CIA and air power, rapidly prevailed against al-Qaida as the perpetrator of 9/11 and the extremist Taliban regime as the protector of al-Qaida under Osama bin Laden. But it resulted only in the dispersion of al-Qaida and the Taliban leaders and their operatives rather than in their total defeat.

Washington’s plan was not to “get bogged down” in Afghanistan. It was to help transform the country into a stable, secure, and democratic state within a relatively short period, and at minimum cost, in close relationship with the U.S. to ensure the country would never again become a hub for international terrorism. However, the failure to capture bin Laden as the main target of the intervention sooner rather than later led to a “hunt” for him that lasted 11 years, obliging America to deepen and widen its involvement in support of the difficult task of “nation-building” in Afghanistan.

Meanwhile, America’s Afghanistan campaign was conflated with two wider foreign policy objectives: democracy promotion and the war on terrorism. The first objective motivated the Bush administration to influence the shaping of the strong presidential system of governance with which Afghanistan was endowed and which was more akin to the American model than in accord with the mitigating prevailing and historical conditions in Afghanistan. The system proved unworkable in a highly socially divided and traditional country. It produced dysfunctional and kleptocratic governments under leaders who personalized politics and could not be effective and reliable partners of the U.S. on the ground.

The second objective spread out American power with the prime aim of toppling the defiant Saddam Hussein’s autocratic rule in Iraq, which Washington falsely linked to al-Qaida and accused of possessing weapons of mass destruction. The 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq diverted many American military and intelligence resources from Afghanistan to Iraq in order to quell a raging insurgency there.

The Iraq war was prioritized over Afghanistan at a time when the Taliban, in alliance with al-Qaida, backed by Pakistan, rapidly regrouped and made a comeback with a vengeance before the U.S. and its Afghan and NATO allies could consolidate the situation in Afghanistan. U.S. forces remained thin on the ground and in need of more troops and military equipment, which only worsened as the Taliban-led insurgency expanded. By 2006, despite an increase in military assets, American forces and their allies were struggling to gain the upper hand over the Taliban and their supporters – a trend which continued, with the U.S. incapable of fighting two wars at the same time in contrast to the Pentagon’s doctrine.

Read the full story here, in The Diplomat magazine.

Pakistan's Military Says Insurgents Have Freed An Army Officer And 3 Others Abducted On Wednesday

No one claimed responsibility for the kidnappings in Dera Ismail Khan, a district in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province in northwest Pakistan.

Associated Press
 1 September 2024 

File photo of Pakistan Army.(Representational image) | Photo: AP


Insurgents have freed four people, including an army officer who was abducted three days ago from a former stronghold of the Pakistani Taliban, the military said.

Lt Col Khalid Ameer was seized on Wednesday while he was sitting in a mosque to receive mourners after attending his father's funeral, according to local police.


Pakistan: 37 Killed In 2 Bus Accidents, Several Injured
BY PTI

The “unconditional release” of Ameer and three of his relatives on Saturday was secured due to the role played by tribal elders and “all the abductees have safely returned home,” the military said in a statement without giving any further details.

No one claimed responsibility for the kidnappings in Dera Ismail Khan, a district in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province in northwest Pakistan. However, in video statements released hours after they were kidnapped, two of the abductees said they were in the custody of Pakistani Taliban. They also urged the government to accept their abductors' demands, although these were unclear.

Pakistan Army Arrests Former ISI Chief Faiz Hameed, Court Martial Initiated
BY Outlook Web Desk


Though the Pakistani Taliban often targets security forces, such kidnappings and releases of abductees are rare. The Pakistani Taliban, known as Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan, are separate from but allied to the Afghan Taliban, and they have been emboldened since the Afghan Taliban seized power in Afghanistan in 2021

 

Gaza’s Last Fairytale

by Eros Salvatore / August 27th, 2024

Alaa Jamal’s pain and suffering is wound so tightly around her heart that it shields it from all the horrors she’s lived through. So even though she’s in the crosshairs of Netanyahu’s hatred’s sights, her heart beats unceasingly, in defiance of what the Occupation has done to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to keep the remnants of her family alive: a one year old son named Eid and a three year old daughter named Sanaa. Alaa calls her daughter Princess, an apt nickname for Alaa’s life has always been a fairytale, just one punctuated by war every two to four years. Birth, war. School, war. Adolescence, war. Friendship, war. Family, war. University, war.

Then, when she was eighteen, Mohammed came, and Alaa forgot about the wars. Instead, she says, “A great love story arose.” Handsome, smart, and strong, Alaa knew they were meant for each other. He was a civil engineer, and she, a future architect. He proposed on Eid-al-Adha, the Feast of Sacrifice. Alaa’s parents agreed, and the lovebirds married. In photographs they’re the quintessential couple. He’s sharp in casual clothes, she’s dazzling demure in repose.

