DTN News - SPECIAL REPORT: The Afghanistan Massacre On The Roof of The World

DTN News - SPECIAL REPORT: The Afghanistan Massacre On The Roof of The World
*The first British invasion of Afghanistan in 1839 ended three years later in disaster. In an exclusive extract from his new book, William Dalrymple draws parallels with the current campaign

Source: DTN News - - This article compiled by Roger Smith from reliable sources By William Dalrymple - Telegraph UK
(NSI News Source Info) TORONTO, Canada - January 18, 2013: At the end of Kim, Kipling has his eponymous hero say, “When everyone is dead, the Great Game is finished. Not before.” In the 1980s, it was the Russians’ withdrawal from their failed occupation of Afghanistan that triggered the beginning of the end of the Soviet Union. Less than 20 years later, in 2001, British and American troops arrived in Afghanistan, where they proceeded to begin losing what was, in Britain’s case, its fourth war in that country. As before, in the end, despite all the billions of dollars handed out, the training of an entire army of Afghan troops and the infinitely superior weaponry of the occupiers, the Afghan resistance succeeded again in first surrounding then propelling the hated Kafirs into a humiliating exit.

On my extended visits to Afghanistan to research my new book, in 2009 and 2010, I was keen to see as many of the places and landscapes associated with the First Afghan War as was possible. I particularly wanted to retrace the route of the British forces’ retreat of January 1842 and get to Gandamak, the site of the British last stand.

The route of the retreat backs on to the mountain range that leads to Tora Bora and the Pakistan border, the Ghilzai heartlands that have always been – along with Quetta – the Taliban’s main recruiting ground. I had been advised not to attempt to visit the area without local protection, so eventually set off in the company of a regional tribal leader who was also a minister in Karzai’s government: a mountain of a man named Anwar Khan Jagdalak, a former village wrestling champion and later captain of the Afghan Olympic wrestling team, who had made his name as a Jamiat-e-Islami Mujahideen commander in the jihad against the Soviets in the 1980s.

It was Jagdalak’s Ghilzai ancestors who inflicted some of the worst casualties on the British army of 1842, something he proudly repeated several times as we drove through the same passes. “They forced us to pick up guns to defend our honour,” he said. “So we killed every last one of those bastards.” None of this, incidentally, has stopped Jagdalak from sending his family away from Kabul to the greater safety of Northolt in north London.

On the day we were to drive to Gandamak, I had been told to report at 7am to Jagdalak. Threading my way through a slalom of checkpoints and razor wire surrounding his ministry, I arrived to find Jagdalak being hustled into a convoy of heavily armoured SUVs by his ever-present phalanx of bodyguards, walkie-talkies crackling and assault rifles primed.

Jagdalak drove himself, while pick-ups full of heavily armed Afghan bodyguards followed behind. As we headed through the capital, evidence of the failure of the current occupation lay all around us. Kabul remains one of the poorest and scrappiest capital cities in the world, despite the US pouring around $80 billion into Afghanistan.

We bumped along potholed roads, past the blast walls of the US Embassy and the Nato barracks that has been built on the very site of the British cantonment of 170 years ago, then headed down the zigzagging road into the line of bleak mountain passes that link Kabul with the Khyber Pass.

It is a suitably dramatic and violent landscape: faultlines of crushed and tortured strata groaned and twisted in the gunpowder-coloured rockwalls rising on either side of us. Above, the jagged mountain tops were veiled in an ominous cloud of mist. As we drove, Jagdalak complained bitterly of the western treatment of his government. “In the 1980s when we were killing Russians for them, the Americans called us freedom fighters,” he muttered as we descended the first pass. “Now they just dismiss us as warlords.”

We left the main road at Sarobi, where the mountains debouch into a high-altitude ochre desert dotted with encampments of Ghilzai nomads, and headed into Taliban territory; a further five pick-up trucks full of Jagdalak’s old Mujahideen fighters, all brandishing rocket-propelled grenades and with faces wrapped in their turbans, appeared from a side road to escort us.

