Really Sobering Dispatches doco. Tells you what it is like living in a place where there is a terrorist attack every four days or so. This doco follows the Police and the surviving victims and their relatives.
Also- I have never seen it before, but the third series of The Family is excellent. A real lesson for me in documentary story telling.
..
Showing posts with label pakistan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pakistan. Show all posts
December 03, 2010
March 14, 2009
WE DONT BUGGER CHILDREN INTO BECOMING SUICIDE BOMBERS
Recently I've blogged about The Sun lying about a British Muslim and they have stolen from me personally but they have quoted a source here so I feel that I should put this up. Cheers to Mike for the link.
EVIL al-Qaeda chiefs are raping young male converts to shame them into becoming suicide bombers, it emerged yesterday.
The intense social stigma and fear of more gay sex attacks leaves Muslims prepared to die.
The warped new tactic was revealed by a reformed Algerian militant. Abu Baçir El Assimi said: “The sexual act on young recruits aged between 16 to 19 was a means to urge them to commit suicide operations.” ...
Lets see if Al Qaeda sue now.
..
EVIL al-Qaeda chiefs are raping young male converts to shame them into becoming suicide bombers, it emerged yesterday.
The intense social stigma and fear of more gay sex attacks leaves Muslims prepared to die.
The warped new tactic was revealed by a reformed Algerian militant. Abu Baçir El Assimi said: “The sexual act on young recruits aged between 16 to 19 was a means to urge them to commit suicide operations.” ...
Lets see if Al Qaeda sue now.
..
March 13, 2009
WE DON'T TORTURE
According to evidence heard at the high court during proceedings brought on behalf of Binyam Mohamed, an interrogation policy that subsequently led to detainees being tortured in Pakistan was devised by MI5 lawyers and figures in government. The Guardian has learned from other sources that the interrogation policy was directed at a high level in Whitehall, and that it has been further developed since Mohamed's detention in 2002.
Last year Manchester crown court heard that MI5 and Greater Manchester police passed questions to officers of Pakistan's notorious Inter-Services Intelligence directorate (ISI) to be put to Rangzieb Ahmed, 35, from Rochdale, Greater Manchester, after he was detained in that country in August 2006. A judge later ruled that Ahmed was being illegally detained in inhumane conditions...
..
Last year Manchester crown court heard that MI5 and Greater Manchester police passed questions to officers of Pakistan's notorious Inter-Services Intelligence directorate (ISI) to be put to Rangzieb Ahmed, 35, from Rochdale, Greater Manchester, after he was detained in that country in August 2006. A judge later ruled that Ahmed was being illegally detained in inhumane conditions...
..
March 08, 2009
US Foreign Policy- Talking to People?
..."If you talk to General Petraeus, I think he would argue that part of the success in Iraq involved reaching out to people that we would consider to be Islamic fundamentalists, but who were willing to work with us because they had been completely alienated by the tactics of al-Qaida in Iraq," President Obama said.
"The situation in Afghanistan is, if anything, more complex.
"You have a less governed region, a history of fierce independence among tribes. Those tribes are multiple and sometimes operate at cross purposes, and so figuring all that out is going to be much more of a challenge."...
..
"The situation in Afghanistan is, if anything, more complex.
"You have a less governed region, a history of fierce independence among tribes. Those tribes are multiple and sometimes operate at cross purposes, and so figuring all that out is going to be much more of a challenge."...
..
February 20, 2009
February 17, 2009
SHARIAH LAW for Swat Valley
..Pakistan’s prime minister welcomed a peace accord with Taliban militants that will see Islamic law declared in a former tourist destination northwest of Islamabad..
..
..
January 13, 2009
Frontline
I never liked Tariq Ali very much. Watching him on the Stop The War stages he always came across as part of this back-slappin' glitterati/litterati old left elite. Reading his book which I have linked to in the sidebar I found out that he certainly knows his shit about Pakistan and experienced Pakistan from a very interesting point of view at a very interesting time. He is talking at The Frontline club tonight at 7 (GMT),
UPDATE: Well that was really good. This man has a great insight into the Pakistani situation whether you agree with his politics or not. The whole presentation is online here
..
UPDATE: Well that was really good. This man has a great insight into the Pakistani situation whether you agree with his politics or not. The whole presentation is online here
..
December 14, 2008
THIS IS NEWS?
Three-quarters of the most serious terror plots investigated by UK authorities are linked to Pakistan, claims Gordon Brown.
Saying the time had come for "action, not words" - the prime minister unveiled a pact against terror as he visited Pakistan for talks with its president.
Oh God here we go again. Six million pounds to who? For what? How is that de-radicalization money process going over here? Any results? Anyone?
..
Saying the time had come for "action, not words" - the prime minister unveiled a pact against terror as he visited Pakistan for talks with its president.
Oh God here we go again. Six million pounds to who? For what? How is that de-radicalization money process going over here? Any results? Anyone?
..
November 25, 2008
I didn't expect this from The Times
I haven't really got a lot of commentary about pot shots into Pakistan. Its "off my territory" shall I say. I read about it, I read the usual reactions from the usual people. This, from Patrick Mercer stood out-
A death that plays into terrorists' hands
We cannot respect human rights at home and be complicit in the killing of suspects abroad
The Foreign and Commonwealth Office has not yet confirmed whether Rauf was the target of the attack. But whether he was or not, this strike raises significant questions about this Government's counter-terrorism policy and I shall be calling for clarification from the Foreign Secretary, David Miliband, about British counter-terrorism operations in these circumstances...
there is more
A death that plays into terrorists' hands
We cannot respect human rights at home and be complicit in the killing of suspects abroad
The Foreign and Commonwealth Office has not yet confirmed whether Rauf was the target of the attack. But whether he was or not, this strike raises significant questions about this Government's counter-terrorism policy and I shall be calling for clarification from the Foreign Secretary, David Miliband, about British counter-terrorism operations in these circumstances...
there is more
October 22, 2008
Sunny's Guardian Article
...Last year, a British born and trained journalist of Pakistani origin, Waseem Mahmood, got together a bunch of well-known Pakistani actors and singers to compose a song against terrorism titled Yeh Hum Naheen (This is not us). It quickly became a sensation and inspired a petition against terrorism launched earlier this year that enlisted the help of over 9,000 volunteers to gather over 60 million signatures from across the country. It is being entered into the Guinness Books of Records as the biggest petition ever...
