Yesterday afternoon at three o’clock, Khus Dihugami Dadamizo, Special International Policy Emissary of His Excellency President Hamid Karzai for the Embassy of Afghanistan to the United States of America, arrived once more for a policy consultation, and did so in his usual condition. Enough said – regular readers of this Web log know what that means.
“My friend Tom,” he opened, staring intently at me with pinpointed pupils, “as I am sure you know, President Karzai has problems with the Bilateral Security Agreement.”
“Not such significant problems,” I noted, “as to preclude him from recommending that the Loya Jirga approve it.”
“This is true,” Dadamizo admitted with a shrug. “Many in President Karzai’s cabinet were shocked when, subsequently, he declared that he, himself, would not sign the BSA until after the Afghan elections next April.”
“So it’s a case,” I surmised, “of ‘Do as I say, not as I do,’ presumably.”
Dadamizo’s face assumed a curious expression. “What is the meaning of that proverb, then? Who is it that should do as he says, but not as he does?”
“That’s what American parents used to tell their children about drinking, smoking, gambling and… other bad habits,” I explained, shooting a pointed glance at the door leading from my office to the private rest room.
“Oh, yes,” Dadamizo acknowledged. “Now I understand. By the way, may I?”
“Of course,” I dryly replied.
“Excuse me, then,” Dadamizo said, rising from his chair and making for that door, taking his attaché case with him. True to form, he returned about ten minutes later, plunked down on the couch by the picture window overlooking the White House and nodded out for a good quarter of an hour, the silly grin on his face proclaiming a solid tribute to Afghanistan’s most profitable cash crop and most lucrative export.
“Ah, yes,” he murmured without warning, as if nothing unusual had happened, and as if only a moment had passed, “President Karzai is a man of great principle, you see. So while he knows that the BSA is, in general, something which the Loya Jirga should approve, he also knows that his signature is required to make it an official Afghan law, and therefore it is his responsibility to stand up to the Americans on specific, important points.”
“And immediately upon the Loya Jirga’s approval of the BSA,” I pointed out, “the Afghan Taliban went ballistic, declaring that there would be ‘eternal jihad forever’ until all foreign troops leave your country. But it’s not as if the Loya Jirga isn’t, in fact, packed with Karzai supporters. On the other hand, being much closer to the people – and the action the ground, for that matter – perhaps they see more merit in resisting the Taliban than Karzai does.”
“President Karzai,” Dadamizo admonished, “is, as I have said, a man of strong principles. Therefore, he is open to peace talks with the Taliban, except under circumstances in which he categorically rejects peace talks with the Taliban, no matter what anyone here in Washington thinks about whether peace talks with the Taliban are a good idea or not.”
“Well,” I observed, “nobody here in Washington is splitting the Afghan narcotics trade with the Taliban – or I certainly hope they aren’t, anyway.”
“You might be surprised,” Dadamizo smirked.
“It’s interesting, though,” I remarked, “that when ISAF drones inadvertently killed a civilian child yesterday while neutralizing a Taliban lieutenant, Karzai raised unholy hell about it in the international media, while, when the Taliban killed a child during one of their suicide bomber attacks earlier today, we haven’t heard a word from him about it. Under such circumstances, I should think that educated, middle-class, professional and merchant Afghans might wonder who their real enemies are.”
“In Afghanistan,” he sighed, “you can never tell. But the two things all Afghans know are, first, that someday, the Americans and their allies will leave. And second, the Taliban will always be there.”
“But what of Abdul Karim Khurram?” I asked. “He is, after all, President Karzai’s chief of staff, while also a member of Hizb-i-Islami , a religious party so fanatical, I hear they circumcise their women with shards of dirty broken glass.”
“Those are exaggerations,” Dadamizo assured me. “They wash the glass first.”
“But,” I speculated, “if Khurram’s pulling the strings…”
“President Karzai,” Dadamizo declared, “has no strings to pull.”
“However,” I objected, “didn’t Aimal Faizi, Khurram’s sidekick, take over the Government Media and Information Center of Afghanistan and throw all the American advisors out? So maybe if Karzai isn’t a marionette – wouldn’t you say it still sure looks like he’s ventriloquist’s dummy for Hizb-i-Islami?”
“No,” Dadamizo disagreed, “I would never say that.”
“Of course not,” I concurred. “So what can I do for you and President Karzai today?”
“First of all,” Dadamizo began, “he wants to know how get more apologies.”
“Tell him to wait a couple of days,” I advised. “I predict he will receive a number of carefully worded apologies from ISAF, the Obama administration and the US military. Apologies aren’t really that hard for us Americans, you know – there’s no great deal of personal or group honor involved. Because our society is so fluid, our history so short and our country is so big, honor has no particular value. And, of course, we’re always very sorry when civilians – especially children – get killed when we’re fighting bad guys like Kaiser Wilhelm II, Benito Mussolini, Kim Il-Sung, Ho Chi Minh, Osama bin Laden or Muhammad Omar. I mean, who wouldn’t be, right? We’re even sorry when those kids might have been involved in killing American troops, because they were too young to know what they were doing, weren’t they? So no problem on the apologies, I’d say. President Karzai’s going to get all the apologies he can stand.”
