Dirty Wars

Dirty Wars 2013

Kabul, Afghanistan,

4:
00 in the morning.

As an American journalist,

I was used to filing stories

in the middle of the night.

But there's always

something eerie

driving through the

deserted streets.

A city of 3 million-

barely a streetlight on.

It was a familiar routine:

Waiting for the crew to

light up the night sky

so you could see something

in the background.

But could we really see?

Well, Keith, greetings

from Kabul, Afghanistan,

where the U.S. Ambassador

Karl Eikenberry...

This is a story about the seen

and the unseen...

And about things

hidden in plain sight.

It's hard to say when

this story began.

I'd been working

as a war reporter

for more than a decade

in Yugoslavia, Iraq,

and now Afghanistan.

After nearly ten years,

the war here wasn't

exactly breaking news.

I think there's, like-

there's, like, eight rakes.

One, two, three...

We haven't been out here.

What's the name of

this village out here?

Oh, I have no idea.

They all blend in for me.

Yeah.

What's the focus of

your campaign here?

In southern Nangarhar,

we're dealing with the Ashkar-

Ashkael-

uh, Asherkeil tribe.

You know, the wording,

uh, I'll get right

probably when we leave

next year, but...

This was supposed to

be the front line

in the war on terror.

From Kabul out on an

exercise with the military

and back to Kabul,

the Afghan Press Corps

was locked in a bubble.

We were told that the

battle for hearts and minds

was being won

as soldiers dug wells

or drank tea with tribal elders.

But I knew I was

missing the story.

There was another war,

hinted at in press conferences

and detailed in each

morning's press release.

December 14th, Zabul Province,

a night raid.

Four Taliban killed,

three detained for questioning.

No civilians injured.

No one at NATO would

give us anything more

than the lists of

nighttime raids.

No one even seemed to know

who was doing the raids.

And I wasn't going to find

out if I stayed in Kabul.

POLICE HEADQUARTERS

JALALABAD, AFGHANISTAN

This is the third raid in my district.

13 or 14 people

have been killed in all.

They were innocent people.

So what you're saying

is that the Americans

will come into a district

where you're the

police commander,

and they won't inform you

that they're gonna carry out

this kind of action

in your district.

I've asked the American

soldiers that come to my district.

But even the main

NATO base here says

they don't know

anything about the raids.

The troops came

from another base.

So there's the two-

the two men in the guesthouse

were the first people killed.

And then...

The farmer from here.

- Yeah.

- And then another farmer.

Two.

Two of his sons.

Two.

- Mm-hmm.

- Two of his sons.

So there's, I think-

so seven.

Or two-

- Two, two... four.

One farmer... five.

Two these...

seven.

Two...

The Americans will say anything.

The Americans will say anything,

everyone knows that.

If the Americans do this again,

we are ready to shed

our blood fighting them.

We would rather die than

sit by and do nothing.

The list of raids from

NATO press releases

read like a map of a hidden war.

The military divided the roads

in Afghanistan by color.

Green was safe.

Red was dangerous.

And black?

Don't even try it.

Most of the raids were happening

far beyond the green zone

in what the military

called "denied areas"...

Places where journalists

never show up

to ask questions.

NATO, the U.S. Embassy,

and my own better judgment

all advised against

traveling there.

But I'd read about

a raid in Gardez,

half a day's drive

in Paktia Province.

I pushed as far as I

could into the gray area

on the fraying edge

of NATO's control,

past rusting Russian tanks

and bombed-out NATO

supply convoys.

Two other journalists had

been kidnapped on this road,

and after weeks

in the military's

armored vehicles,

our Toyota felt

thin-skinned and fragile.

I knew I had to be back

in Kabul before sunset,

when the Taliban took

control of the roads.

But I had no idea how far

my visit to Gardez

would lead me.

GARDEZ:

PAKTIA PROVINCE:

This is my son,

and this is my son,

and this is my

daughter-in-law,

and this is my granddaughter.

They killed them

all on a single day.

Two of the women they

killed were pregnant.

One was 5 months, the

other was 4 months pregnant.

A child had been

born in our home

and we had organized

a party to celebrate.

We invited many

guests and had music.

During the party,

people were dancing

our traditional dance, the attan.

The American forces came

between 3:
30 and 4:00 am.

Daoud went to see

what was happening.

He thought the

Taliban had come.

They were already

on the roof.

They shot Daoud as

soon as he stepped outside.

All the children were shouting,

"Daoud is shot!

Daoud is shot!"

We brought Daoud in here.

The women grabbed Zaher.

They told him not to

go or he would be killed.

But they opened fire.

They killed three women,

along with Zaher.

My wife, my sister,

and my niece.

Look at these

patched bullet holes.

Was Mr. Daoud

killed immediately,

or did he live for a

while after he was shot?

Daoud and my sister-in-law

were alive until 7:00 am.

They didn't let us take

them to the hospital.

The Americans used knives to dig

the bullets out of their bodies.

They pulled out the

bullets from their body.

You saw the U.S. Forces

take the bullets

out of the body?

Ja.

They tied our

hands and blindfolded us.

Two people grabbed us.

They pushed us one

by one into the aircraft.

They flew us

to another province.

To Paktika.

So he had just seen his wife

killed by the American forces,

and then he himself was taken

prisoner by the Americans.

What was going through his

head when they took him?

My senses weren't

working at all. I couldn't cry.

I was numb and

didn't feel a thing.

I didn't eat for

three days and nights.

My hands and clothes

were caked with blood.

They didn't give us water

to wash the blood away.

The interrogators had beards

and didn't wear American uniforms.

They had big muscles.

Sometimes they acted nice.

And sometimes

they would shake us.

By the time I got home,

all our dead had

already been buried.

Only my father and my brother were left

at home. I didn't want to live anymore.

I wanted to wear a suicide jacket

and blow myself up

among the Americans.

But my brother and my

father wouldn't let me.

I wanted Jihad

against the Americans.

MOHAMMED DAOUD:

1:
00 AM - FEBRUARY 12, 2010

MOHAMMED DAOUD:

2:
00 PM - FEBRUARY 12, 2010

The family had no idea

what led the Americans

to their home.

MOHAMMED DAOUD:

POLICE COMMANDER, GARDEZ

They had long fought

against the Taliban,

and Daoud was a police commander

who'd been through dozens

of U.S. training programs.

This is my son,

the Police Commander.

Was he Taliban?

They said they had information

that 50 Taliban were here.

But they were all my relatives,

and they worked for the government.

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