At the village of Jagdalak, on January 12 1842, the last 200 frostbitten British soldiers found themselves surrounded by several thousand Ghilzai tribesmen; only a handful made it beyond the holly-oak hedge erected to block their way and on which many British soldiers impaled themselves. Our own welcome was, thankfully, somewhat warmer. The proud villagers took their old commander, now a government minister, on a trip through hills smelling of wild thyme and wormwood, and up through mountainsides carpeted with hollyhocks and mulberries and shaded by white poplars. Here, at the top of the surrounding peaks, near the watchtower where the stripped, naked and freezing sepoys had attempted to find shelter, lay the remains of Jagdalak’s old Mujahideen bunkers and entrenchments from which he had defied the Soviet army. Once the tour was completed, the villagers feasted us, Timurid style, in an apricot orchard at the bottom of the valley: we sat on carpets under a trellis of vine and pomegranate blossom, as course after course of kebabs and raisin pullao were laid in front of us.

During lunch, as my hosts casually pointed out the site of the holly-oak barrier and other places in the village where the British had been massacred in 1842, we compared our respective family memories of that war. I talked about my great-great-uncle, Colin Mackenzie, who had been taken hostage nearby, and I asked if they saw any parallels with the current situation. “It is exactly the same,” said Jagdalak. “Both times the foreigners have come for their own interests, not for ours. They say, 'We are your friends, we want to help.’ But they are lying.”

“Whoever comes to Afghanistan, even now, they will face the fate of Burnes, Macnaghten and Dr Brydon,” agreed Mohammad Khan, our host in the village and the owner of the orchard where we were sitting. Everyone nodded sagely into their rice: the names of the fallen of 1842, long forgotten in their home country, were still common currency here.
“Since the British went, we’ve had the Russians,” said one old man to my right. “We saw them off, too, but not before they bombed many of the houses in the village.” He pointed at a ridge full of ruined mudbrick houses on the hills behind us.

“We are the roof of the world,” said Khan. “From here, you can control and watch everywhere.”

“Afghanistan is like the crossroads for every nation that comes to power,” agreed Jagdalak. “But we do not have the strength to control our own destiny. Our fate is determined by our neighbours.”

It was nearly 5pm before the final flaps of naan bread were cleared away, by which time it became clear that it was now too late to head on to Gandamak. Instead we went that evening by the main highway direct to the relative safety of Jalalabad, where we discovered we’d had a narrow escape. It turned out that there had been a battle at Gandamak that very morning between government forces and a group of villagers supported by the Taliban. Nine policemen had been killed and 10 taken hostage over a dispute about compensation for opium poppies which the government forces had come to destroy. The sheer size and length of the feast and our own gluttony had saved us from walking straight into an ambush. The battle had taken place on exactly the site of the British last stand of 1842.

The following morning in Jalalabad, we went to a jirga, or assembly, of Ghilzai tribal elders, to which the greybeards of Gandamak had come, under a flag of truce, to discuss what had happened the day before. As Predator drones took off and landed incessantly at the nearby airfield, we chatted over a pot of green tea.

“Last month,” said one tribal elder from Gandamak, “some American officers called us to a hotel in Jalalabad for a meeting. One of them asked me, 'Why do you hate us?’ I replied, 'Because you blow down our doors, enter our houses, pull our women by the hair and kick our children. We cannot accept this. We will fight back, and we will break your teeth, and when your teeth are broken you will leave, just as the British left before you. It is just a matter of time.”’

“What did he say to that?”

“He turned to his friend and said, 'If the old men are like this, what will the younger ones be like?’ In truth, all the Americans here know their game is over. It is just their politicians who deny this.”

“These are the last days of the Americans,” said the other elder. “Next it will be China.”


