“Sikander bhai… CNN! Switch on CNN!”
“What? What is it?” asked an alarmed Sikander.
“Please, bhai-jan! Just turn it on. Turn it on! There have been attacks in America. The World Trade Center in New York. Hit by aircraft!”
“Jamil!” Sikander had barely absorbed his brother’s words. “Calm down! An airplane hit the World Trade Center? Why…why do you say it was an attack? Couldn’t it just have been—”
“Bhai-jan, I didn’t say an aircraft, I said aircraft! There have been two airliners flown into the towers and now there’s smoke pouring out of them and…oh God! The people in there!”
“All right, come on.”
Everyone hurried into the TV room. Kausar’s indignation quickly evaporated as she absorbed the gravity of what Jamil had described. Sofie and Rabia had heard the commotion, and sensing something was amiss, Sofie directed Atiya to get the children off to bed.
As the picture took shape on the screen, news anchor Carol Lin was describing a third aircraft having hit the Pentagon, when the video image cut away from the studio to a street in New York. People were screaming and running away from the burning buildings.
And then the unthinkable happened.
Slowly, surreally, as if some evil, unseen hand had opened a giant trap door beneath it, the south tower appeared to sink into the ground. What had a moment earlier been a pall of billowing black smoke streaming away from the building became a giant inverted mushroom cloud of dense gray smoke and dust followed by debris and paper. Millions of pieces of paper. Some were laden with meaning; others had meaningless doodles scribbled amid yawns at the start of another boring meeting just an hour earlier. Yet others, blank and seeking meaning, now acquired one neither imagined nor imaginable. Together they descended, fluttering and wafting like so many white autumn leaves into the foul gray dust accumulating rapidly below.
The dust engulfed everything on the ground, blotting out the sun and the pristine lapis lazuli of that fateful New York sky. About half an hour after the first tower fell, now all too imaginably, the north tower followed suit. Now in the space where two buildings holding almost twenty thousand people had been standing just a couple of hours earlier, only one thing remained. Air.
The family was pinned to the TV all night. According to talk show hosts, commentators, and analysts, all signs pointed to al-Qaeda and only one place on earth. Afghanistan.
By early morning in Peshawar, which was the evening of September 11, in Washington, George W. Bush delivered a speech on national TV, seen live throughout an increasingly worried world that included Peshawar. Over the airwaves came chilling words: “We will make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who harbor them.”
Sikander’s family, having lost a night’s sleep, stared anxiously at each other when Bush’s speech was over.
The attacks resulted in the loss of almost three thousand lives from over eighty countries. They also liberated the U.S. government to do whatever it felt was needed to address the threat of al-Qaeda and, to the extent American interests were otherwise at stake, to pursue the adventure anywhere in the world that circumstances dictated. Speculation mounted about counterattacks on Afghanistan or raids to seek out and kidnap or kill Bin Laden and his entourage. Whether or not the United States wished to be back in Afghanistan, it would be back. And this time, directly.
Sikander and Rabia called Abdul Latif whenever they got the chance, just to be sure that things were all right, but communications grew more patchy than normal, with calls often being dropped due to circuit overloads. From what he and Rabia learned in their snippets of conversation with him, Abdul Majeed and Saleem were joining other Taliban to the west of Laghar Juy up in the Spin Ghar region. Sikander urged them to avoid any place likely to be a target for American attacks. At the time, he imagined an American response involving Tomahawk cruise missiles, similar to those following the embassy bombings. Sikander tried to persuade Abdul Latif to bring everyone over to the Pakistan side of the border to join Abdul Rahman and Ejaz. Abdul Latif said they would consider it, but Abdul Majeed and Saleem refused to hear of anything resembling abandonment of their fellow Taliban brothers.
All attention was focused on the likely U.S. response as American public opinion now clearly anticipated that it would be comprehensive and, contrary to Sikander’s more naïve hopes, not simply another round of cruise missiles fired at a few training camps. In Peshawar, as elsewhere, this was the only subject on people’s minds and lips.