“I was so happy dressed in white,” she says, reminiscing about her wedding.

And for a moment, I could see Alaa, smiling with the groom in the midst of her fairytale. Two children later, it would end. Now, the only white garments worn in Gaza are shrouds for the dead.

When the war began, Alaa was at the hospital with her infant son. Eid had been born with an enlarged heart and needed close supervision whenever he was ill. Now, Alaa found herself trapped with him, as fighting raged on all around her. Israeli soldiers raided the hospital and dragged people out of their beds to kidnap or kill. Terrified, Alaa grabbed her son, ripped out the IV in his arm and ran out the back of the hospital, covered in his blood.

Alaa ran all the way home, but when she arrived, things got worse. The neighborhood children were playing in the street in front of her house. A missile landed on the next block, and a large piece of shrapnel was sent reeling from the resulting explosion towards the children, decapitating Mohammed’s 12-year-old cousin Badr as Alaa watched. Mohammed’s father was next.

Alaa was still in shock when the Israelis dropped leaflets ordering them to go south. She left first, taking the children. Mohammed was supposed to follow a few days later. In the meantime, their neighborhood was destroyed one block at a time. Dozens of Alaa’s friends and relatives were martyred—wedded to the land they loved in the ultimate sacrifice. Day-by-day, hour-by-hour, with each new message, Alaa learned of their deaths. And it was there, among the hordes of refugees walking south along the sea of Gaza, that Alaa’s fairytale life finally came to an end:

“My brother Bahaa was volunteering to drive refugees trapped in the fighting to safety. Mohammed was with him, when the Occupation shot up the car they were in. My brother was wounded, and Mohammed tried to drag him to safety. That’s when they shot my husband in the face. Somebody called an ambulance, but the Israeli soldiers wouldn’t let the paramedics through. They bled out for charity.”

Alaa began to weep.

“The Occupiers refused to let anyone collect the bodies for burial. My beloved husband and brother became food for stray dogs and crows.”

Alaa didn’t have time to properly mourn. Even after reuniting with her remaining relatives, things continued to get worse. As the days and weeks rolled by, they faced a lack of clean water, food and medical care. Winter came, and they had nothing to keep them warm. Everyone was malnourished and sick.

Eid and Sanaa went to the hospital to get treated for starvation with a nutrient IV drip. The elderly had no such luck. Three different times Alaa woke up on a cold morning to find one of her aunts dead. Their bodies simply couldn’t produce enough heat with so little food to eat. I wondered about her own health.

“How much weight have you lost since October 7th?” I asked.

“Thirty pounds,” she said.

I wanted to know more, but Alaa steered the conversation back to her children.

“My daughter Sanaa lost her ability to speak after her father died. She was in shock, depressed, and fell seriously ill. I tried to comfort her. Then one day she began to sing: ‘When I die, I will go to Heaven to be with my father.’”

Sanaa’s understanding of the afterlife allowed her to be a child again.

By April, when I met Alaa, the food situation had improved. But in May, Sanaa contracted hepatitis C and wouldn’t eat. The hospital fed her through another IV. In June, Eid got a bacterial skin infection on his face. Day-by-day I watched it spread in photographs Alaa sent me. The hospital in Deir al-Balah wanted one hundred dollars for the medication. One hundred more than what was reasonable. I used my connections in Gaza to get a charity to pay for it. But Alaa wouldn’t leave her children alone to retrieve the medicine. She was afraid she’d come back to find them dead. Her father went instead. Just in time too, because the skin on Eid’s face began to rot as it decayed. With all his other health issues, it could have been the end of him.

Eventually, Alaa realized that she needed to make a future for her children. She began to study online to finish her degree. She’s already started on her senior project: designing a rehabilitative mental health center for healing from PTSD. She wants to build it as soon as the war stops. It’s part of her overall plan: “I want to make Gaza beautiful again.”

In the meantime, she’s desperately trying to raise money to buy a tent. It’s crowded and unstable the way she lives, always shuffling around between her remaining relatives. Whenever I try to get a charity to help her, she asks if she can work for them. How can she simultaneously work, mourn, study, raise children and survive? Her life is one of incomprehensible contradictions.

“I hope God will compensate Alaa for her loss,” one of her relatives told me.

I concur, if things go well. If they don’t, Alaa tells me what will happen next: “I am an ambitious person, and I love life very much. But I know that one day my blood, and the blood of my children, will water this land.”

May God be pleased with her.