October 16, 2008
May 06, 2008
HEARTS AND MINDS IS ALL ABOUT YAK POLO
via Pickled Politics
We will never be successful in pacifying Afghanistan (and the NWFP) unless the vast majority of the population choose not to take arms up against us. Now, having to cancel your polo game and suffering financially is not as bad as having your house blown up or being jailed without trial for years. However, in its own way, it demonstrates how the pig-headiness of a few can create problems for the many. How many Wakhi will now take up arms against NATO and Pakistani troops? Why couldn’t the CIA listening post have been placed elsewhere, or moved, or simply endured a game or two of yak polo? Britain and the rest are not just fighting a war in Afghanistan, they are fighting for a peace as well. That peace will only come if we stop doing things like this.
We will never be successful in pacifying Afghanistan (and the NWFP) unless the vast majority of the population choose not to take arms up against us. Now, having to cancel your polo game and suffering financially is not as bad as having your house blown up or being jailed without trial for years. However, in its own way, it demonstrates how the pig-headiness of a few can create problems for the many. How many Wakhi will now take up arms against NATO and Pakistani troops? Why couldn’t the CIA listening post have been placed elsewhere, or moved, or simply endured a game or two of yak polo? Britain and the rest are not just fighting a war in Afghanistan, they are fighting for a peace as well. That peace will only come if we stop doing things like this.
April 13, 2007
Do also watch Uncle Jimbo's friday freefly. The first bit is mainly of interest to American's. The middle bit deals with the frustration your average right winger who wants to "go and do something about it" feels when the world just doesn't fit to their concept of "winning" no matter how many billions of dollars worth of munitions get thrown about. These guys are going to work it out.
Also do check Channel 4' s excellent piece about fighting in the tribal territories of Pakistan.
The Pakistani government says these battles are the result of deals it has made over the last two years with its Pushtun tribes. But tribal leaders in South Waziristan say they took on the Uzbeks simply because they were behaving like criminals and bandits.
The commander Hanan: "I swear by the Koran, we did not move against them at the request of the government. The reason is their activities. "For the last three or four years, we have treated them as guests for the sake of Allah. But when people leave the path of God and start killing people just because they won't give them shelter or money, this is cruelty which we cannot accept."
So whatever President Musharraf might say, it's far from clear whether these men have turned against the Taliban - the fighting might just be the result of clan rivalries within the Taliban.
December 29, 2005
I have to tell you, there is close to zero security along much of the Pakistani border. There are no roadblocks (other than ones we set up ourselves for a few days at a stretch), there are no roving border patrols; there are only a few widely dispersed observation posts at the top of various mountain peaks, too far away to stop and check foot and vehicle traffic even if they wanted to (which they evidently do not).
Essentially, the border -- although technically “closed to commerce” (smugglers often trek their goods over the hills by mule to avoid notice) -- is an open sieve, allowing Taliban and al-Qaeda forces near complete freedom of movement in and out of the country. Still, the Pakistanis claim to be an “ally” in the hunt for bin Laden and his cronies. With friends like these, who needs enemies? In my not-so-humble opinion, we will never find UBL or eradicate the remaining ACMs without unfettered access across the border and into the heart of Pakistan. Invasion, if you will.
I would, but I know we won’t.
Like Cambodia was for the Vietcong, al-Qaeda will continue to use Pakistan as a safe haven and launching pad for further attacks on coalition forces for as long as they know that it is politically off limits to us.
I seem to recall the Bush Doctrine as stating that all terrorists, and any nations that harbor them, will be held equally to account.
Apply your doctrine, Mr. Bush. The Paki’s are not our friends.
Essentially, the border -- although technically “closed to commerce” (smugglers often trek their goods over the hills by mule to avoid notice) -- is an open sieve, allowing Taliban and al-Qaeda forces near complete freedom of movement in and out of the country. Still, the Pakistanis claim to be an “ally” in the hunt for bin Laden and his cronies. With friends like these, who needs enemies? In my not-so-humble opinion, we will never find UBL or eradicate the remaining ACMs without unfettered access across the border and into the heart of Pakistan. Invasion, if you will.
I would, but I know we won’t.
Like Cambodia was for the Vietcong, al-Qaeda will continue to use Pakistan as a safe haven and launching pad for further attacks on coalition forces for as long as they know that it is politically off limits to us.
I seem to recall the Bush Doctrine as stating that all terrorists, and any nations that harbor them, will be held equally to account.
Apply your doctrine, Mr. Bush. The Paki’s are not our friends.
October 04, 2005
THE AFGHAN BORDER
I decided to see if I could walk up the the Afghan border anyway. It was aparently quite close but I had no idea how close. I couldn't sleep the previous night. Garum Cheshma's (extreme left of map) local nutter (alchoholic?) was banging on my door. I didn't open it. I had arrived the previous day on a jeep travelling through some Cecil B DeMille scale cliffscapes.
The town was typical North West frontier province. Beautiful landscape with not a woman to be seen. I was severely questioning the health of a society where the fairer sex are completely removed from view, and had totally forgotten why I was in Pakistan. I missed the easy, India hippie-hypocrisy to which I had almost grown familiar.
I had just finnished a breakfast of boiled goat with rice with an audience of schoolboys staring at me. I was breaking my vegetarian vow for the first time since I had done Vipassna in Jaipur 3 months earlier. I walked maybe 10 minutes up "the road to Afghanistan" before I encountered a farm, where two young girls stood staring at me over a gate laughing at me.
I carefully ignored them, looking round for their dad who I expected to be running at me with an AK-47. He turned up, obviously a bit startled seeing a facially-pierced hippie with bones sticking out of his ears on his way to Afghanistan, but not disturbed at all about the vicinity of his un-burkahed daughters. I was to encounter female Muslims only with the farming folk of the North west frontier province, outside the towns.