Five days after the New York attacks, Sikander was in the office mulling over the scenarios that loomed over Pakistan and Afghanistan for the coming weeks and months. There was incessant chatter about how terrible the attacks had been, how years of bad U.S. foreign policy had created the monster that had attacked it, how this would affect life in Pakistan, how India might capitalize on the situation, and, of course, how everything had been secretly organized by the U.S. government anyway. The existence of the neoconservative Project for the New American Century received wide exposure in Pakistan as further evidence of the “conniving ways of the Americans.” Indeed, conspiracy theories were ripening just about everywhere, from society functions to sports events to local kebab and paan stalls, to say nothing of every taxicab in Peshawar. Every individual, no matter their station in life, seemed to have inside knowledge of what the Americans had really done and how the whole thing had been a set up.
It wasn’t long before Sikander was drawn into such a discussion with Jamil and Rehan at the office. He caught them in a conversation vying with each other as to whose theory was more Machiavellian.
“They wanted to create another Pearl Harbor for themselves,” declared Jamil. “Now they can pretty much do as they please and everyone in their country will be too afraid to stop them.”
Rehan nodded fiercely in agreement. “This has to be the work of the CIA. No doubt about it. And pretty soon—”
“Pretty soon you’ll run out of conspirators and conspiracies, Rehan!” interrupted Sikander’s voice from behind him.
“Khan sahib! I…I…didn’t—” stammered Rehan.
“Oh, relax, Rehan. I didn’t mean anything by it. But you’re talking about the wrong thing, you know. At least right now, instead of discussing how these things came about, we should be trying to understand what’s going to happen and what options there are. I’d begin with the facts before inventing conspiracies.”
“Meaning?” asked Jamil
Sikander looked at his watch, glanced over the mezzanine balcony, and saw that there was a lunchtime lull in customer activity in the sales section. He motioned to Rehan and Jamil to follow him into his office.
He was filled with anxiety, not least for his in-laws and his own considerable investment of time and risk to life and limb when fighting with the mujahideen. It had been for their country’s freedom, yet Afghanistan was, in so many ways, also his adopted country. He needed to have this conversation, and Jamil and Rehan were engaged in the subject anyway. They would have to do.
Sikander ushered them into the office, closed the door, and motioned for them to take seats. Rehan and Jamil were ill at ease at being asked to indulge in what at most other times would have been seen as idle chitchat. But these were no ordinary times.
“Let’s accept that it’s only a matter of time before the Americans come in force,” began Sikander.
“Huh! Let ‘em try. It’ll be like the Russians! Easy to get in, hard to get out!” scoffed Rehan.
Sikander studied Rehan. He was an honest, hard worker with a heavyset build, a tar-colored mustache, broad black eyebrows, and slightly greasy hair—in sharp contrast to his brilliant white dress shirt and red tie. He looked every inch a Pakistani white-collar worker. He was a superb salesman and had a strong patriotic streak. But he had little idea how the Russians’ fate had unfolded over ten years ago and none whatsoever of what it took to achieve. With a hint of a frown, Sikander swiveled in his chair and returned to what he felt was the sub
ject.
“Al-Qaeda is the target. It has to be destroyed. This much is clear,” he began. “It’ll require at the very least the key leaders…Bin Laden, Atef, and al-Zawahiri, and everyone else alleged to be involved with the New York attacks, to be surrendered to the U.S.”
“Yes, but—” began Jamil.
“—but the Taliban being who they are,” continued Sikander, “the Americans would fare better squeezing blood from stones before getting them to hand anyone over.”
Jamil nodded and Rehan swung his head from side to side, in characteristic sub-continental agreement.
“It’s the twenty-first century, but still, Melmasthia’s alive and well.” Sikander said.
“In any case,” Jamil chimed in, “they’re itching to remove the Taliban, so despite what they say, the Americans probably don’t want the Taliban to give up Bin Laden. Pushing this…this Mullah Omar into a corner by making non-negotiable demands to give up Bin Laden leaves him no room to comply without loss of face. That forces him to defend himself and al-Qaeda against an American onslaught. And there’s little doubt about how that’ll turn out.”
