Afghanistan: The Missing Peace – Part III: Press freedoms and the Taliban revival
Rudaw English correspondent Robert Edwards was in Afghanistan’s capital Kabul when the US-Taliban peace process collapsed in September.
He and a team of Afghan filmmakers documented the hopes and fears of the city’s war-weary population, spoke to those involved in peace talks, and to those who will live with the consequences.
Now, as the peace process gets back on track, this new documentary and six-part written series explores a city anxious for peace – but terrified of the cost.
Read part I and part II
*
Part III: Press freedoms and the Taliban revival
The rights of women are not the only liberties potentially at stake if an inter-Afghan peace deal returns the Taliban to power. Freedom of the press is seen as a major achievement of the post-2001 order, with newspapers and broadcasters springing up across the country. Yet, as the security situation declines, attacks on media workers have risen, making Afghanistan one of the most dangerous places in the world to be a journalist.
On September 5, 2018, Samim Faramarz, a star correspondent for Afghanistan’s top broadcaster Tolo News, was sent with his cameraman Ramiz Ahmadi to report on a blast at a wrestling club in west Kabul. Minutes after delivering their live report from the scene, a second bomb exploded, killing them both. The attack was later claimed by the Islamic State in Khorasan (IS-K) – a bloodthirsty rival of the Taliban.
A day before the first anniversary of their deaths, I paid a visit to Tolo’s studio to meet the company’s director, Lotfullah Najafizada.
Lotfullah is young for a man in charge of such an influential outlet, which regularly hosts top officials, strongmen, and key players in the peace process. Just that week he had personally interviewed President Ashraf Ghani and US envoy Zalmay Khalilzad. Although he is at least a head taller than I am, sharply dressed in a well-cut suit with stylish thick-rimmed spectacles, he is also softly spoken, thoughtful, and instantly likeable.
I ask him about Samim and Ramiz.
“It’s very tragic. We’ve lost 11 colleagues in the past three and a half years in many, many attacks. Two or three of them are claimed by the Taliban and others are claimed by Daesh,” he says, using the Arabic acronym for the Islamic State.
“It’s not just Daesh, it’s not just the Taliban, but mafia, drug lords, strongmen. And Afghanistan is also one of the countries where the rule of law is least implemented.”
In 2018 alone, 13 Afghan journalists were killed on the job, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ). The International Federation of Journalists put the figure at 16. Either way, it was the deadliest year for Afghan journalists since 2001.
In June this year, the Taliban directly threatened Afghan media outlets, demanding they stop broadcasting “anti-Taliban advertisements”.
“Those who continue doing so will be recognised by the group as military targets who are helping the Western-backed government of Afghanistan,” the Taliban’s military commission said. “Reporters and staff members will not remain safe.”
How do journalists continue to work with such a threat hanging over them?
“It’s difficult to report on people who might not like the way we report, and they have the means to harm you and hurt you,” Lotfullah says.
Sitting in his small, windowless office that opens onto a balcony overlooking the studio floor, the Tolo boss says although the threats and attacks have taken a toll on the work culture there, his staff are committed to upholding the principles of their hard-won press freedoms.
“I think I can speak on behalf of all of my colleagues because the people who work in media, particularly in Tolo, they may have the option of going abroad, taking their families out, doing something much different, much easier. But their commitment to the cause of freedom and freedom of expression I think is something that contributes to the success of where we are,” he says.
“I’m not saying that they have developed this ‘resilience’, because sometimes you really hate that word, working in places like Afghanistan … but it’s different when it becomes personal. It’s different, it’s more impactful when it’s your loved ones, your colleagues, people you work with very closely like Samim and Ramiz.”
I ask whether Tolo ever self-censors as a result of the threats.
“I think it has changed the culture. We’re more cautious with how to do reports on security stories. We think twice whether we should cover or not. But at the same time we are also reminded on a very usual basis that this is our job. This is what we subscribed to,” he says.