*Link for This article compiled by Roger Smith from reliable sources By William Dalrymple - Telegraph UK
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*This article is being posted from Toronto, Canada By DTN News ~ Defense-Technology News Contact:dtnnews@ymail.com 
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UCLA Geographers Urge US To Search Three Structures In Pakistan For Bin Laden

UCLA Geographers Urge US To Search Three Structures In Pakistan For Bin Laden (NSI News Source Info) February 18, 2009: While U.S. intelligence officials have spent more than seven years searching fruitlessly for Osama bin Laden, UCLA geographers say they have a good idea of where the terrorist leader was at the end of 2001 — and perhaps where he has been in the years since. In a new study published online today by the MIT International Review, the geographers report that simple facts, publicly available satellite imagery and fundamental principles of geography place the mastermind behind the Sept. 11 attacks against the U.S. in one of three buildings in the northwest Pakistan town of Parachinar, in the Kurram tribal region near the border with Afghanistan. "If he's still alive, he honestly could be sitting there right now," said Thomas W. Gillespie, the study's lead author and an associate professor of geography at UCLA. "It is still the safest tribal area and city in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) of northwest Pakistan and one of the only tribal areas that the U.S. has not bombed with its unmanned Predators."

People gather at the site of a suicide attack in a bazaar in the main town of Parachinar, in the Kurram tribal region. At least 22 people were killed on Saturday in spiralling violence in northwestern Pakistan as international concern grew over the deteriorating security situation and al Qaeda threat along the Afghan border. Despite keen interest in the terrorist recluse and a $25 million reward for information leading to his capture, academics have shied away from getting involved in the quest to find him, the researchers contend. Meanwhile, dramatic improvements in remote-sensing imagery have improved the odds of civilians doing so. "We believe our work represents the first scientific approach to establishing bin Laden's current location," said John A. Agnew, study co-author and UCLA geography professor. "The methods are repeatable and could easily be updated with new information obtained by the U.S. intelligence community." The researchers advocate that the U.S. investigate — but not bomb — the three buildings. They warn that if bin Laden indeed remains to this day in the tiny city of Parachinar, or even elsewhere in the relatively thinly populated tribal area of Kurram, he may move to the city of Peshawar (population 1.4 million) in the neighboring tribal area of North-West Frontier Province if Peshawar falls to the Taliban. News reports have warned of that possibility since last summer. "If bin Laden were to move to Peshawar, which would become an option if the Taliban were in control there, the search would become much more complicated," Gillespie said. "It's the difference between looking for someone in L.A. versus in Big Bear," he added, referring to a mountain resort town 90 miles east of Los Angeles. The findings are based on the last information on bin Laden's whereabouts to be made public by U.S. intelligence sources, which have closely guarded the details of any efforts to locate him. One and a half months after the coordinated attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon claimed the lives of more than 3,000 people, a walkie-talkie radio broadcast placed bin Laden in Tora Bora, a cave complex in eastern Afghanistan. In an unsuccessful attempt to capture bin Laden, U.S. forces attacked the caves the following month. Soldiers from the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry and U.S. army personnel excavate an al Qaeda grave site known by locals as the al Qaeda martyr memorial. In the village of Markhanai in the Tora Bora area of eastern Afghanistan. DNA samples were taken from 23 bodies unearthed from the cemetery. Canadian troops and U.S. forensic experts hope the DNA samples will identify some of those buried there after being killed in U.S. bombing late last year. al-Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden was believed to have fled Tora Bora in December during weeks of heavy bombing by U.S. aircraft, as pro-U.S. Afghan troops, aided by U.S. Special Forces closed in. But there was also speculation he might have been killed by the air strikes. The four-day mission combed the region of Tora Bora, an area of caves, tunnels and underground bunkers. The UCLA findings rely on two principles used in geography to predict the distribution of wildlife, primarily for the purposes of designing approaches to conservation. The first, known as distance-decay theory, holds that as one travels farther away from a precise location with a specific composition of species — or, in this case, a specific composition of cultural and physical factors —the probability of finding spots with that same specific composition decreases exponentially. The second, island biogeographic theory, holds that large and close islands have larger immigration rates and will support more species