Alaa Jamal, Sanna, Eid with Mohammed

Alaa and her children

• You can learn more about Alaa Jamal here

• You can find more stories about Gaza at https://erossalvatore.com/Facebook

Twitter

Eros Salvatore is a writer and filmmaker living in Bellingham, Washington. They have been published in the journals Anti-Heroin Chic and The Blue Nib among others, and have shown two short films in festivals. They have a BA from Humboldt State University, and a foster daughter who grew up under the Taliban in a tribal area of Pakistan. Read other articles by Eros, or visit Eros's website.

 

Gaza’s Last Fairytale

by Eros Salvatore / August 27th, 2024

Alaa Jamal’s pain and suffering is wound so tightly around her heart that it shields it from all the horrors she’s lived through. So even though she’s in the crosshairs of Netanyahu’s hatred’s sights, her heart beats unceasingly, in defiance of what the Occupation has done to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to keep the remnants of her family alive: a one year old son named Eid and a three year old daughter named Sanaa. Alaa calls her daughter Princess, an apt nickname for Alaa’s life has always been a fairytale, just one punctuated by war every two to four years. Birth, war. School, war. Adolescence, war. Friendship, war. Family, war. University, war.

Then, when she was eighteen, Mohammed came, and Alaa forgot about the wars. Instead, she says, “A great love story arose.” Handsome, smart, and strong, Alaa knew they were meant for each other. He was a civil engineer, and she, a future architect. He proposed on Eid-al-Adha, the Feast of Sacrifice. Alaa’s parents agreed, and the lovebirds married. In photographs they’re the quintessential couple. He’s sharp in casual clothes, she’s dazzling demure in repose.

“I was so happy dressed in white,” she says, reminiscing about her wedding.

And for a moment, I could see Alaa, smiling with the groom in the midst of her fairytale. Two children later, it would end. Now, the only white garments worn in Gaza are shrouds for the dead.

When the war began, Alaa was at the hospital with her infant son. Eid had been born with an enlarged heart and needed close supervision whenever he was ill. Now, Alaa found herself trapped with him, as fighting raged on all around her. Israeli soldiers raided the hospital and dragged people out of their beds to kidnap or kill. Terrified, Alaa grabbed her son, ripped out the IV in his arm and ran out the back of the hospital, covered in his blood.

Alaa ran all the way home, but when she arrived, things got worse. The neighborhood children were playing in the street in front of her house. A missile landed on the next block, and a large piece of shrapnel was sent reeling from the resulting explosion towards the children, decapitating Mohammed’s 12-year-old cousin Badr as Alaa watched. Mohammed’s father was next.

Alaa was still in shock when the Israelis dropped leaflets ordering them to go south. She left first, taking the children. Mohammed was supposed to follow a few days later. In the meantime, their neighborhood was destroyed one block at a time. Dozens of Alaa’s friends and relatives were martyred—wedded to the land they loved in the ultimate sacrifice. Day-by-day, hour-by-hour, with each new message, Alaa learned of their deaths. And it was there, among the hordes of refugees walking south along the sea of Gaza, that Alaa’s fairytale life finally came to an end:

“My brother Bahaa was volunteering to drive refugees trapped in the fighting to safety. Mohammed was with him, when the Occupation shot up the car they were in. My brother was wounded, and Mohammed tried to drag him to safety. That’s when they shot my husband in the face. Somebody called an ambulance, but the Israeli soldiers wouldn’t let the paramedics through. They bled out for charity.”

Alaa began to weep.

“The Occupiers refused to let anyone collect the bodies for burial. My beloved husband and brother became food for stray dogs and crows.”

Alaa didn’t have time to properly mourn. Even after reuniting with her remaining relatives, things continued to get worse. As the days and weeks rolled by, they faced a lack of clean water, food and medical care. Winter came, and they had nothing to keep them warm. Everyone was malnourished and sick.

Eid and Sanaa went to the hospital to get treated for starvation with a nutrient IV drip. The elderly had no such luck. Three different times Alaa woke up on a cold morning to find one of her aunts dead. Their bodies simply couldn’t produce enough heat with so little food to eat. I wondered about her own health.

“How much weight have you lost since October 7th?” I asked.

“Thirty pounds,” she said.

I wanted to know more, but Alaa steered the conversation back to her children.

“My daughter Sanaa lost her ability to speak after her father died. She was in shock, depressed, and fell seriously ill. I tried to comfort her. Then one day she began to sing: ‘When I die, I will go to Heaven to be with my father.’”

Sanaa’s understanding of the afterlife allowed her to be a child again.

