Reporting from Afghanistan

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Saturday, March 30, 2002
Karzai at Bagram

I lie on my cot as the morning rain and wind at Bagram kick up the flaps of the press tent. My journalistic tent mates are awake and moving, cursing the cold and wet. I get up and head off to attend the 8 a.m. press briefing. Hamid Karzai, the interim leader of Afghanistan, is scheduled to visit the American base.

There had been a debate last night, before my arrival to embed at Bagram. The contention broke down to a journalist colleague arguing that a HUSTLER reporter had every right to stay at the base, and military types insisting that playing host to America's Magazine made the place look bad by association. The journalist, according to the summation presented at bed time, parried that the Army is not a private company, it is paid for and as such belongs to the public, and therefore has no right to restrict access to a media organ that individuals within the Army might consider offensive.

A passing soldier warns me about the ongoing task of explosive ordnance disposal. The place is saturated with land mines.

"Only walk on the roads and gravel paths," he says.

A cleared path leads to the latrines, where the work of Bagram's shithouse editorialists is posted to be considered by all who pause there.

"The Army is like a fat bitch sitting on the curb eating a hot dog with a sexy look on her face."

"Kill all those motherfucking towelhead bitches."

"Kilroy was here."

I introduce myself to a Marine captain as the reporter from HUSTLER.

"Oh, you're the guy I was saying didn't deserve to be here."

"Anyway," I respond, "I wanted to talk to you because I thought you might be able to help me identify some of the guns I've seen out here."

The captain is courteous and informative and extends himself well beyond what duty requires. He offers a tour of the base and spends a large portion of the morning driving me around the grounds, explaining various installations and introducing me to people who might be helpful or provide interesting stories. Maybe his discipline as a military officer has trained him to maintain a high degree of civility with sanctioned visitors, or maybe he thinks approvingly that I'm a gun nut, or maybe despite his anti-HUSTLER bias he has found that he likes the HUSTLER reporter as a person. Whatever the reason, we seem to have become friendly while careening through the drizzle.

The rain breaks in the afternoon. Two Chinook helicopters fly in low from the south, coming fast and low for a quick landing, disgorging soldiers. The troops wait in formation at parade rest. A lineup of A-10 Warthog fighter planes awaits inspection. In the distance, mountains are laced with clouds. An anxious line of cameramen check and recheck their equipment. Twenty minutes later, the heavy thump of the rotor blades precedes the appearance of two more choppers. The Chinooks bank hard. Their back hatches hang open like huge mouths, a heavy machine gun dangles off the lip. The helicopters hover like dragonflies, float, then nose apart and land back to back.

Upon touchdown, soldiers pour out of the hatch and deploy in a defensive perimeter, as though there were hitting ground in a hot LZ. Men in suits follow. From the distance, I can't pick out the Chairman. The occupants of the two birds walk toward each other and meet midway between the helicopters, creating a cluster of men in the middle of the airfield. Karzai's entourage moves as the rotors continue to spin. Suits outnumber troops. A cameraman walks backward in front of the mass, shooting with a canon like lens. A crazy local who runs security at the Afghan gate is walking in the grass--extremely unwise, given the extensive placement of mines and EXOs on base. One of Karzai's soldiers is a Generalissimo type. General Mohammad Fahim, the Minister of Defense, wears a gray suit. Several in Karzai's entourage look like formidable fighters. One of his men wears a full beard and jungle camo and carries an AK with an extra-long clip. There is a wild, West Virginia look in his eyes. I spot Karzai. This is possibly the best-dressed man on the continent: A gray fez, a green blazer, a black wool vest, a charcoal-gray salwar kameez and black loafers. A spectacular emerald green cape drapes over his shoulders. He strides briskly, with obvious confidence. He shakes hands and receives salutes as he walks the receiving line of soldiers. At his side, Major General F. L. Hagenbeck makes introductions. Journalists trot alongside. Karzai inspects an A-10 Warthog, a twin-engine fighter jet painted on the nose with shark teeth and angry eyes. The shark is chomping an eight-barelled Gattling gun like a cigar. Soldiers, journalist and dignitaries mill around; I sharply bump an Afghan bodyguard with a submachine gun. A beefy senior soldier explains the plane to an Afghan bigwig.

"This is an anti-armor plane; it kills tanks, primarily with the Gattling gun up front. It also has capabilities on the sides for rockets. The cockpit is very well protected. The plane is slow and very accurate and is used forward of troops with anti-armor missions. Two were flying here when we came in for protection for the helicopters."

The Afghan nods. There's every chance he doesn't speak more than one word of English.

Karzai lingers on a ladder and has a soldier explain the plane to him. Karzai, who speaks excellent English, doesn't need a translator. Four Afghans crowd behind him.

