planet Afghanistan

Dispatches from Planet Afghanistan

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The air was dry and hot as I stepped off the plane Kabul airfield. My immediate thought was that I had stepped onto another planet. You notice soon that the dominant hue on Planet Afghanistan is brown. There was no green, just shade of brown everywhere. The mountains were barren with plenty of steep rocky sections. I could immediately see that we were in a valley surrounded by jagged peaks. The land seemed inhospitable. Later, I was told that breathing the air in Kabul was similar to smoking half a pack of cigarettes a day. Apparently, there was a lot of human feces drifting in dust form through the area. At first, I didn’t believe this until one day, a man pulled down his pants and took a shit while talking to our translator. I thought that the packs of roaming dogs were the ones leaving mounds of shit about, but it turns out, the Afghan people did it too.

Next I took notice of the buildings. They were more like derelict ruins but most were teaming with life. Large billboards lined the highway which tried to convince passersby of which cellphone company was best, or which store to shop at. People seemed to crawl out like rats from these ramshackle buildings. Were there some areas that looked more civilised? Sure, but those were few and far between. 

Vehicle traffic was similar to watching 8 year olds drive bumper cars. They hit each other regularly. It seemed to be normal practice. They would get out and yell at each other about who was at fault. Then they would return to their white toyotas and carry on their way. It was very shocking at the beginning but over time you became accustomed to the chaos on the roads. City driving was mayhem. There were no laws and if there were they were not enforced. The Afghan national police were low on the list of institutions to trust over there. We saw them as neutral at best, corrupt and hostile at worst. 

I remember driving slowly next the the Shina river that flows through the city and feeds into the Kabul river. I saw a dead, decaying donkey laying on a mound of garbage in the middle of the river. To make things feel even more like a scene from Mad Max, we saw skinned cats hanging on the side of the road to be sold as meat. The furs were also sold there. We had a guy on our group who really liked cats, and I think he and his girlfriend had a pet cat too. He lost his mind when he saw that. Something about it made him snap. He raged and cursed for a good half hour. He was normally a quiet guy so it is surprising to see him react with so much rage. 

Winter was also very interesting there. While driving along a road out there I saw a donkey pulling a wagon. In the middle of that wagon was a steel drum that acted as a fireplace to keep the passengers warm. The donkey was a pitiful sight, poorly fed, and hanging on by a thread. I think that was the moment that I decided that only Europeans should be allowed to have domesticated animals. The rest of the world is too brutal and cruel to deserve them. Or maybe it was the time I watched as a group of children beat a wild dog to death with sticks. They were laughing and cheering, the same way my children jump through a sprinkler in the summer time. Generally, winter was when the air quality dropped due to the amount of burning garbage. The Afghans would burn anything they could find to stay warm. The snow was only white when it fell freshly. Overtime it would take on a brown or dirt colour which made everything look even dirtier. 

There was no real infrastructure there. It was a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Any new construction seemed to be abandoned once a bit of concrete had been poured. Visually it was very depressing, even in the summer heat you felt as if it was a prison. But at night the temperature would drop and provide a break from the sweltering heat. I remember one cold night I saw a man rape a goat through my night vision optic.   

Many people try to remind me that not all Afghans are bad, but then I start talking about the “Chia boys” — over there, they use orphan boys as prostitutes. The practice is very common and out in the open. The boys range in age from 8 to 14. Unfortunately, sometimes they are younger than that. The Afghans have a saying that basically translates to, “women are for childbearing and boys are for pleasure.” It was extremely disturbing to witness and I wish I could forget what I saw. It was an open practice there, and the locals didn’t bat an eye. We were all briefed beforehand that we were to not engage with trying to change their “culture” of pedophilia. We were supposed to “win heart and minds.” I never wanted to win hearts and minds. Something tells me that our own politicians and policy makers (or at very minimum the deep state) were on board with these practices. 

A woman once gave us naan bread to thank us. She said that because of us (and other men like us), her daughter could go to school. Later her husband brought her to the gate in front of our camp and proceeded to beat her in front of us. He beat her so badly that blood poured from the visor of her blue burka. It was his public statement to remind us that we were hated by almost every Afghan man. You cannot coexist with people like this. This was one of my breaking points: I had to be held back by my boss from attacking the Afghan. I screamed at my Sergeant and told him that I’d take off my uniform and beat the man myself, but we were ordered not to intervene in the activities of the locals. 

The other time I got into a killing mood outside of what I was legally permitted was on a road move in downtown Kabul. I was working as close protection for an Admiral. We were merging into a slew of cars on a large roundabout. Off to one side of the road stood a small Afghan girl of four or five years of age. She was begging. A wealthy afghan in a Mercedes rolled down his window just to spit on her. Both my driver and I saw this. I lost all grip on my standing in the world. I pulled out my pistol and said, “I’m going to fucking kill him”. As I tried to unbuckle my seatbelt and leave the car, my buddy who was driving grabbed the seatbelt and held me in. He sped up the car and weaved through the traffic circle until we were a good kilometer away. The car door was open entire time he sped through the city while he screamed at me to “calm the fuck down.”

I remember watching the retreat from Afghanistan, which occurred a decade after I had been there. My first thought was, “Good. They get what they wanted, and we don’t have that responsibility anymore.” Everything was attempted to change those people there. Money without end was provided in the form of programs and attempts to westernize the Afghans; but despite all the resources, and all the schools built, it didn’t work. You can’t teach a fish to walk or a pig to fly. This was a perfect example that education does not improve the quality of the people living there.  Genetics has a far greater effect on outcomes than education ever can. While we were there, our governments were teaching the Afghans to be gay while they were already a bunch of pedophiles.

Looking back, it wasn’t firefights, roadside bombs, or even killing people that bothered me over the years. It was seeing the unbridled savagery of peoples who are lesser than us. There is no reason we should ever have to live with these people. When I returned, I remember telling everyone that Afghans should never be allowed in our countries. I don’t care if he was a “good translator” or a decent man. Their genetic code is tainted by something evil. They cannot breed out the demons inside them. Many tried to tell me that it is, “just because of my experiences…” to which I would agree and tell them that was why my opinion was more important than theirs.

If the rest of the global majority around the world are even a fraction or percentage as dysfunctional as Afghans, then we cannot have a single one among us. And we know that many are much worse than them. Every single one must go.

I will always have a conflicted relationship with my time on Planet Afghanistan. I was a stubborn ideologue who needed reality to beat my face in. Some people can learn things without suffering. That was a skill I didn’t possess at the time. All the hardest lessons in life were taught to me by the western war machine in Afghanistan and the Afghan people. I needed that to clear my head of the lies I had grown up in. It purged me of many illusions and so I am forever grateful. At the same time, I hate that place deeply, and carpet bombing seems to be the only solution to it’s problems. Maybe I would have been a bigger fan of Obama if he had done more drone bombings. 

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Maybe I would have been a bigger fan of Obama if he had done more drone bombings.”

Wow, that’s savage, but not nearly as savage as the Afghans that need to be taken off the planet.

Afghanistan is no country to visit.

Too bad your buddies and your superiors held you back against the Afghan that beat the woman in front of you & the Afghan that spat on the abandoned, helpless 4-year old girl.

And then you have nazbols who peddle this narrative that the brown biomass of the planet is more trad than the “degenerate West”.

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