By April, when I met Alaa, the food situation had improved. But in May, Sanaa contracted hepatitis C and wouldn’t eat. The hospital fed her through another IV. In June, Eid got a bacterial skin infection on his face. Day-by-day I watched it spread in photographs Alaa sent me. The hospital in Deir al-Balah wanted one hundred dollars for the medication. One hundred more than what was reasonable. I used my connections in Gaza to get a charity to pay for it. But Alaa wouldn’t leave her children alone to retrieve the medicine. She was afraid she’d come back to find them dead. Her father went instead. Just in time too, because the skin on Eid’s face began to rot as it decayed. With all his other health issues, it could have been the end of him.

Eventually, Alaa realized that she needed to make a future for her children. She began to study online to finish her degree. She’s already started on her senior project: designing a rehabilitative mental health center for healing from PTSD. She wants to build it as soon as the war stops. It’s part of her overall plan: “I want to make Gaza beautiful again.”

In the meantime, she’s desperately trying to raise money to buy a tent. It’s crowded and unstable the way she lives, always shuffling around between her remaining relatives. Whenever I try to get a charity to help her, she asks if she can work for them. How can she simultaneously work, mourn, study, raise children and survive? Her life is one of incomprehensible contradictions.

“I hope God will compensate Alaa for her loss,” one of her relatives told me.

I concur, if things go well. If they don’t, Alaa tells me what will happen next: “I am an ambitious person, and I love life very much. But I know that one day my blood, and the blood of my children, will water this land.”

May God be pleased with her.

Alaa Jamal, Sanna, Eid with Mohammed

Alaa and her children

• You can learn more about Alaa Jamal here

• You can find more stories about Gaza at https://erossalvatore.com/FacebookTwitter

RedditEmail

Eros Salvatore is a writer and filmmaker living in Bellingham, Washington. They have been published in the journals Anti-Heroin Chic and The Blue Nib among others, and have shown two short films in festivals. They have a BA from Humboldt State University, and a foster daughter who grew up under the Taliban in a tribal area of Pakistan. Read other articles by Eros, or visit Eros's website.

Khalid Hanafi: The enforcer behind Taliban’s repressive policies

• by Amu TV

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Mohammad Khalid Hanafi, the minister of vice and virtue of the Taliban.

Mohammad Khalid Hanafi, the Taliban’s minister for the promotion of virtue and prevention of vice, has emerged as one of most notorious figures since the Taliban’s return to power.

The international community identifies him as a major violator of human rights, particularly for his role in enforcing the Taliban’s draconian laws that have severely restricted the freedoms of Afghan citizens, especially women.

Born in 1971 in Nuristan, Afghanistan, Hanafi was raised in a religious and jihadist family. He pursued religious education in various madrasas in Afghanistan and Pakistan, including the Haqqania madrassa, known for its ties to the Taliban leadership. Before his rise to power, he spent years teaching in religious schools, further embedding himself in the ideological framework that now drives the Taliban’s policies.

Despite being sanctioned by both the United Nations and the European Union, Hanafi has continued to play a crucial role within the Taliban’s governance structure. His ministry, notorious for imposing some of the harshest restrictions on Afghan society, has been at the forefront of the Taliban’s campaign to curtail women’s rights. These measures include banning women from public parks, restricting their freedom of movement, and enforcing strict dress codes under the guise of Islamic law.

Hanafi’s hardline stance on women’s rights reduces their role in society to the confines of marriage, inheritance, and religious obligations. His rhetoric has made it clear that the Taliban’s interpretation of Sharia law, particularly regarding the hijab and women’s public presence, is non-negotiable. “We can let go of anything, but we cannot let go of Sharia. Sharia and hijab are our red lines because our goal was to implement an Islamic system,” he declared at a recent gathering.

Hanafi is closely linked to the Haqqani network, an influential faction within the Taliban, and maintains a close relationship with the Taliban’s supreme leader, Hibatullah Akhundzada. His loyalty and alignment with Akhundzada’s vision have resulted in expanded authority over the Taliban’s executive and judicial bodies, further entrenching his influence in the regime’s oppressive rule.

In recent years, Hanafi’s actions have drawn widespread condemnation, both domestically and internationally. Afghan women, in particular, have borne the brunt of his policies. “For three years, Afghan women have been forced to obey the orders and decrees of the Taliban, which are issued by Khalid Hanafi. Khalid Hanafi himself is a misogynist and has a personal hatred, which he tries to impose on Afghan women,” said a Kabul resident, reflecting the deep-seated resentment against his ministry’s actions.

Under Hanafi’s leadership, the Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice has been empowered to detain and punish those who defy its strictures, further entrenching the Taliban’s control over Afghan society. The ministry’s reach extends beyond dress codes and social behavior, encompassing restrictions on cultural practices and the very presence of women in public life.

As Afghanistan continues to grapple with the consequences of the Taliban’s rule, Khalid Hanafi remains a pivotal figure in the regime’s efforts to impose its austere interpretation of Islamic law, with profound and devastating effects on the country’s social fabric.