Click here to read Rudaw's full interview with Lotfullah Najafizada
Many of the Western media’s household names cut their teeth in Afghanistan covering the mujahideen war with the Soviets. But once the last Russian tank rolled back over the Oxus in 1989, Western interest evaporated. By the time the Taliban seized power in 1996, the country had gone dark. Fundamentalists destroyed television sets and cassette players, cutting Afghans off from the outside world. One radio station controlled by the Taliban continued to air, trotting out propaganda. Anyone caught listening to foreign broadcasts could be killed.
Foreign journalists flooded back after 2001 and saturated Kabul during Barack Obama’s troop surge of 2009. But, with the formal end of combat operations in 2014, a worsening security situation, and the allure of sexier bylines to be had in Iraq and Syria, the press pack again moved on, leaving Afghan coverage to the Afghans themselves.
Now, with the Taliban’s resurgence, free and independent domestic media is again at risk of going dark.
Lotfullah took part in July’s preliminary inter-Afghan dialogue in Doha, meeting Taliban negotiators face-to-face. I ask him whether the press freedoms enjoyed over the past 18 years could soon be rolled back.
“Afghanistan today, two-thirds of the country are under 25. Do they remember how the Taliban era looked two decades ago? Do they really remember how it feels to not have a free press, not be free enough to post a comment on Facebook or Instagram or Twitter? Can they really imagine, this generation, the two-thirds of Afghans, 60-70 percent of the entire country, can they really imagine that they will be asked what to wear, how to act, how to travel?”
“I think there will be a big backlash, because this generation owns some of these achievements. These are not introduced to them. It’s not like when you learn a language when you’re in your twenties, or thirties or forties. This is the only language they know. And you can’t take it away from them. So I believe that it’s in their DNA, what we have achieved in the past 18 years. It is something that an entire new generation has grown up with. So, what will happen if you deprive them of all these rights and gains? You won’t get peace. That’s civil war. That’s conflict. That’s continuation of violence.”
Lotfullah suddenly becomes pensive, contemplating perhaps just how difficult a compromise will be in practice.
“Almost all of us have people in our families who have lost their lives to this conflict. I think the entire nation is tired of it,” Lotfullah says. “So we should certainly give it a try and embrace the opportunity. Even if it comes to swallowing some bitter pills.”
Click here to read part IV
He and a team of Afghan filmmakers documented the hopes and fears of the city’s war-weary population, spoke to those involved in peace talks, and to those who will live with the consequences.
Now, as the peace process gets back on track, this new documentary and six-part written series explores a city anxious for peace – but terrified of the cost.
Read part I and part II
*
Part III: Press freedoms and the Taliban revival
The rights of women are not the only liberties potentially at stake if an inter-Afghan peace deal returns the Taliban to power. Freedom of the press is seen as a major achievement of the post-2001 order, with newspapers and broadcasters springing up across the country. Yet, as the security situation declines, attacks on media workers have risen, making Afghanistan one of the most dangerous places in the world to be a journalist.
On September 5, 2018, Samim Faramarz, a star correspondent for Afghanistan’s top broadcaster Tolo News, was sent with his cameraman Ramiz Ahmadi to report on a blast at a wrestling club in west Kabul. Minutes after delivering their live report from the scene, a second bomb exploded, killing them both. The attack was later claimed by the Islamic State in Khorasan (IS-K) – a bloodthirsty rival of the Taliban.
A day before the first anniversary of their deaths, I paid a visit to Tolo’s studio to meet the company’s director, Lotfullah Najafizada.
Lotfullah is young for a man in charge of such an influential outlet, which regularly hosts top officials, strongmen, and key players in the peace process. Just that week he had personally interviewed President Ashraf Ghani and US envoy Zalmay Khalilzad. Although he is at least a head taller than I am, sharply dressed in a well-cut suit with stylish thick-rimmed spectacles, he is also softly spoken, thoughtful, and instantly likeable.
I ask him about Samim and Ramiz.
“It’s very tragic. We’ve lost 11 colleagues in the past three and a half years in many, many attacks. Two or three of them are claimed by the Taliban and others are claimed by Daesh,” he says, using the Arabic acronym for the Islamic State.