"Afghanistan?" I asked him, pointing. He nodded.
"Far?" I asked, spreading my arms.
He almost gave me the Indian head wobble.
"Don't fucking start that." I said to him. "I'm not in India now."
he laughed, having not understood a word.
I carried on walking with less certainty through heart achingly beautiful landscape. What the hell was I doing? What did I want to do? I vaguely thought that I would walk up to the border, shake hands with the "border guards" and then walk back down. I had no intention of actually crossing as I heard that the Taliban incarcerated beardless ones until their beard was a fist length.
What if I missed the border crossing totally and found myself in Afghanistan with no visa? What if there was no marked border and these "border guards" were part of my imagination? What the hell was I doing in Pakistan?
Suddenly through my drug hazzed memories of the last six months in India I remembered. Before I had left the UK, while I was still agonising about where to go I had read in the Pakistan Lonely plonker about a tribe called the Kallash. I had decided to try and get to them, using Pakistan to renew my India visa, as I knew in the UK that the Nepali set up was no longer fail safe. I had forgotten all of this in six months of drug taking frenzy but heading up onto the Hindu Kush it came back to me in the nick of time.
I knew these guys were around here somewhere. I turned round and headed back to Garam Cheshma. There I borded the next jeep back to Chitral, everyone staring at me. When in this situation in India I would find the local groccer and swap my bones for chillies to make people laugh. I did this. No one laughed. They looked even more disturbed by my ear-wizardry. I was so lonely passing back through the golden rocks. In Chitral I walked through the centre of town up to the mini-bus terminus I had arrived at two days before.
"Infidel! Herretic!" I heard in shouts and whispers as I passed. The day before I had only heard whispers. I wanted to get out before it turned into action.
"The Kallash tribe, are they far?" I asked the guys with the jeeps.
"No. In the next valley. maybe 4 or 5 hours? You can hire a jeep, 400 ruppes..."
I had grown used to this in India and knew the next question to ask.
"Is there local bus or jeep?"
"Yes. It is 25 rupees. We leave when there are enough passengers." the guy answered.
It took about another 3 hours until enough passengers had gathered and we left. I sat next to a smarmy buisnessman in shalwar-kamieeze and sunglasses. He had a greasy forehead and looked like he had money.
About 30 minutes into the journey he revealed his intentions on visiting the Kalash.
"I go to find young girls for sex."
"Oh yes...?" I answered, encouraging him with more rope.
For more than an hour he spoke of his business trips through every major Islamic country in the middle east, how much he had to pay for sex in each and how young the girls were. I nodded occasionally. I hoped the Kallash had not lowered themselves to this. He seemed uncertain.
We crossed the river and after a really hairy jeep ride half way up a river valley we eventually alighted. I was a bit disturbed as I didn't see anyone who looked Kallash. All the other passengers were Muslim and were content to stay at the Muslim guesthouse we had come to. I wandered off a bit.
The sleaze merchant followed.
"I come with you!" he said.
"No!" I shouted, bringing my hand down to emphasise the parting of our friendship, my face going red. "I go alone. Do NOT follow."
I did not want to have my first encounter with the Kallash standing next to this filth.
All the way up the valley I saw Muslim guest houses with Muslim patrons. Where were the Kallash? I thought this was their valley. I asked someone who pointed up the hillside. I walked up the hillside until I found houses which looked markedly different right at the top, where village ended and mountain began.
A woman came round the corner in a long black dress with a bright cowrie shell head-dress. She was smiling.
"You are Kallash?" I asked.
"Yes. You stay with us?" she asked.
"Yes please!!!" I wailed.
The town was typical North West frontier province. Beautiful landscape with not a woman to be seen. I was severely questioning the health of a society where the fairer sex are completely removed from view, and had totally forgotten why I was in Pakistan. I missed the easy, India hippie-hypocrisy to which I had almost grown familiar.
I had just finnished a breakfast of boiled goat with rice with an audience of schoolboys staring at me. I was breaking my vegetarian vow for the first time since I had done Vipassna in Jaipur 3 months earlier. I walked maybe 10 minutes up "the road to Afghanistan" before I encountered a farm, where two young girls stood staring at me over a gate laughing at me.
I carefully ignored them, looking round for their dad who I expected to be running at me with an AK-47. He turned up, obviously a bit startled seeing a facially-pierced hippie with bones sticking out of his ears on his way to Afghanistan, but not disturbed at all about the vicinity of his un-burkahed daughters. I was to encounter female Muslims only with the farming folk of the North west frontier province, outside the towns.
"Afghanistan?" I asked him, pointing. He nodded.
"Far?" I asked, spreading my arms.
He almost gave me the Indian head wobble.
"Don't fucking start that." I said to him. "I'm not in India now."
he laughed, having not understood a word.
I carried on walking with less certainty through heart achingly beautiful landscape. What the hell was I doing? What did I want to do? I vaguely thought that I would walk up to the border, shake hands with the "border guards" and then walk back down. I had no intention of actually crossing as I heard that the Taliban incarcerated beardless ones until their beard was a fist length.
What if I missed the border crossing totally and found myself in Afghanistan with no visa? What if there was no marked border and these "border guards" were part of my imagination? What the hell was I doing in Pakistan?
Suddenly through my drug hazzed memories of the last six months in India I remembered. Before I had left the UK, while I was still agonising about where to go I had read in the Pakistan Lonely plonker about a tribe called the Kallash. I had decided to try and get to them, using Pakistan to renew my India visa, as I knew in the UK that the Nepali set up was no longer fail safe. I had forgotten all of this in six months of drug taking frenzy but heading up onto the Hindu Kush it came back to me in the nick of time.
I knew these guys were around here somewhere. I turned round and headed back to Garam Cheshma. There I borded the next jeep back to Chitral, everyone staring at me. When in this situation in India I would find the local groccer and swap my bones for chillies to make people laugh. I did this. No one laughed. They looked even more disturbed by my ear-wizardry. I was so lonely passing back through the golden rocks. In Chitral I walked through the centre of town up to the mini-bus terminus I had arrived at two days before.
