A Rope and a Prayer (10 page)

Within hours of Bush’s speech, Rumsfeld announced his own approach at a Pentagon news conference. Again, he called for the Afghans to help themselves.

“The last thing you’re going to hear from this podium is someone thinking they know how Afghanistan ought to organize itself,” Rumsfeld said. “They’re going to have to figure it out. They’re going to have to grab ahold of that thing and do something. And we’re there to help.”

At the same time, the American government had nowhere near the personnel needed to carry out such a sweeping reconstruction effort. By 2001, the agency that had spearheaded the Lashkar Gah project decades back had stopped mounting construction projects. USAID officials initially opposed road building and other large infrastructure programs. They said they feared they would consume too much of their agency’s limited staff and budget.

The end of the Cold War, complaints from Congress of tax dollars being poured down “foreign rat holes,” and the failure of some foreign infrastructure projects prompted massive cuts at USAID. Criticism of failed foreign projects and a drive to privatize aid work by the Reagan and Clinton administrations had shrunk the agency from 3,000 Americans posted abroad in the 1980s to 1,000.

In the fall of 2003, sixteen months after the president’s Marshall Plan speech, USAID had seven full-time staffers and thirty-five full-time contract staff members in Afghanistan, most of them Afghans. Sixty-one agency positions were vacant. Slashed in size, USAID had no experts to field.

Overall, from 2001 to 2005, Afghanistan received less assistance per capita than did postconflict Bosnia and Kosovo, or even desperately poor, postcoup Haiti in the 1990s. At the same time, reports began to emerge of endemic corruption in the Karzai government.

The invasion of Iraq only intensified the shortage of troops, civilian experts, and high-level focus. As Washington turned its attention to Baghdad, a massive troop imbalance emerged. In 2003, the United States had 250,000 troops in Iraq and 20,000 in Afghanistan. At the same time, Washington spent half as much money in Afghanistan as it did in Iraq—even though the countries are roughly the same size.

Former CIA officials told me that the agency’s best, most experienced officers were shifted from Afghanistan to Iraq in late 2002 and early 2003. That reduced the United States’ influence over powerful Afghan warlords who were refusing to turn over to Karzai’s weak central government tens of millions of dollars they had collected in border crossing customs payments. The military’s elite special operations units were also diverted to Iraq, along with remotely piloted drones.

“We were economizing in Afghanistan,” a former military official, who spoke on condition of anonymity, told one of my colleagues in 2007. “Anyone who tells you differently is blowing smoke.”

With a growing insurgency overstretching American forces in Iraq in 2005, Bush further reduced the American commitment in Afghanistan. He asked European officials to have NATO forces take over responsibility for securing southern Afghanistan. Condoleezza Rice, then secretary of state, cut American assistance to Afghanistan by $200 million.

The president and other senior officials saw Afghanistan as a success. They cited improvements in health care, roads, education, and the economy, as well as the quality of life in the cities and the holding of parliamentary elections. President Bush saw President Karzai as a more skilled leader than critics contended and saw no Afghan leader who could replace him. Reports of corruption by Karzai’s brother surfaced, but no evidence emerged of Karzai’s personal involvement

The then American ambassador in Kabul, Ronald Neumann, bluntly demanded that the $200 million in funding be restored and warned of a Taliban resurgence. In a February 2006 cable to his superiors, he predicted that the cut would handicap U.S. counter-narcotics programs, slow the training of the Afghan army, and make the “Taliban’s role easier.”

Neumann’s warnings fell on deaf ears in Washington. President Bush and his top aides left Afghanistan to European troops and reduced aid levels. Troops from Britain—the historic enemy of the Pashtuns—led the NATO takeover of security in Helmand. Rumors that the West wanted to occupy Afghanistan, not rebuild it, gained credence among Afghans.

In the spring of 2006, the Taliban carried out their largest offensive since 2001. Suicide bombings quintupled to 136, roadside bombings doubled, and Taliban fighters seized control of large parts of southern Afghanistan. NATO forces—many of whom were barred from engaging in combat by their government—were overmatched. American and NATO casualties rose by 20 percent. For the first time it became nearly as dangerous, statistically, to serve as an American soldier in Afghanistan as in Iraq.