“It’s not just Daesh, it’s not just the Taliban, but mafia, drug lords, strongmen. And Afghanistan is also one of the countries where the rule of law is least implemented.”
In 2018 alone, 13 Afghan journalists were killed on the job, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ). The International Federation of Journalists put the figure at 16. Either way, it was the deadliest year for Afghan journalists since 2001.
In June this year, the Taliban directly threatened Afghan media outlets, demanding they stop broadcasting “anti-Taliban advertisements”.
“Those who continue doing so will be recognised by the group as military targets who are helping the Western-backed government of Afghanistan,” the Taliban’s military commission said. “Reporters and staff members will not remain safe.”
How do journalists continue to work with such a threat hanging over them?
“It’s difficult to report on people who might not like the way we report, and they have the means to harm you and hurt you,” Lotfullah says.
Sitting in his small, windowless office that opens onto a balcony overlooking the studio floor, the Tolo boss says although the threats and attacks have taken a toll on the work culture there, his staff are committed to upholding the principles of their hard-won press freedoms.
“I think I can speak on behalf of all of my colleagues because the people who work in media, particularly in Tolo, they may have the option of going abroad, taking their families out, doing something much different, much easier. But their commitment to the cause of freedom and freedom of expression I think is something that contributes to the success of where we are,” he says.
“I’m not saying that they have developed this ‘resilience’, because sometimes you really hate that word, working in places like Afghanistan … but it’s different when it becomes personal. It’s different, it’s more impactful when it’s your loved ones, your colleagues, people you work with very closely like Samim and Ramiz.”
I ask whether Tolo ever self-censors as a result of the threats.
“I think it has changed the culture. We’re more cautious with how to do reports on security stories. We think twice whether we should cover or not. But at the same time we are also reminded on a very usual basis that this is our job. This is what we subscribed to,” he says.
Click here to read Rudaw's full interview with Lotfullah Najafizada
Many of the Western media’s household names cut their teeth in Afghanistan covering the mujahideen war with the Soviets. But once the last Russian tank rolled back over the Oxus in 1989, Western interest evaporated. By the time the Taliban seized power in 1996, the country had gone dark. Fundamentalists destroyed television sets and cassette players, cutting Afghans off from the outside world. One radio station controlled by the Taliban continued to air, trotting out propaganda. Anyone caught listening to foreign broadcasts could be killed.
Foreign journalists flooded back after 2001 and saturated Kabul during Barack Obama’s troop surge of 2009. But, with the formal end of combat operations in 2014, a worsening security situation, and the allure of sexier bylines to be had in Iraq and Syria, the press pack again moved on, leaving Afghan coverage to the Afghans themselves.
Now, with the Taliban’s resurgence, free and independent domestic media is again at risk of going dark.
Lotfullah took part in July’s preliminary inter-Afghan dialogue in Doha, meeting Taliban negotiators face-to-face. I ask him whether the press freedoms enjoyed over the past 18 years could soon be rolled back.
“Afghanistan today, two-thirds of the country are under 25. Do they remember how the Taliban era looked two decades ago? Do they really remember how it feels to not have a free press, not be free enough to post a comment on Facebook or Instagram or Twitter? Can they really imagine, this generation, the two-thirds of Afghans, 60-70 percent of the entire country, can they really imagine that they will be asked what to wear, how to act, how to travel?”
“I think there will be a big backlash, because this generation owns some of these achievements. These are not introduced to them. It’s not like when you learn a language when you’re in your twenties, or thirties or forties. This is the only language they know. And you can’t take it away from them. So I believe that it’s in their DNA, what we have achieved in the past 18 years. It is something that an entire new generation has grown up with. So, what will happen if you deprive them of all these rights and gains? You won’t get peace. That’s civil war. That’s conflict. That’s continuation of violence.”
Lotfullah suddenly becomes pensive, contemplating perhaps just how difficult a compromise will be in practice.
“Almost all of us have people in our families who have lost their lives to this conflict. I think the entire nation is tired of it,” Lotfullah says. “So we should certainly give it a try and embrace the opportunity. Even if it comes to swallowing some bitter pills.”
Click here to read part IV