Back to walking quickly. Photographers trot alongside Karzai, shooting rapid fire. Every moment of this walk across the tarmac is being frozen on film, from every angle.

Karzai steps into the back of an armored SUV with an American driver. Guns are everywhere. A belt-fed SAW (squad automatic weapon), a black pump-action tactical shotgun, an M-16 mounted with an M203 40mm grenade launcher. Boots, tags, caps, guns.

I'm forbidden from describing specifics in the hangar, but enough soldiers are gathered there, armed to the teeth, that at that moment, standing there in the hangar, I feel very secure. The amount of available fire power is substantial.

On the stage, Sergeant Major Lopez is coordinated.

"Right now, the VIP is transiting in the next building over. He will walk to this side of the building. He'll come on stage. Everybody got it?"

"Ho-oo!"

Cameramen set up in front of the podium.

"We need a big pathway for 40 dignitaries. Back up, media."

"Yeah, back up, media," seconds a soldier in the crowd.

"Okay, media. He's going to walk from that direction over here; so don't impede his walk. Cool?"

"Coo-ool."

"Now he's going to exit through the rear; so make way."

The British journalists, always keen on toilet humor, giggle at this.

Flags flank the podium. Blue flags from the 4th battalion, 31st infantry regiment. Red general officer flags, one for Hagenbeck.

A GI with a chubby face, a mustache and an admiration for HUSTLER wants an opinion on the decor. "So what do you think about the camouflage netting?" he asks.

The soldiers have rigged desert camo net behind the podium; it hangs from the rafters of the hangar like a sheet for a high school play.

"The camo net makes it look tactical," the soldier adds. "People were complaining that this place didn't look tactical enough."

A PA has been set up; the Dave Matthews Band is playing. Karzai walks in for a meeting; he lifts his hat in regard to individuals in the crowd. His entourage follows. The men look more and more raggedy the further they are from the Chairman. The inner circle wears suits or Generalissimo uniforms; on the fringes, the grunts look to be fresh from the front lines, scraggly, messy. The mass is like an amoeba that moves across the floor of the hangar. Karzai walks through a doorway to meet with British and American generals. The mass bunches up around the entrance.

My friend the anti-HUSTLER Marine captain jerks a thumb toward the the music coming from the speakers.

"This is Karzai jams. He loves this stuff."

Sampled above the music are clips from the speech GW Bush gave on September 11.

"Terrorism will not stand."

The captain moves among the journalists who are waiting for Karzai to come out and hold a press conference. The captain holds an imaginary microphone up to faces and fires questions.

"How many kids do you have? How old are you? What time is it?' You guys better ask him good questions."

The captain relaxes a bit, then swivels and fires another one.

"What did you have for breakfast?"

The Karzai jams soundtrack shifts to "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap." George W Bush's voice carries over the rock n roll: "Our freedom came under attack in serious, deliberate deadly terror attacks."

Just as Karzai emerges from his meeting, the jams shifts to "Born in the USA." Bush: "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."

The music fades, and General Hagenback takes the stand.

"It is a distinct honor and privilege to introduce the dynamic and charismatic leader of the nation of Afghanistan. He showed courage in fighting terror, and taking on the task of chairman."

Karzai steps to the podium to a fusillade of applause. He nods, and the applause fades out. It appears that this man has uncanny control over the assembled soldiers, unless he simply waited through 20 seconds of sustained clapping for the applause to flag , and then he nodded, knowing that the applause was about to quit anyway, and appeared to kill it.

"General, that was tremendously nice of you."

Tremendously nice?

"I was talking a few days ago with your Ambassador, and I said well, why don't we see the troops that have helped Afghanistan fight terror, helped Afghanistan stand back on its feet, live a good free life. A few days ago I was told that today was the day that I would have the good luck to meet with you ladies and gentlemen. "I'm glad. You've done a good job. May God bless you. The Afghan people are thankful for what you have done. Thank you very much."

That was the speech.

Hagenbeck, as a token of our appreciation, hands Karzai a 10th Mountain plaque.

Next comes the chaos and pandemonium of the press conference. Pushing, Elbows. Soldiers pull people aside and block the way. I crouch down and wedge my way front and center. Karzai takes one question from the loudmouth Fox guy, and says he's given the Americans the go ahead to move forward. The Chairman gives a noninformative answer to the Reuters question of how long? That question never gets a good answer. Karzai professess his gracious thanks and splits. The cluster of suits and Afghan fighters follows, boiling in his wake.

The Chairman steps out of the hangar, and a wind kicks up and fat raindrops splat on the dusty concrete outside. He steps into his Land Rover and the rain lets loose. It's as if Karzai has precipitated a cosmic meteorological moment. Now that's leadership.

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