Tribal Tribulations

Monday, May. 10, 2004 By TIM MCGIRK | PESHAWAR
DEFIANT: Ex-Taliban commander Nek Mohammed fought Pakistani troops to a standstill
TARIQ MAHMOOD—AFP/GETTY IMAGES
Article Tools
Print
Reprints
Sphere
RSS

For a thousand years, the Wazir tribesmen who rule part of Pakistan's rugged western border with Afghanistan defeated invading armies by drawing them into a labyrinth of mountains to pick off enemy troops one by one. Their weapons have evolved from arrows to rocket-propelled grenades, but their deadly tactics have not. The Wazir humbled the Mughals in the 16th century and the British in the 19th and 20th centuries. Last month, it was the Pakistani army's turn. In an April 17 ceremony, Pakistani Lieut. General Safdar Hussain signed a truce with the leaders of the tribal forces, ending a brief, bloody and largely ineffective campaign to root out extremist militants and terrorists hiding among sympathizers in Waziristan's villages. Hussain showed up for the cease-fire ceremony unarmed, as agreed. But if the Pakistani officer expected his adversaries to reciprocate by laying down their weapons, he was disappointed. Accompanied by some 7,000 defiant tribesmen, some waving guns, rebel leaders, including former Taliban commander Nek Mohammed, appeared wearing their sidearms. Eyewitnesses say that all the general got from a slyly grinning Mohammed was a rusty sword. "We never war-gamed this," says a chagrined colonel in Islamabad of the military's failure to pacify Waziristan.

Related Articles

If Pakistan's army was surprised, so too were the country's American allies. Under pressure to score a victory in the war on terror as unambiguous as the capture of Saddam Hussein, the Bush Administration prodded Pakistani President Pervez Musharraf to send 11,000 troops into the country's semiautonomous tribal area in March on a search-and-destroy mission. The quarry: top Taliban and al-Qaeda fighters believed to be hiding out in tribal lands since being routed from Afghanistan three years ago by U.S.-led coalition forces. Some optimists even thought Osama bin Laden might be plotting his next attacks from Waziristan and could be snared there. But after several weeks of ambushes and the shelling of villages, the campaign was abandoned as the army death toll mounted in the face of fierce resistance from Wazir defending their homes. At least 63 Pakistani soldiers were killed (although unofficial accounts put military casualties at more than 200 dead); 11 suspected militants and 26 tribesmen were also killed. Now, with little to show for the campaign, the U.S. is being forced to rethink its Afghanistan strategy—and Pakistan's decision to pull back is leaving others to question again Islamabad's commitment to the war on terror.

From a military standpoint, the spring offensive was straightforward. Pakistani troops swept into Wazir villages while American soldiers in Afghanistan braced near the border to smash al-Qaeda fighters flushed out by the Pakistani advance—"a hammer and anvil" approach, as one U.S. general confidently called it, that never developed. Judging from the daily communiqués by U.S. military spokesmen in Kabul, the enemy was as elusive as ever, emerging only to ambush American patrols. One such attack led to the death of 27-year-old U.S. professional football player and Army Ranger Pat Tillman.

Pakistani forces suffered constant harassment. According to one Islamabad-based Western diplomat, "the Pakistanis would come along the road with 200 trucks lined up, and within minutes, every al-Qaeda and Taliban knew they were here." Other tribes joined the Wazir in raids against government troops, raising fears that a prolonged campaign could escalate into a full-blown tribal uprising all along the Pakistan-Afghanistan border. There was never a sign of bin Laden, nor was there a sighting of his No. 2, Egyptian Ayman al-Zawahiri, rumored, wrongly as it turned out, to be in Waziristan.

Privately, Pakistanis grumble that the U.S. and its coalition partners are pushing too hard and as a result the Pakistani army rushed headlong into Waziristan unprepared for the resistance it faced. "Yes, we're impatient," conceded one Western diplomat in Islamabad. "But we're operating against the unknown deadline of a major terrorist attack in the U.S. That's what drives us." Another Islamabad-based diplomat claimed that lately Western intelligence was picking up "lots of chatter" from its electronic eavesdropping and informants that "something very nasty was being planned out of Pakistan."