than smaller, more isolated islands. Inspired by distance-decay theory, the seven-member team started by drawing concentric circles around Tora Bora on a satellite map of the area at a distance of 10 kilometers — or 6.1 miles — apart. "The farther bin Laden moves from his last reported location into the more secular parts of Pakistan or into India, the greater the probability that he will be in an area with a different cultural composition, thereby increasing the probability of his being captured or eliminated," Gillespie said. Then, informed by island biogeographic theory, the researchers scoured the rings for "city islands" — or distinctly separate settlements of considerable size. "Island biology theory predicts that he would find his way to the largest but least isolated city of that area," said Gillespie, an authority on measuring and modeling biodiversity on Earth from space. "If you get stuck on an island, you would want it to be Hawaii rather than one with a single palm tree. It's a matter of resources." The approach netted 26 cities within a 12.4-mile radius of Tora Bora on imagery from Landsat Enhanced Thematic Mapper Plus (ETM+), a global archive of satellite photos managed by NASA and the U.S. Geological Survey. With a 2.7-square-mile footprint, Parachinar turned out to be the largest and fourth-least isolated city, the team determined. "Based on bin Laden's last known location in Tora Bora, we estimate that he must have traveled 1.9 miles over a 13,000-foot-high pass into Kurram and then headed for the largest city, which turns out to be Parachinar," said Agnew, who is the current president of the Association of American Geographers, the field's leading scholarly organization. The researchers ruled out cities on the Afghanistan side of the border because the country was occupied at the time by U.S. and international forces and has been particularly unstable ever since. "The Pakistan side of the border is much better for hiding because of its ambiguous political status within the country and the formal absence of U.S. or NATO troops," Agnew said. Faced with the prospect of picking from more than 1,000 structures clearly portrayed in the satellite imagery of Parachinar, the team decided to come up with a short list of the criteria that bin Laden would need for housing, based on well-known information about him, including his height (between 6'4" and 6'6", depending on the source), his medical condition (apparently in need of regular dialysis and, therefore, electricity to run the machine) and several basic assumptions, such as a need for security, protection, privacy and overhead cover to shield him from being spotted by planes, helicopters and satellites. So they looked for buildings that could house someone taller than 6'4" and were surrounded by walls more than 9 feet tall (both as judged by mid-afternoon shadows depicted on the satellite imagery), and that had more than three rooms, space separating them from nearby structures, electricity and a thick tree canopy. Only three structures fit the criteria. The buildings also appeared to be the best fortified and among the largest in Parachinar. Two are clearly residences, the study states. The third may be a prison. But whatever the third structure is, it has "one of the best maintained gardens in all of Parachinar," the study says. While the three structures meet all six of the criteria that the researchers believe would be required for lodging bin Laden, an additional 16 structures in Parachinar appear to meet five of the six criteria. If bin Laden is not in the first three structures, the U.S. military should investigate these other buildings, the study urges. The outgrowth of an undergraduate geography course in remote sensing, the study lists five 2008 UCLA graduates as co-authors. The students have since gone on to a range of endeavors, from selling real estate and attending law school to earning a master's degree from Oxford University. One now works for a remote-sensing company. Undergraduates had attempted to take on the same study in 2006, but at 30 x 30 meters — or nearly 100 x 100 feet — the resolution of publicly available satellite images of the area at the time was insufficient. In contrast, today's resolution is 0.6 meters, or just under 2 feet, Gillespie said. The remote-sensing company that employs one of the alumni authors plans soon to unveil a 0.4-meter resolution of the entire world. "Technology has caught up to the question," said Gillespie, who serves as the director of the Spatial Demography Group for the UCLA-based California Center for Population Research. "Finding Osama bin Laden: An Application of Biogeographic Theories and Satellite Imagery" is not the first attempt by Gillespie and Agnew to bring scientific analysis to nettlesome political issues. In September 2008, they received widespread attention for a satellite study of the density of lights in the night sky of Baghdad in the time leading up to, during and immediately following the U.S. military surge of 2007. The findings cast doubt on the role claimed by the U.S. military in quelling violence during that time and suggest instead that intra-sectarian conflict was responsible for clearing whole portions of the city, leaving them both dark and devoid of the objects of Iraqi-on-Iraqi violence.