Afghan Lessons: Culture, Diplomacy, and Counterinsurgency

Kabul

13 four Kabul The landing in Kabul was just as I had imagined . First the descent over barren ocher mountains, their true scale emerging as the aircraft went down to sea level. Then the wretched mud huts of the suburbs and chaotic containers around the airport. In the distance , in a valley of yellowish sand, a helicopter cemetery, rusted tanks, and remnants of war that might have been an open-air museum illustrating the last thirty years of Afghan history. An American diplomat, Ken, who had worked with my Dutch predecessor , Maurits Jochems, was waiting on the tarmac. He was escorted by eight members of the Dutch special forces, who had also worked with the previous team and were going to be my “close protection” for several days. Meanwhile, the Tuscania Regiment team assigned to me would complete formalities for its arrival and become fully operational. We settled into the VIP room where we were offered tea by staff from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but there wasn’t time to drink because we were told my suitcase had arrived and we could leave. The convoy of three cars I was traveling in slid into city traffic and immediately I felt the tension rise. The atmosphere was unfathomable: I couldn’t understand if this signaled a sense that something might happen or a truce. The driver of my armored Toyota and the head of the escort sitting next to him were in constant radio contact with the other two cars, one in front of us and the other behind. Over the past six months, suicide bombers had reached the heart of the city three times. In January they had blown themselves up inside Hotel Serena, killing a number of Westerners; in April they’d attempted to assassinate Karzai during a military parade; in early July they’d managed to slaughter nearly a hundred people in front of the Indian embassy, close to the Ministry of the Interior. 04-2423-0 ch4.indd 13 6/3/13 1:50 PM 14 Afghan Lessons The Afghan security guards at the checkpoints were extremely edgy, and it showed in their jerky movements and scrupulous checking of our documents and access permits as we approached the city center. The airport road was considered at risk because it was so busy and because it was accessed by countless side roads connecting areas outside the security limits. I’d been given a helmet and a bulletproof vest but I hadn’t put them on. At best they’d only protect me from light gunshots, shrapnel, or shards of glass from a shattered car window. On the other hand, if I got in the way of a remote-controlled car bomb packed with explosives or had a close encounter with a suicide bomber on a motorbike—exactly the kind of risk we were running—there wasn’t a jacket or helmet that would save my life. Along the way I tried to look around and understand, but Kabul was different from any other city. Indeed, it didn’t even seem like a city; I had no way of getting my bearings. Traffic was a merry-go-round without rhyme or reason, and we often drove in fast lanes against the flow of vehicles, with long stretches in tracks enclosed by huge blocks of concrete that closed off all views except for the sky and the satellite dishes on the roofs of the buildings lining the road. The road was shrouded in clouds of dust. In among the cars, trucks, Afghan and international military convoys, taxis, motorcycles and bicycles , there was an overwhelming bustle of old folks and children who meandered just for the sake of it, in no particular hurry and with no particular place to go. At one point, after passing yet another roadblock, Ken pointed to the mighty outer walls of the American embassy on the right and said we were almost at the headquarters of the International Security Assistance Force, where my office and residence were located. I glanced around before we entered the gate and nothing gave the impression of a city center or anything resembling one. The only thing I could see were the sides of the tree-lined street and, behind the boundary walls, pure Soviet-style dull whitish or pale blue buildings, the legacy of previous occupying forces. It took me several days to find my bearings in the maze of urban trenches and fortifications. It’s not easy when...