"Infidel! Herretic!" I heard in shouts and whispers as I passed. The day before I had only heard whispers. I wanted to get out before it turned into action.
"The Kallash tribe, are they far?" I asked the guys with the jeeps.
"No. In the next valley. maybe 4 or 5 hours? You can hire a jeep, 400 ruppes..."
I had grown used to this in India and knew the next question to ask.
"Is there local bus or jeep?"
"Yes. It is 25 rupees. We leave when there are enough passengers." the guy answered.
It took about another 3 hours until enough passengers had gathered and we left. I sat next to a smarmy buisnessman in shalwar-kamieeze and sunglasses. He had a greasy forehead and looked like he had money.
About 30 minutes into the journey he revealed his intentions on visiting the Kalash.
"I go to find young girls for sex."
"Oh yes...?" I answered, encouraging him with more rope.
For more than an hour he spoke of his business trips through every major Islamic country in the middle east, how much he had to pay for sex in each and how young the girls were. I nodded occasionally. I hoped the Kallash had not lowered themselves to this. He seemed uncertain.
We crossed the river and after a really hairy jeep ride half way up a river valley we eventually alighted. I was a bit disturbed as I didn't see anyone who looked Kallash. All the other passengers were Muslim and were content to stay at the Muslim guesthouse we had come to. I wandered off a bit.
The sleaze merchant followed.
"I come with you!" he said.
"No!" I shouted, bringing my hand down to emphasise the parting of our friendship, my face going red. "I go alone. Do NOT follow."
I did not want to have my first encounter with the Kallash standing next to this filth.
All the way up the valley I saw Muslim guest houses with Muslim patrons. Where were the Kallash? I thought this was their valley. I asked someone who pointed up the hillside. I walked up the hillside until I found houses which looked markedly different right at the top, where village ended and mountain began.
A woman came round the corner in a long black dress with a bright cowrie shell head-dress. She was smiling.
"You are Kallash?" I asked.
"Yes. You stay with us?" she asked.
"Yes please!!!" I wailed.
January 14, 2005
November 06, 2004
Michael Palin
This is well late, Things are going on behind the scenes in documentaryville which I can't surmise in words yet so meanwhile:
I am sad to see the end of Palin's journey through the Himalaya on TV this Sunday. A couple of weeks back I watched him do almost exactly the same trip I did in 1999. I cried when I saw the kallash tribe a few of whom I recognised.
He did the same English lesson in the same school that every westerner who visits does (hand,finger,leg,foot etc.)only when I did it, as soon as the teacher left the room they all started attacking each other really violently. The teacher came back in and hit one of them with a thin branch.
This saddened me, but when he left they ignored me and started hitting each other again. Amazing, almost ferral kids with thick hard dead skin on the front of their feet from long, cold winters sitting by the fire.
Muslims gave me such a hard time in Pakistan these guys were like an oasis to me. I remember meeting a few Pakistani, Afghan and British Taliban who were passing through the valley at the time. I wonder if the change in political climate has affected the Kallash. What a beautiful people.
I am sad to see the end of Palin's journey through the Himalaya on TV this Sunday. A couple of weeks back I watched him do almost exactly the same trip I did in 1999. I cried when I saw the kallash tribe a few of whom I recognised.
He did the same English lesson in the same school that every westerner who visits does (hand,finger,leg,foot etc.)only when I did it, as soon as the teacher left the room they all started attacking each other really violently. The teacher came back in and hit one of them with a thin branch.
This saddened me, but when he left they ignored me and started hitting each other again. Amazing, almost ferral kids with thick hard dead skin on the front of their feet from long, cold winters sitting by the fire.
Muslims gave me such a hard time in Pakistan these guys were like an oasis to me. I remember meeting a few Pakistani, Afghan and British Taliban who were passing through the valley at the time. I wonder if the change in political climate has affected the Kallash. What a beautiful people.
May 14, 2004
MALUNG TV, BBC NEWS, In FINSBURY PARK.
The next week I couldn't convince J. to come down. Asif Hanif had become the first British suicide bomber in Israel and I knew Finsbury Park would be hot.
" They are all terrorists.. My cause is environmental. Tuvalu is disappearing into the sea and you want me to film a bunch of terrorists.,” said J over the phone.
He could not be swayed. The idea of money entered my head.
" Maybe we could earn money from this..?"
At this he got angry. I knew he had been a good professional journalist many years previously in New Zealand.
" I don't want money!..I don't want to be your employee! You want money? " He put the phone down.
I was in finsbury Park with no camera. Ah well, I suppose I will just have to watch what happens again. My mobile rang, it was the BBC.
“ I hear you get to speak to Abu Hamza “
“eer..Well..” the idea of a second mainstream media infiltration was suddenly on the cards. How had they got my number? It must have been J.
" Would you film for us? "
" Err..."
“ We’ll have a camera crew there in 10 minutes.”
Another TV station phoned. Channel 5 I think.
“ Would you like to film for us? “
“ Err.. Well I’m filming for the BBC but they haven’t offered me any money?”
“ Oh well we’ll get our stuff from ITN.”
I bumped into Colin Baker who I recognised from ITN.
“ Are you filming for the BBC? “ he asked.
“ Apparently…”
He was with another journalist I recognised from the TV who he made buy me a coffee.
" He's after a favour from me.." Colin confided.
" Sugar? " asked the other TV journalist sourly.
" One please.."
I liked Colin. He gave me loads of encouragement. I thought of the traditional rivalry between BBC and ITV news. Hmm I was up against Colin Baker. That makes me a top bollocks newsman. Rather than rivalling I showed him who Mr. Abdullah was and what I knew of what had been happening. He gave Mr. Abdullah quite a polite and professional grilling. One of the masked guys made sure he was in the background of the camera shot. A cameraman turned up for me with a burly security guard. I wasn't ready for this. I wanted to document how fundamental Islamists felt, not frighten them off. I knew the question I would get paid for but was in no way sure how to get to it with Hamza.