“But he wants them to be… explicit,” Dadamizo insisted. “I think the words he used were ‘groveling’ and ‘abject,’ if I recall correctly.”
“That’s a different kettle of fish entirely,” I advised. “Americans are very ready with carefully worded apologies that take into account the horror of conflict, the fog of war, the terrible toll taken upon the brave combatants and unfortunate civilians, but if you want some sort of unambiguous statement that American troops – or drones, for that matter – did anything wrong, as opposed to making a understandable mistake, well, as they say in the Mafia, forget about it.”
“You mean, there’s no way?” Dadamizo’s face fell.
“America will always ‘deeply regret’ babies being blown to bloody smithereens,” I assured him, “and also being burned alive by white phosphorous, incinerated in nuclear explosions, dying of radiation poisoning, rotting to death from gangrene after stepping on a land mine or just catching some stray bullets or shrapnel during a field engagement with the enemy – no problem. Just don’t ask us to say we meant to do that, because honestly, we never did, okay?”
“Could you write a few words,” Dadamizo requested, “explaining that in terms President Karzai can understand?”
“My pleasure,” I told him. “You will received an email from me with just such an attachment in encrypted document format by close of business today. Open it with your usual password.”
“That will be very helpful,” Dadamizo murmured as he drifted off for a moment. “Oh, and yes,” he continued upon his return from Cloud Nine, “there is the question of ISAF troops going into Afghan homes. President Karzai is highly concerned about that. What would you advise?”
“ISAF troops go into Afghan homes for three reasons,” I told him. “The first is when some Taliban coward kills or wounds ISAF troops and then disappears into an Afghan village to hide among the civilians – many of whom are women and children, by the way, and I don’t notice persons such as that having much regard for their safety. The second reason is that there is current, viable intelligence that Taliban insurgents are hiding themselves and/or their war materiel in or around Afghan dwellings. And, of course, there’s the third reason – ISAF has been tipped off that there’s a huge stash of opium or smack in that house and they’ve been ordered to seize it for destruction. Now, let me guess which one of those three reasons is the one that’s really burning Karzai’s onion.”
“His onion, as you say,” Dadamizo carefully whispered as he leaned forward over the coffee table in front of the couch, “burns brightly for the obvious one. There have been many complaints about it from very… influential people.”
“President Karzai,” I suggested, “should tell them to consider such incidents the cost of doing business, and remind them that the alternative is the Zero Option.”
“The Zero Option!” Dadamizo gasped. “This is what I fear, my friend! If the Americans leave, if you give us no more foreign aid – all that will be the end of us! The Taliban will take back everything!”
“So,” I recommended, “it’s up to you to make sure President Karzai realizes what a dangerous game he’s playing.”
“That’s the problem! I think he does!” Dadamizo assured me. “We’re just worried that maybe he’s going… well, you know… how is it you say, off his rocker?”
“No,” I opined, “I don’t think he’s going crazy, at least not in the clinical sense. If one is properly Machiavellian in their analysis, it becomes evident what President Karzai is up to – if, as NATO and the State Department demand, he signs the BSA by the end of the year, he’s a lame duck; whereas, if he keeps everyone on tenterhooks…”
“What kind of duck?” Dadamizo wondered. “Is this like the ‘false duck’ the French talk about?”
“Not exactly,” I clarified. “A ‘lame duck’ is a politician who, by virtue of circumstance or events, has lost his effective powers. In effect, the moment Karzai signs the BSA, his political career is over.”
“And these hooks, of which you speak?” Dadamizo pressed.
“That means,” I elaborated, “if, on the other hand, he keeps everyone ‘on tenterhooks,’ which is to say, ‘in suspense,’ or ‘distracted by their own anxieties,’ well, then, he’s still in control; he still has power. The question is, of course – to what end? Tell me, do you know if there is someone whom Karzai would like to win the presidential election in April?”
“There have been a number of names,” Dadamizo confessed, “including… my own.”
“Well then,” I smiled. “Better keep polishing the old apple there with Uncle Hamid, hadn’t you?”
“Oh, oh, yes,” Dadamizo grinned. “I am only… how do you say… a dark horse at the moment, however.”
“Not such a bad place to be,” I proclaimed, “five months before an election.”
“Really?” Dadamizo hopefully beamed, “you think so?”
“I’m sure,” I told him, “you’d be as good a President of Afghanistan as any of the other Afghan politicians and diplomats with whom I’m familiar.”
“That’s great to hear, coming from you, my friend Tom!” Dadamizo exulted as he rose from his seat, shook my hand and made for the exit.
“One thing though,” I added as his hand touched the door knob. “Between now and April, you must be very careful not to overdose.”