October 3, 2001
12-Year-Olds Take Up Arms Against Taliban
By DAVID ROHDE
RAHMONKHEL, Afghanistan, Oct. 1 — The commander of the anti- Taliban Northern Alliance here, a small man with a graying beard, did not hesitate when asked the age of his youngest soldier.
"He is 12," the officer said, pointing at a skinny boy nearby. "He fought last year when he was 11."
The boy, who gave his name as Lalsaid, said going off to war at such a young age did not faze him. "Our enemy attacked us," Lalsaid said. "I had to join."
The Afghan opposition forces that the United States is supporting in its campaign against Osama bin Laden and the Taliban governors who are sheltering him include a deposed octogenarian king in exile in Rome and the Northern Alliance's jostling collection of tribal leaders, self-styled warlords and boys like Lalsaid.
What joins them is their resistance to the militant Islamic Taliban militia, which took control of the capital, Kabul, in 1996 and now controls most of Afghanistan. But the poverty, ethnic divisions and opportunism that afflict the country suggest that toppling the Taliban alone may not be enough to bring about stability. Meanwhile, the seemingly endless civil war has ensnared hundreds of young soldiers.
Lalsaid said he could not remember a time when there was peace in Afghanistan. He was born in 1989, the year of the Soviets withdrew. His father and uncle, he said, were killed by the Taliban last year.
Officials with the Northern Alliance say their soldiers have to be at least 18. But in an afternoon in this village five miles from the front, baby-faced soldiers kept strolling by, carrying automatic rifles. The commander, who gave his name as Sarballan, said boys were being enlisted out of desperation. Refugees who have been fleeing Kabul have report that the Taliban have also been conscripting boys.
"There has been a revolution in our country for the last 20 years," Sarballan said. "Because of the times, we have to take the young people and send them to war."
Lalsaid, the 12-year-old, defended his military record. In his four or five days of combat, he said, he had fired his weapon but could not see what had happened. He did not know whether he had killed anyone.
As he spoke, a 16-year-old, Abdul, moved down the road with a Kalashnikov rifle on his shoulder. Abdul said he had started fighting at 13, when his village was attacked. "We had to defend our line," he said.
If the fighting ever stopped, he said, "I will pursue an education." He added that he hoped to become a doctor, an engineer or a teacher.
If the fighting continues, however, the careers of some commanders in the alliance suggest a different outcome.
Thirty miles away in Gulbahar, a middle-age man covered in sweat and with his chest heaving pulled a cart loaded with wood as three boys pushed from behind. As he strained, a Japanese-built pickup passed, carrying young warlords who have become the elite of this region.
Like other civil wars in the post- cold-war era, Afghanistan's has involved a handful of local leaders in an impoverished country fighting over resources and power. If there is a constant to the tumultuous history during the last 20 years or so, it is that there seem to be no limits to the opportunism of the leaders or the suffering of the people.
Afghanistan is one of the poorest countries. The average life expectancy is 43 for men and 44 for women. Seventy percent of the population is illiterate, and in 20 years of warfare, 1.5 million people have died.
The villages in this northern region are dominated by men who who took up arms as teenagers to fight Soviet invaders in the 1980's and have since acquired small fiefs.
"I started fighting at 15 against the Soviets," said Shawali, a Northern Alliance commander in a town several miles away. At 30, he oversees 200 soldiers and is considered an influential figure.
Then there are the ethnic divisions. It is widely believed that the southern-based Pashtun, the largest ethnic group and one that dominates the Taliban, would not accept a government led by Tajiks, the major group in the Northern Alliance. Winning the support of the Pashtun elite is considered central to hastening the fall of the Taliban, and American diplomats and Northern Alliance officials say they have stepped up contacts with Pashtun leaders.
Mohammad Zahir Shah, the 86- year-old Afghan king who was toppled in 1973, has been suggested as an interim leader, in part because he is a Pashtun.
At the same time, northern leaders have quietly warned that if they find the makeup of an interim government unacceptable, some of them may continue fighting.
The warlords who are fighting together in the Northern Alliance illustrate the ethnic undertones of the conflict. A report by Human Rights Watch in the summer also warned that the fighting was taking on a growing ethnic tone.
Gen. Rashid Dostum, who recently rejoined the alliance, leads a force made up primarily of another ethnic minority, Uzbeks. Yet another group, headed by Muhammad Karim Khalili, is predominantly made up of ethnic Hazaras.
But ethnic lines in Afghanistan are not set in stone. Warlords have a long record of being bought and quickly switching sides.
One northern general, Abdul Malik Pahlawan, switched sides and pledged allegiance to the Taliban in 1997. After 3,000 Taliban soldiers had entered Mazar-i-Sharif, the general switched sides again, and the 3,000 Taliban troops were killed by ethnic Hazaras. When the Taliban retook the city a year later, they killed 2,000 Hazara civilians in revenge.
Despite the history and divisions, some people here are optimistic. Muhammad Hassan, 30, a trader in this dazzlingly beautiful but crushingly poor northern area, said ethnic tensions were not a problem for him. Mr. Hassan, a Pashtun, said he was comfortable living in territory controlled by the Northern Alliance and was happily married to a Tajik. When his children are asked their ethnicity, he answered, "They say, `We are Afghan.' "
In Mr. Hassan's village, the road that leads in is wide enough for three automobiles. Mulberry trees planted decades ago line its edges. But just beyond on one side stands a Soviet-built howitzer. On the other side stands a rocket launcher.
Back in Rahmonkhel, teenagers continue to gird for war.
A 15-year-old, Ezmeray, said he had been fighting for a year. Someday he wants to become a doctor, he said, but that lies somewhere in the future. His motivation for volunteering was simple.
"My father was killed by the Taliban," he said. "And I want to take revenge with this gun."
A provisional commander, Fazil Ahmed Azimi, lamented the persistent war and the boys' fate. "It's been three decades of our people going backward in terms of education," he said. "We have young boys that are more familiar with a gun than with school."
Copyright 2001 The New York Times Company