I asked Mr. Abdullah if he knew Asif Hanif. I could tell straight away that with a BBC camera he viewed me as having changed sides for money. When Abu Hamza preached I noticed he spoke very specifically from the Koran against suicide and against killing innocents. At the end I watched Colin in full ITN “ do you refute these allegations” mode. I think someone punched him in the guts, which looked quite funny. I went forward with huge stupid woolly microphone, South African cameraman and a burly BBC security dude in tow. I started asking if there was a truth and reconciliation council set up would he join it.
" Err between who and who? " said Hamza.
"Err..." I wasn't ready for this.
NO COMMENT shouted the short guy. He was annoying. I repeated the question, louder. He started to move from me. I suppose this was unfair journalism. No one but me had suggested the idea of a truth and reconciliation council and here I was asking him to comment on it. For the BBC. He started to walk. The last thing I wanted was to be just another media person chasing after Hamza with a camera but that was exactly what was happening. Afterwards I discussed with Colin the fundamentalists view that they broadcast what the government told them and asked him if he had ever been censored.
" I can honestly put my hand on my heart.." he started. I made him do this before he carried on.
" I can put my hand on my heart and say that I've always had complete editorial control over what I do"
He advised me against journalistic training, saying most people he knew in TV had none and to the others it was often a detriment. I didn't see his report but got the impression he thought Hamza was a terrorist. I knew a lot of my video activist friends would have thought Colin Baker was part of the establishment, but I had become bored with the moral superiority of the underground media " Us and them" attitude and wanted to find out for myself. I was determined to keep an open mind about everyone I met on this bizarre journey, Abu Hamza included.
The next week I turned up and no one wanted to talk to me especially Mr. Abdullah. I could see they felt that when I had my own camera I asked one sort of question, yet when I joined what they viewed as the opposition I had taken their line. They did not believe in a free press, but thought the press worked directly for the government. The question I had asked was genuinely mine but maybe I had been coloured by the idea of earning some money. I had no idea what would happen being more malung than professional journalist. It had gone wrong but didn’t put me off the story. I don’t think the BBC showed any of it. My second attempt at mainstream media infiltration had failed and I didn’t hear from the BBC again.
With successes and failures I had become intrigued as to who British fundamental Islamists actually were as people. I was struck by that surprise glimmer of national pride I had felt with the reality of the situation at Finsbury Park. I got the feeling that London must be one of the most successfully racially integrated places on the face of the planet and that was something to celebrate with a film, rather than making a dogmatic film complaining about Police or government.
Given the situation, it seemed to me that Britain and London in particular was actually the best place in the world to actively seek a solution to this problem and I was angry that no one in government was doing so. It seemed bizarre how the media had focused so much energy around one person, and how much Hamza was up for it, more or less giving them what they wanted. The idea of documenting the war on terror as it unfolded from the perspective of Finsbury Park mosque intrigued me.
I got a surprise call from J. Tom Hurndall; a young British Student Journalist who had been shot by Israeli troops in Palestine was being flown back to a Hampstead hospital. His parents who were flying with him were giving a press conference. I ran from my house across Hampstead heath to find lots of TV cameras in the foyer of the hospital. J. was there apparently wearing pyjama trousers and an Army Jacket with nervous security guards trying to convince him to leave. The press liaison officer of the hospital came out and invited all with press cards to the hospital conference room. We went in with everyone else.
The nervous security tried to throw J. out. The press liaison officer walked in and announced that the conference was for those with journalist cards only. We sat tight. She came back and asked me personally to leave. Not wanting to stress out Tom's parents in such conditions I tried to persuade J. to leave with me. He told me to fuck off. As he sat there I couldn't tell if he was going to cry or go ballistic. I apologised to the organisers.
The security said I should get my mate out or they would throw him out. I told them how he had been close filming battles with Riot police for 30 years and if they wanted to get him out they should get six of their friends just in case. They looked at each other nervously. The press liaison lady was really nice. I explained that I didn't want to cause trouble. I thought Tom, being a student journalist himself would have approved of us being there. Christopher Peacock from ITN was there smiling. He seemed to shine with a beatific glow. Gillian Joseph was there again. She spoke to the press liaison lady for us, which she didn't have to do; I thought it was really nice of her, she is very beautiful.
She came back in and told me everything was OK and the conference was going ahead. I didn't ask many questions of Tom's parents, the previous events having put me off my stride, but it was good to hear about the realities of Palestine from normal, Hampstead Londoners with no axe to grind no flag to fly, just a natural parents concern for a child. I got a feeling-, which I still have, that they will have an important further part to play in the story of the Palestine/Israeli conflict.
The next week Abu Hamza was still about. I found out that Blunkett had sunk himself with the wording of the very law designed to rid us all of the troublesome Hamza. As far as I could tell, you could throw someone out of the country if they had a country to go to but not if they would be stateless. When Hamza had become a British citizen he had given up his Egyptian citizenship and therefore had no country to go to and would be stateless. I wondered how David Blunkett had found himself in such a ridiculous position.
The whole thing seemed absurd to me. The Sun and the world’s media was here accusing, yet no police were arresting. I had read about Hamza's 16-year-old son being arrested for trying to break back into the mosque. Apparently he broke someone’s jaw when they came to arrest him. I had an idea to edit the stuff we had of the kids protest into a film and thought it would be great to have an interview with Abu Hamzas son in it.
I tried to ask Hamza. I was without a camera in the media scrum but he kept turning his face away from me, trying to ignore me, obviously still angry about my BBC ventures before, which I was also frantically trying to explain. Journalists were shouting at me to fuck off. As he was turning his face this way and that I didn't notice two police had joined in until they had the short angry guy with his arms up behind his back. All the supposedly dangerous guys with masks stepped back. Not thinking twice and used to speaking to Police in a lot more heated situations on Mayday demos I jumped in to reason with them. They eventually let go and the Finsbury crew moved off. It was at this point I sort of decided to give up with Hamza. He just seemed to egotistical for me and too into his media image.
I didn't agree with a lot of what Mr Abdullah said, but got the gut feeling that he was speaking from his heart. His whole demeanour was just totally unterrorist like. And he stood next to Hamza. I decided to concentrate more on him if he would speak to me. I remembered my all time favourite documentary Nick Broomfield had made about Eugene Terrablanche in South Africa where he had gone after Terrablanche but ended up making a film with his chauffeur. I wondered if I was in a similar situation.