In southern Afghanistan, many rural Pashtuns took up arms against corrupt officials appointed by the Karzai government and joined the Taliban. In eastern Afghanistan, the Taliban mounted cross-border attacks from Pakistan, the United States’ purported ally.

As the Taliban confidently ferried us across the Afghan countryside in November 2008, it confirmed what I already knew. The haphazard, eight-year American effort in Afghanistan was a failure.

 

 

At sunset, the car stops and Atiqullah announces that we will have to hike through the mountains. A large American base blocks the path in front of us, he says. We protest, but he insists that we must walk. He promises that he will carry me on his back if I am unable to complete the journey.

The Afghan sandals I have been wearing since we were kidnapped will not be strong enough for a trek. The one-armed commander gives me a pair of worn loafers with the words “Made in East Germany” printed on the insole. A guard gives me his jacket.

As we walk, I understand why Western journalists grew enamored of anti-Soviet Afghan resistance fighters in the 1980s. Under a spectacular panorama of stars, we wind our way along a steep mountain pass. Emaciated Taliban fighters carry heavy machine guns with little sign of fatigue. Their grit and resilience seem boundless. I think about making a run for it but have not been able to freely talk with Tahir and Asad. If I run without warning, all three of us could be shot.

As the hike continues, I grow skeptical of Atiqullah’s boasts. The man who has promised to carry me if needed proves to be in poor shape. On one of the steepest parts of the ascent, he stops, sits on a rock, and pants for air. Until now, I have only seen him seated on the floor or behind the wheel of a car. As we hike through the mountains, I see that Atiqullah is chubby, fat even, and does not have the same strength as his men.

Nine hours after we set out, the sun rises and the hike drags on. We are walking through low hills covered by orange dirt, an Afghan version of scrub brush, and the occasional tree. The landscape is lifeless. At dawn, we silently pass through a village and our guards ready their weapons for any problems. No one emerges from the houses.

Asad approaches me when the guards lag behind, points at the way ahead and whispers “Miran Shah.” Miran Shah is the capital and largest town in North Waziristan, a Taliban and Al Qaeda stronghold in Pakistan’s tribal areas. North Waziristan is the home of some of the Taliban’s most hard-line members. If we are headed there, we are doomed.

Inside Afghanistan, the American military and Afghan government can carry out raids and put other pressure on our captors. In Pakistan’s tribal areas, the Afghan Taliban have free rein. No American combat troops are present, the Pakistani government opposes American raids, and the Pakistani army turns a blind eye to the Afghan Taliban. In Pakistan, our captors can hold us as long as they please.

After eleven hours, our hike finally ends. The guards light a fire, and we warm our hands as we wait for a vehicle to pick us up. For a brief moment, there is camaraderie. We are all bone tired and happily crouch around the warm flames.

I stand up for a moment and walk back and forth to stretch my aching legs. I notice that none of the guards have their Kalashnikov assault rifles at their sides. Instead, one lies on the ground near Asad and another lies near where I am walking. If I move fast enough, I can grab a rifle, signal to Asad to do the same and we can kill Atiqullah and the guards.

As I walk back and forth, I glance at the rifle’s safety mechanism but try not to draw attention to myself. I fired rifles while hunting for deer with my father as a teenager and fired them at ranges with my uncle in Colorado as a college student. I am not sure, though, how to disable a Kalashnikov’s safety and shoot rounds. The stakes are enormous. Grabbing the weapon could lead to all three of us being immediately shot.

I look at Tahir and Asad and cannot catch their eyes. At the same time, I am not sure I am ready to kill anyone—something I have never done before. I decide to wait. I don’t want to risk Tahir and Asad’s lives without a clear signal from them.

Roughly fifteen seconds later, Atiqullah notices the situation and angrily orders his men to pick up their rifles. Later, I see that several guards are also standing watch on a nearby hillside. For months, I will think of the moment and wonder what would have happened if I had grabbed the rifle. On many days, I will wish that I had picked up the gun.