Sikander nodded. “So a plan requires either an impossibly deep rift to turn the Taliban against al-Qaeda, or else a devastation of the Taliban along with al-Qaeda. I can’t imagine a quick enough campaign to cause the necessary squabble between Bin Laden and Omar, which means that to destroy al-Qaeda, the Taliban must be ousted from power. And as you so aptly point out, Jamil, this is what the Americans want anyway. But that requires two more things.”
Rehan listened intently. Jamil and Sikander had clearly thought about the subject more deeply than he had.
“The first is to cut off their sustenance,” continued Sikander, “and the second is the installation of a credible alternative. Don’t forget that no one in their worst nightmare would be willing to stomach a return of the warlords and the lawlessness that came with them. Even Bush doesn’t want that.”
“So to dislodge the Taliban—” resumed Jamil, thinking aloud.
“—means focusing on Pakistan, the Taliban’s primary source of support,” Sikander filled in. “The Russians and Iranians are hardly likely to jump to the aid of the Pashtuns, and pretty much all they get from the Saudis comes through Pakistan.”
“Hmm…so we should prepare to be attacked as well then?” offered Rehan.
“No! Well, I hope not.” Sikander couldn’t dismiss such a notion entirely. “I suppose that the United States will turn to Musharraf and ask him—convincingly—to discontinue support for the Taliban. They’ll want us to stop supplying them and to block their escape from Afghanistan, or at the very least the escape of al-Qaeda people.”
“How will they persuade Musharraf?” asked Jamil.
“With a big carrot and a big stick.”
Sikander began speculating. “I’d be offering large payments to Musharraf and his military, and to Pakistan generally, and I’d be telling Pakistan that if we don’t acquiesce, we should expect to be bombed, or maybe India would get a signal that the United States would look the other way if they attacked us. Though I think with our nuclear weapons, the India card would be a tough one to play and a very high risk one at that.”
“Yes, but if India were to attack…” Jamil began building on Sikander’s thoughts, “Musharraf would have to deal with it, which would pave the way for America occupying Afghanistan and who knows, maybe even crossing into Pakistan, while Pakistan would be too preoccupied on its eastern front against India to do anything meaningful for the Taliban.”
Sikander wasn’t ready to agree with Jamil. His thoughts shifted to other factors. “Even China wouldn’t want to cross the U.S. right now, so we can’t rely on our traditional Chinese allies to hold off an Indian advance or even to help us if they get a strong U.S. signal to remain out of it. But I do agree, a Pakistan preoccupied by an Indian offensive will be a Pakistan unable to support the Taliban.”
“Actually, if the U.S. wants to distract Pakistan away from the Taliban, it won’t need an Indian attack,” observed Jamil. “It would just need a threat of one.”
“Meaning?” asked Rehan.
Sikander filled in. “Some incident could be arranged which would spark a massive response from India. They would move several divisions up against the Pakistani border. Musharraf would have to respond, and as long as things don’t spill over into a nuclear conflict, a stalemate would sap his resources, leaving little or nothing to support the Taliban,”
“So what do you think should happen next?” asked Rehan.
“I think Bush should probably convince Musharraf that any strategy other than wholehearted support for the U.S., including allowing the use of this country for getting equipment and supplies into Afghanistan, will be suicide.” Rehan and Jamil nodded.
“Do you think Musharraf can sell that to the public and more importantly, to his generals?” asked Rehan.
Sikander shrugged. “With enough sweeteners for the country and the generals. No matter what, though, I don’t think there’s a way to avoid a large attack on Afghanistan, and if the Northern Alliance people can put something coherent together, I’d be backing them with men and materials if I were Bush.”
Three days later, President Pervez Musharraf announced his decision to join the United States in its global war on terror. He had no choice, as he explained, because Pakistan could ill afford a U.S.-India axis against it.