I managed to befriend a younger Muslim guy who had been watching my antics with amusement. We went to an Internet cafe where he showed me his website which had animated gifs of flamethrowers burning U.S, U.N and Israeli flags. He didn't seem like a terrorist or likely to blow himself up at any point in the near future but he knew what he believed and why.
Like a lot of young Muslims he is fiercely intelligent, but he had a laid back demeanour and could listen to my criticisms and come back with well thought out measured answers. I learnt a lot from him about how young British Islamists felt. Unfortunately he would not appear on camera, a situation I was to encounter all too often with young fundamental Islamists. He spoke to me about Taliban trucks driving through Karachi recruiting youngsters for the war in Afghanistan. Apparently a lot of kids jumped in without telling their parents where they were going.
He said that Abu Hamza had advised young Muslims in Finsbury Park to go to Afghanistan just to know what it felt like to live under real Islamic law. He told me that Taliban just meant " student." I asked him whether they were teaching each other to use Kalashnikovs in the Mosque before it closed. He said he had never seen a gun in the mosque and that surely if they were going to do that, hiding in a safe house would be less blatant than testing out guns in a mosque. He thought the story laughable. I asked him if he or his friends had ever fired a Kalashnikov.
" No have you? " he asked
I had to admit that I had. A lot of travelers in Asia told of a place in Pakistan called Dara where they made Kalashnikovs and other handguns with machine tools. Apparently kids made bullets in the street by hand. As I was in Peshawar I thought what the hell. I had befriended a German guy. I don't usually get on with Germans, yet when you find one with a sense of humor they usually have a wickedly dry sense of humor. He was that sort of German. Dara was in tribal territory officially off limits to foreigners but we thought we'd give it a go. The bus, as usual for Pakistan, was stuffed full of men with no women anywhere. One of the other passengers turned round.
" Where are you going? "
" Dara. " we answered.
" What for? "
" We need weapons!" I announced dramatically.
" You can't go to Dara! Dara is tribal territory!"
" My friend is tribal from England and I am tribal from Germany." my new German friend answered.
" Oh..." I watched the guy explain this to the person sitting next to him in Urdu and nodded seriously and aggressively in the right places.
" Oh..." said the other guy seriously. He had obviously not heard of tribal wars in the UK and was having trouble picturing tattooed and pierced warriors fighting tribal wars against... err...beefeaters?
We carried this on in Dara where as promised we saw kids making bullets in the street. We were offered an Arnie style pump action shotgun to fire or a Kalashnikov and went for the later. We tried to order 400 of each for our tribal wars back home. The vendor helpfully offered us pen guns, which were more concealable. They were the size of a pen but much heavier. He fired one into a wall, which made me jump back.
" Fucking hell, you could kill someone with that! "
On the way home we were pulled off the bus at a Police roadblock. They gave us a full on search asking us if we had bought pen guns. Unfortunately they found a lump of hash in my pocket. The guy in charge who seemed very camp made a big deal of having to arrest me. I offered them money.
" Maybe you want to say that a little slower for him." my German friend said helpfully.
" Do you want money?" I asked again. He reached into my pocket and grabbed my money.
" Yes this is your money!" he answered and put it back.
I got a sinking feeling. I was composing a letter in my head to my mum.
“ Don't pay any baksheesh, just leave me here. I am really sorry.. “
but my German friend carried on talking to them calmly. The guy in charge was still saying how he was going to arrest me and take me to jail as he flagged down another bus, put us on it and waved goodbye. It was at that point that I realized they were all stoned. I waved goodbye smiling. They were all in fits of laughter and were probably pleased to have another lump of hash to smoke.
Not knowing what to do I transferred all we had on tape from the kids and Finsbury Park to my computer and looked through it all. I decided to have a go at editing the kids stuff into a film. At the beginning, to put it all in a strange context I put Mr. Abdullah in shouting
" And you accept Bush and Blair to say that this was done in the name of Jesus? Jesus, peace be upon him said Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall inherit the earth. Is this peace? Is this what Jesus was talking about? "
My first attempt at editing was really obsessive. I hardly slept for ten days and was constantly stoned. As I put music to film I was totally re-awed by what the kids had actually done. I put Hamza's comments about the kids running the country at the end and Mr. Abdullah:
" If you got a kind little furry animal, it doesn't do anyone any harm and you push it into a corner and its being prodded and poked, eventually that animal will turn round and bite you. This is what is happening in the Muslim world today."
I had no idea what had happened in the mosque before, but what Mr. Abdullah had told me that day, four days into the war I thought was worth reporting.
It was decided that concrete blocks be put up around parliament to deter suicide bombers. Now before the Iraq war there were no concrete blocks. Apparently Iraq had been attacked for our safety, and after the event concrete blocks go up. Hmmm...Something about this made me wonder if someone inside government had the feeling that attacking Iraq had made London less safe. With these blocks being the only physical thing we could see of the expense the government had gone to on taxpayers behalf I wondered if these weren't the most expensive concrete blocks in the world.
" They are all terrorists.. My cause is environmental. Tuvalu is disappearing into the sea and you want me to film a bunch of terrorists.,” said J over the phone.
He could not be swayed. The idea of money entered my head.
" Maybe we could earn money from this..?"
At this he got angry. I knew he had been a good professional journalist many years previously in New Zealand.
" I don't want money!..I don't want to be your employee! You want money? " He put the phone down.
I was in finsbury Park with no camera. Ah well, I suppose I will just have to watch what happens again. My mobile rang, it was the BBC.
“ I hear you get to speak to Abu Hamza “
“eer..Well..” the idea of a second mainstream media infiltration was suddenly on the cards. How had they got my number? It must have been J.
" Would you film for us? "
" Err..."
“ We’ll have a camera crew there in 10 minutes.”
Another TV station phoned. Channel 5 I think.
“ Would you like to film for us? “
“ Err.. Well I’m filming for the BBC but they haven’t offered me any money?”
“ Oh well we’ll get our stuff from ITN.”
I bumped into Colin Baker who I recognised from ITN.