The one-handed commander arrives in the same station wagon. Atiqullah tells us that he has pretended to be a civilian and driven past the American base. We climb into the vehicle. Exhausted and anxious, I tell myself that Asad is wrong and Atiqullah is right. I tell myself that we are heading into southern Afghanistan, not Pakistan. I tell myself we will survive.

M
y mother comes back to New York with me. For the next seven months, we become intermittent roommates, a fact that in turns disturbs and comforts me. I haven’t lived with my parents since I was a teenager. Now I’m married, approaching forty, and not eager to revert to an adolescent’s existence. But over the months, our relationship grows. In fact, we relate to each other on a more mature level. She becomes, in the end, my hero—and David’s, by a strange twist of circumstance.

We are met at Penn Station by two FBI agents. Cathy is tall, blonde, chatty. John is a large, solid man. An unfortunate incident years earlier involving a child captive and a grenade has left him deaf in one ear. Both are middle-aged. Cathy has two children. Dressed in high-heel pumps and stylishly coiffed, she looks like the consummate Manhattan career woman. One would never suspect she is a federal law enforcement agent.

They escort me to
The New York Times
building, an imposing glass skyscraper that fills a solid block on the edges of Times Square, right in the middle of Manhattan. An impromptu meeting has been called by the newspaper’s executive editor, Bill Keller. In the bright, modern lobby, hundreds of miniature screens telegraph type from the newspaper’s daily stories. Trees are encased in a glass courtyard opposite the reception desk. Security guards wave us through the sleek turnstiles to the elevator bank.

On the eighteenth floor, I am greeted by Arthur Sulzberger, Jr., the paper’s publisher, and escorted into a large interior conference room. Senior staff members are assembled, including David’s editors in the investigations unit, the foreign editor who occasionally sends him overseas, the newsroom’s administrative editor, and its assistant general counsel, David McCraw. McCraw will become a daily fixture in my life for the next seven and a half months and the point person between me, the newspaper, and security experts. David’s brother Lee is on speakerphone.

Everyone in the room appears to be seasoned and serious. I feel like I’ve stepped into a
New Yorker
cartoon but I’m not quite sure of the punch line. David has worked at the paper for twelve years. Most of his colleagues have known him longer than I have. I am overwhelmed by the number of people already involved in his case, and by the visible display of emotion before me. Several of his colleagues have tears in their eyes. Bill Keller calmly tells me that our family has the full support of
The New York Times
staff and that the paper will work with us to secure David’s release. They will honor our family’s wish to keep David’s case out of the press. Lee and I have agreed this is the best course of action at the moment. We think, as the FBI cautioned us, that publicity will only increase David’s value as a hostage. And we know that David would not want to be the subject of a news story.

Rejecting my first impulse to crawl under the conference table, I resolve not to be visibly intimidated or upset. There is already enough to handle without the paper having the sense that they need to manage my emotions as well. I want to know as much as possible about my husband’s circumstances. So I maintain a tough front. I also feel that if I fall apart, the Taliban will win this crude game of psychological warfare. Falling apart is not an option, philosophically or practically. It is not quite clear how we will work with the newspaper to resolve David’s situation or how decisions will be made. I have vague concerns that our agendas could diverge at some point. But for now, I am grateful not to be in this alone.

 

 

Cathy and John start preparing me for potential contact with David’s captors. Back in my apartment downtown, we begin my first training session.

It is nearly 9 P.M. and I have not been in touch with my office all day. I imagine how
Cosmopolitan
might present this situation, were they to run a dramatic first-person account: “When Danger Calls” or “What’s Holding Your Husband Captive?” But this is not a situation one can dress up with a provocative cover line.

In the event that I receive a call, the objective is to keep the captor or captive on the phone as long as possible, in the hope that the call can be traced. If the government can track the call, the military has a chance of going in and rescuing my husband, or so I’m told. That is, if he is still in Afghanistan. There is now some speculation that his captors will move him over the border, into the tribal areas of Pakistan where it is easier for the Taliban to hide and the American military cannot carry out a raid.