While arguably an obvious decision, in the words of Deputy Secretary of State Richard Armitage, “it would be onerous” in its consequences. A Pakistani policy of support for the Taliban against the Northern Alliance had to be reversed abruptly, and that was something that deep loyalties on both sides would not readily permit. There were hundreds of Pakistani military personnel in Afghanistan, generally ISI military advisers. Besides, nearly seven years of presenting the Taliban in a positive light to the Pakistani public had been successful and could not be undone overnight.
Whatever the considerations, George W. Bush made things crystal clear in his speech of September 20 before a packed joint session of the U.S. Congress:
“The leadership of al-Qaeda has great influence in Afghanistan and supports the Taliban regime in controlling most of that country. In Afghanistan we see al-Qaeda's vision for the world. Afghanistan's people have been brutalized, many are starving, and many have fled. Women are not allowed to attend school. You can be jailed for owning a television. Religion can be practiced only as their leaders dictate. A man can be jailed in Afghanistan if his beard is not long enough. The United States respects the people of Afghanistan—after all, we are currently its largest source of humanitarian aid—but we condemn the Taliban regime. It is not only repressing its own people, it is threatening people everywhere by sponsoring and sheltering and supplying terrorists.
“By aiding and abetting murder, the Taliban regime is committing murder. And tonight the United States of America makes the following demands on the Taliban.
“Deliver to United States authorities all of the leaders of al-Qaeda who hide in your land.
“Release all foreign nationals, including American citizens you have unjustly imprisoned.
“Protect foreign journalists, diplomats, and aid workers in your country.
“Close immediately and permanently every terrorist training camp in Afghanistan.
“And hand over every terrorist and every person and their support structure to appropriate authorities.
“Give the United States full access to terrorist training camps, so we can make sure they are no longer operating.
“These demands are not open to negotiation or discussion. The Taliban must act, and act immediately. They will hand over the terrorists or they will share in their fate.”
A few days later, Pakistanis everywhere, particularly followers of the Jamiat ‘Ulema-e-Islam, began a march toward the Afghan border in support of the Taliban and al-Qaeda.
Two and a half weeks after President Bush’s pronouncements, US CENTCOM comm
ander General Tommy Franks declared himself ready for the Afghanistan invasion. His plans were locked and loaded. Most of the world, sympathetic to the U.S. national tragedy, stood fully behind the mission of ousting the Taliban regime and catching the al-Qaeda leadership to bring it to justice.
Sikander was constantly connected to some news source or other—CNN at home and in his office, or the local radio in his car.
Late on October 7, he and his family were watching TV, as had now become inevitable, when reports came in of attacks on Afghanistan having begun. At ten o’clock that night in Peshawar, George W. Bush was back on TV announcing Operation Enduring Freedom.
Though their minds had been prepared for something like this, no one expected it to be that night and everyone was deeply anxious. Rabia could only think of her country and her family back home in Laghar Juy, but especially of her Taliban brother and cousin who were now the avowed focus of American rage. Through messy entanglement of circumstance, their deaths would become a matter of American policy. She arose and went into the quiet lounge, sat on a sofa, nestled her head against her forearm on the armrest, and sobbed.
Sikander followed her, not wanting her to be alone. Sitting next to her he laid a hand gently on her shoulder without saying a word. She didn’t acknowledge him at first, but after a while leaned into him to seek a solace he was powerless to give.
“I’m sure they’ll be all right, Rabia. The Americans have smart weapons and they know who they’re after. They won’t attack the general people. We should pray for everyone there. That’s what we can do.”
“Why?” cried Rabia. “Why couldn’t you have fixed the car, Sikander?” she pleaded through her sobbing. “Why didn’t you go there and bring them back?”
“Rabia, I…” How could he tell her that he’d been too busy and that he had no idea that terror attacks in New York were about to transform their world. “I’m sorry.”
Sikander pondered his options. Paralysis didn’t come easily to him. Surely there was something he could do? Slowly, an idea took shape.
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