“ Are you filming for the BBC? “ he asked.
“ Apparently…”
He was with another journalist I recognised from the TV who he made buy me a coffee.
" He's after a favour from me.." Colin confided.
" Sugar? " asked the other TV journalist sourly.
" One please.."
I liked Colin. He gave me loads of encouragement. I thought of the traditional rivalry between BBC and ITV news. Hmm I was up against Colin Baker. That makes me a top bollocks newsman. Rather than rivalling I showed him who Mr. Abdullah was and what I knew of what had been happening. He gave Mr. Abdullah quite a polite and professional grilling. One of the masked guys made sure he was in the background of the camera shot. A cameraman turned up for me with a burly security guard. I wasn't ready for this. I wanted to document how fundamental Islamists felt, not frighten them off. I knew the question I would get paid for but was in no way sure how to get to it with Hamza.
I asked Mr. Abdullah if he knew Asif Hanif. I could tell straight away that with a BBC camera he viewed me as having changed sides for money. When Abu Hamza preached I noticed he spoke very specifically from the Koran against suicide and against killing innocents. At the end I watched Colin in full ITN “ do you refute these allegations” mode. I think someone punched him in the guts, which looked quite funny. I went forward with huge stupid woolly microphone, South African cameraman and a burly BBC security dude in tow. I started asking if there was a truth and reconciliation council set up would he join it.
" Err between who and who? " said Hamza.
"Err..." I wasn't ready for this.
NO COMMENT shouted the short guy. He was annoying. I repeated the question, louder. He started to move from me. I suppose this was unfair journalism. No one but me had suggested the idea of a truth and reconciliation council and here I was asking him to comment on it. For the BBC. He started to walk. The last thing I wanted was to be just another media person chasing after Hamza with a camera but that was exactly what was happening. Afterwards I discussed with Colin the fundamentalists view that they broadcast what the government told them and asked him if he had ever been censored.
" I can honestly put my hand on my heart.." he started. I made him do this before he carried on.
" I can put my hand on my heart and say that I've always had complete editorial control over what I do"
He advised me against journalistic training, saying most people he knew in TV had none and to the others it was often a detriment. I didn't see his report but got the impression he thought Hamza was a terrorist. I knew a lot of my video activist friends would have thought Colin Baker was part of the establishment, but I had become bored with the moral superiority of the underground media " Us and them" attitude and wanted to find out for myself. I was determined to keep an open mind about everyone I met on this bizarre journey, Abu Hamza included.
The next week I turned up and no one wanted to talk to me especially Mr. Abdullah. I could see they felt that when I had my own camera I asked one sort of question, yet when I joined what they viewed as the opposition I had taken their line. They did not believe in a free press, but thought the press worked directly for the government. The question I had asked was genuinely mine but maybe I had been coloured by the idea of earning some money. I had no idea what would happen being more malung than professional journalist. It had gone wrong but didn’t put me off the story. I don’t think the BBC showed any of it. My second attempt at mainstream media infiltration had failed and I didn’t hear from the BBC again.
With successes and failures I had become intrigued as to who British fundamental Islamists actually were as people. I was struck by that surprise glimmer of national pride I had felt with the reality of the situation at Finsbury Park. I got the feeling that London must be one of the most successfully racially integrated places on the face of the planet and that was something to celebrate with a film, rather than making a dogmatic film complaining about Police or government.
Given the situation, it seemed to me that Britain and London in particular was actually the best place in the world to actively seek a solution to this problem and I was angry that no one in government was doing so. It seemed bizarre how the media had focused so much energy around one person, and how much Hamza was up for it, more or less giving them what they wanted. The idea of documenting the war on terror as it unfolded from the perspective of Finsbury Park mosque intrigued me.
I got a surprise call from J. Tom Hurndall; a young British Student Journalist who had been shot by Israeli troops in Palestine was being flown back to a Hampstead hospital. His parents who were flying with him were giving a press conference. I ran from my house across Hampstead heath to find lots of TV cameras in the foyer of the hospital. J. was there apparently wearing pyjama trousers and an Army Jacket with nervous security guards trying to convince him to leave. The press liaison officer of the hospital came out and invited all with press cards to the hospital conference room. We went in with everyone else.
The nervous security tried to throw J. out. The press liaison officer walked in and announced that the conference was for those with journalist cards only. We sat tight. She came back and asked me personally to leave. Not wanting to stress out Tom's parents in such conditions I tried to persuade J. to leave with me. He told me to fuck off. As he sat there I couldn't tell if he was going to cry or go ballistic. I apologised to the organisers.
The security said I should get my mate out or they would throw him out. I told them how he had been close filming battles with Riot police for 30 years and if they wanted to get him out they should get six of their friends just in case. They looked at each other nervously. The press liaison lady was really nice. I explained that I didn't want to cause trouble. I thought Tom, being a student journalist himself would have approved of us being there. Christopher Peacock from ITN was there smiling. He seemed to shine with a beatific glow. Gillian Joseph was there again. She spoke to the press liaison lady for us, which she didn't have to do; I thought it was really nice of her, she is very beautiful.
She came back in and told me everything was OK and the conference was going ahead. I didn't ask many questions of Tom's parents, the previous events having put me off my stride, but it was good to hear about the realities of Palestine from normal, Hampstead Londoners with no axe to grind no flag to fly, just a natural parents concern for a child. I got a feeling-, which I still have, that they will have an important further part to play in the story of the Palestine/Israeli conflict.
The next week Abu Hamza was still about. I found out that Blunkett had sunk himself with the wording of the very law designed to rid us all of the troublesome Hamza. As far as I could tell, you could throw someone out of the country if they had a country to go to but not if they would be stateless. When Hamza had become a British citizen he had given up his Egyptian citizenship and therefore had no country to go to and would be stateless. I wondered how David Blunkett had found himself in such a ridiculous position.
The whole thing seemed absurd to me. The Sun and the world’s media was here accusing, yet no police were arresting. I had read about Hamza's 16-year-old son being arrested for trying to break back into the mosque. Apparently he broke someone’s jaw when they came to arrest him. I had an idea to edit the stuff we had of the kids protest into a film and thought it would be great to have an interview with Abu Hamzas son in it.