The Pakistani military may not have anticipated the disciplined response that came from rebels led by Mohammed. A 27-year-old Wazir tribesman with wolfish looks and black curls tumbling out of his turban, Mohammed was al-Qaeda's point man in the tribal area prior to the recent truce. After the Taliban's fall in December 2001, he helped fleeing al-Qaeda fighters and their families find sanctuary inside Pakistan, according to several of his fellow tribesmen. Mohammed observes an ancient, pre-Islamic code that exalts honor, revenge and giving sanctuary—even if it's your worst enemy who is asking. And for the Wazir, al-Qaeda weren't enemies; they were considered fellow Muslims fighting the infidel. "These al-Qaeda," marvels clergyman Maulana Hafta Khan in Jandola, southern Waziristan, "they love death like a drunkard loves his wine."

Pakistani army officials call their truce with Mohammed and the Wazir a "reconciliation" and rate their abortive tribal-area campaign a success. Hussain said he had secured the "allegiance" of Mohammed and his band to Pakistan. As part of the cease-fire deal, the army agreed to halt all military operations against the Wazir, release most of the 163 alleged terrorists rounded up in March, rebuild dozens of abodes destroyed in misguided raids on suspected terrorist safe houses, and give amnesty to Mohammed and four other warrior leaders. In exchange, Mohammed promised to refrain from launching or helping to launch attacks on U.S. troops in Afghanistan.

But with an estimated 400-600 al-Qaeda militants still sheltering in the Pakistani borderlands, Lieut. General David Barno, commander of 15,500 U.S. troops in Afghanistan, indicated he was unimpressed by the deal between Pakistan and the pro-al-Qaeda tribesmen. "Our view is that there are foreign fighters in those tribal areas who will have to be killed or captured," he said. "It's very important that the Pakistani military continue with their operations." In response to Barno's comments, Pakistani Foreign Office spokesman Masood Khan retorted: "We cannot fire on our citizens, and that is why an innovative mechanism [the truce] has been used to resolve the issue."

Pakistan's long-term solution is to register foreigners living among the Wazir tribesmen as a way of monitoring their activities. The Pakistanis want photos and passport details of the foreigners, some of them hardened al-Qaeda fighters, others Afghan war veterans who settled down as tenant farmers after fighting the Soviets. Mohammed rejects the plan, arguing that Pakistan would turn this data over to Washington and other governments. So far, two deadlines for registration have come and gone, the latest on May 7, and no one has come forward. Americans say the scheme is useless. "We certainly don't expect to see Osama bin Laden walking in to put down his name," joked one Western diplomat in Islamabad.

Nor does the U.S. expect the Wazir to have a change of heart and kick al-Qaeda warriors out of their impoverished villages, because the foreigners bring in money. One tribal official in Jamrud told TIME he knew of an al-Qaeda fighter living in the hills of Waziristan who was paying $750 a month for a simple, mud-walled house that ordinarily rented for less than $80. Mohammed and his tribesmen also earn cash selling supplies to other Muslim militants—Arabs, Chechens and Uzbeks, according to the official—and by providing al-Qaeda with fresh recruits and guides to assist in raids against American patrols inside Afghanistan. Each fighter receives $450 per ambush.

Now that the Pakistani army has stirred the hornet's nest, it is unlikely militants can be caught unawares and captured in their tribal-area hideaways in the foreseeable future. Bin Laden's fighters, says Islamabad-based columnist and retired General Talat Masood, "have almost certainly melted away into the hills." Mohammed, meanwhile, is now a local hero. Mobs of cheering tribesmen gather when his six-vehicle convoy, each auto mounted with machine guns, roars past. "I believe in the concept of jihad," Mohammed told reporters in his village of Shakai after the truce was signed, adding that he still considers Taliban leader Mullah Mohammed Omar to be his "Commander of the Faithful." With al-Qaeda safe once again in their sanctuary, U.S. commanders will have to come up with another plan if they expect to hit the enemy where he lives.

With reporting by Ghulam Hasnain/Tank and Rahimullah Yusufzai/Peshawar