I tried to ask Hamza. I was without a camera in the media scrum but he kept turning his face away from me, trying to ignore me, obviously still angry about my BBC ventures before, which I was also frantically trying to explain. Journalists were shouting at me to fuck off. As he was turning his face this way and that I didn't notice two police had joined in until they had the short angry guy with his arms up behind his back. All the supposedly dangerous guys with masks stepped back. Not thinking twice and used to speaking to Police in a lot more heated situations on Mayday demos I jumped in to reason with them. They eventually let go and the Finsbury crew moved off. It was at this point I sort of decided to give up with Hamza. He just seemed to egotistical for me and too into his media image.
I didn't agree with a lot of what Mr Abdullah said, but got the gut feeling that he was speaking from his heart. His whole demeanour was just totally unterrorist like. And he stood next to Hamza. I decided to concentrate more on him if he would speak to me. I remembered my all time favourite documentary Nick Broomfield had made about Eugene Terrablanche in South Africa where he had gone after Terrablanche but ended up making a film with his chauffeur. I wondered if I was in a similar situation.
I managed to befriend a younger Muslim guy who had been watching my antics with amusement. We went to an Internet cafe where he showed me his website which had animated gifs of flamethrowers burning U.S, U.N and Israeli flags. He didn't seem like a terrorist or likely to blow himself up at any point in the near future but he knew what he believed and why.
Like a lot of young Muslims he is fiercely intelligent, but he had a laid back demeanour and could listen to my criticisms and come back with well thought out measured answers. I learnt a lot from him about how young British Islamists felt. Unfortunately he would not appear on camera, a situation I was to encounter all too often with young fundamental Islamists. He spoke to me about Taliban trucks driving through Karachi recruiting youngsters for the war in Afghanistan. Apparently a lot of kids jumped in without telling their parents where they were going.
He said that Abu Hamza had advised young Muslims in Finsbury Park to go to Afghanistan just to know what it felt like to live under real Islamic law. He told me that Taliban just meant " student." I asked him whether they were teaching each other to use Kalashnikovs in the Mosque before it closed. He said he had never seen a gun in the mosque and that surely if they were going to do that, hiding in a safe house would be less blatant than testing out guns in a mosque. He thought the story laughable. I asked him if he or his friends had ever fired a Kalashnikov.
" No have you? " he asked
I had to admit that I had. A lot of travelers in Asia told of a place in Pakistan called Dara where they made Kalashnikovs and other handguns with machine tools. Apparently kids made bullets in the street by hand. As I was in Peshawar I thought what the hell. I had befriended a German guy. I don't usually get on with Germans, yet when you find one with a sense of humor they usually have a wickedly dry sense of humor. He was that sort of German. Dara was in tribal territory officially off limits to foreigners but we thought we'd give it a go. The bus, as usual for Pakistan, was stuffed full of men with no women anywhere. One of the other passengers turned round.
" Where are you going? "
" Dara. " we answered.
" What for? "
" We need weapons!" I announced dramatically.
" You can't go to Dara! Dara is tribal territory!"
" My friend is tribal from England and I am tribal from Germany." my new German friend answered.
" Oh..." I watched the guy explain this to the person sitting next to him in Urdu and nodded seriously and aggressively in the right places.
" Oh..." said the other guy seriously. He had obviously not heard of tribal wars in the UK and was having trouble picturing tattooed and pierced warriors fighting tribal wars against... err...beefeaters?
We carried this on in Dara where as promised we saw kids making bullets in the street. We were offered an Arnie style pump action shotgun to fire or a Kalashnikov and went for the later. We tried to order 400 of each for our tribal wars back home. The vendor helpfully offered us pen guns, which were more concealable. They were the size of a pen but much heavier. He fired one into a wall, which made me jump back.
" Fucking hell, you could kill someone with that! "
On the way home we were pulled off the bus at a Police roadblock. They gave us a full on search asking us if we had bought pen guns. Unfortunately they found a lump of hash in my pocket. The guy in charge who seemed very camp made a big deal of having to arrest me. I offered them money.
" Maybe you want to say that a little slower for him." my German friend said helpfully.
" Do you want money?" I asked again. He reached into my pocket and grabbed my money.
" Yes this is your money!" he answered and put it back.
I got a sinking feeling. I was composing a letter in my head to my mum.
“ Don't pay any baksheesh, just leave me here. I am really sorry.. “
but my German friend carried on talking to them calmly. The guy in charge was still saying how he was going to arrest me and take me to jail as he flagged down another bus, put us on it and waved goodbye. It was at that point that I realized they were all stoned. I waved goodbye smiling. They were all in fits of laughter and were probably pleased to have another lump of hash to smoke.
Not knowing what to do I transferred all we had on tape from the kids and Finsbury Park to my computer and looked through it all. I decided to have a go at editing the kids stuff into a film. At the beginning, to put it all in a strange context I put Mr. Abdullah in shouting
" And you accept Bush and Blair to say that this was done in the name of Jesus? Jesus, peace be upon him said Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall inherit the earth. Is this peace? Is this what Jesus was talking about? "
My first attempt at editing was really obsessive. I hardly slept for ten days and was constantly stoned. As I put music to film I was totally re-awed by what the kids had actually done. I put Hamza's comments about the kids running the country at the end and Mr. Abdullah:
" If you got a kind little furry animal, it doesn't do anyone any harm and you push it into a corner and its being prodded and poked, eventually that animal will turn round and bite you. This is what is happening in the Muslim world today."
I had no idea what had happened in the mosque before, but what Mr. Abdullah had told me that day, four days into the war I thought was worth reporting.
It was decided that concrete blocks be put up around parliament to deter suicide bombers. Now before the Iraq war there were no concrete blocks. Apparently Iraq had been attacked for our safety, and after the event concrete blocks go up. Hmmm...Something about this made me wonder if someone inside government had the feeling that attacking Iraq had made London less safe. With these blocks being the only physical thing we could see of the expense the government had gone to on taxpayers behalf I wondered if these weren't the most expensive concrete blocks in the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)