U.S. and Britain Again Target Afghan Poppies

By Karen DeYoung
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, August 8, 2009

The U.S. and British governments plan to spend millions of dollars over the next two months to try to persuade Afghan farmers not to plant opium poppy, by far the country's most profitable cash crop and a major source of Taliban funding and official corruption.

By selling wheat seeds and fruit saplings to farmers at token prices, offering cheap credit, and paying poppy-farm laborers to work on roads and irrigation ditches, U.S. and British officials hope to provide alternatives before the planting season begins in early October. Many poppy farmers survive Afghanistan's harsh winters on loans advanced by drug traffickers and their associates, repaid with the spring harvest.

"We need a way to get money in [farmers'] hands right away," said a senior U.S. military official in Afghanistan.

The program replaces the Bush administration's focus on crop eradication, which "wasted hundreds of millions of dollars," according to Richard C. Holbrooke, the Obama administration's special representative to Afghanistan and Pakistan. Destroying the crops succeeded only in "alienat[ing] poor farmers" and "driving people into the hands of the Taliban," he told reporters last week.

But many previous U.S.-funded crop-substitution programs have failed as well, from Asia to Latin America. A similar plan in Colombia, begun in the late 1990s, has barely made a dent in the level of cocaine production, although the country began to stabilize in recent years as its U.S.-trained military adopted new strategies against armed insurgents and civil institutions were strengthened.

Officials maintain that the new Afghan plan differs from unsuccessful "alternative" plans because it is an integral part of a military-development strategy that includes tens of thousands of U.S. troops to keep the Taliban and traffickers at bay while Afghan security forces are being trained. Plans call for hundreds of U.S. and international aid experts to work directly with farmers and local officials until the Afghan government has matured.

"The way [the assistance] is offered is important," said the senior U.S. military official, one of several who spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to discuss the program on the record. "We are not providing subsidies . . . we are not just handing out cash." Farmers will have a "stake" in the program, he said, buying vouchers for seeds and fertilizers for about 10 percent of their value. Cash will be distributed only as credit or for work performed, the official added.

The United States and its allies in Afghanistan have long debated whether they should simply pay farmers for not planting poppy, a short-term fix that experts have deemed counterproductive. Farmers probably would take the money and "grow it anyways," said another U.S. official in Afghanistan. "We would likely drive the price up," he added, "as there would now be competition between the narcotics trade and the government. More farmers would therefore plant more poppy next year."

The epicenter of the overlapping wars against opium production and the Taliban is southern Afghanistan's Helmand province, where more than two-thirds of the country's poppy is grown. Thousands of Marines and British troops are in the midst of a major offensive there against entrenched insurgent forces and are providing security in villages as they are cleared.

"By this time next year," the senior military official said, "what we want to see is decreased poppy harvest. For us, that will be a metric of success. If we don't get conditions set now, in the next 60 days, we're not going to get the results we'd like."

The timeline is daunting. A planned "civilian surge" of hundreds of U.S. aid officials and agriculture experts has been slow to arrive. A micro-finance loan program is in the planning stages, and although $300 million in aid has been set aside for "rapid response" initiatives, including voucher programs for seeds and fertilizer, distribution has been sluggish. Mohammad Gulab Mangal, the governor of Helmand, whom U.S. officials have praised for encouraging local communities to turn away from poppy, held the first of eight scheduled outreach meetings only last week.

The plan also includes stepped-up efforts to interdict drug shipments and destroy stockpiles. The Drug Enforcement Administration expects to increase its manpower on the ground from 13 agents in 2008 to 81 by the end of this year. The Marine assault in Helmand, a DEA official in Kabul said, has "greatly enhanced" the agency's ability to take action there, he said.

The DEA is also training Afghan police in counternarcotics investigations, and the Justice Department is developing a program for Afghan prosecutors, although those efforts are said to be moving slowly. Officials disagree over how much of the profit from Afghanistan's opium exports goes directly into Taliban coffers. According to Holbrooke, most Taliban funding comes from wealthy individuals in the Persian Gulf region. But there is widespread agreement among U.S. officials that drug traffickers, warlords, corrupt government officials and insurgents work cooperatively to continue cultivation, processing and exports.

Some of the greatest challenges to the new strategy are at the level of farmhouse economics. More than 365,000 Afghan farm households earned about $730 million from poppy last year -- a fraction of the $3.4 billion earned from opium exports, according to the United Nations, but an amount nearly equal to the national government's $750 million in official revenue.

"The average annual cash income of opium-poppy growing households in 2007 was 53 percent higher than those of non-opium poppy growing households," the U.N. 2008 Afghanistan Opium Survey reported, and "farmers in Helmand reported the highest cash income," 70 percent of which came from poppy.

The average Helmand farmer cultivates less than an acre of land, with about half an acre planted in poppy yielding a gross income of about $2,000. After paying 45 percent of that in production costs, and 10 percent in local taxes, he nets about $900, more than twice what he would earn from wheat at current, albeit rising, prices.

Spring opium is harvested in May, after the plant flowers and seed capsules develop. The capsules are lanced and a latex-like opium gum oozes out and is gathered by hand. In Helmand, where production per acre is highest, capsules are lanced an average of four times in a labor-intensive process.

Extra workers travel from all over Afghanistan for the harvest, and the pay is higher than it is for virtually all other forms of unskilled labor. The average daily wage for construction work, the United Nations reported, is $3.60. Wheat harvesting earns $4.40, and opium "lancing/gum collection" pays $9.50. Wages in Helmand for lancing, $15 a day, are the highest in the country.

"What we're looking for is a way to compete with that," the senior military official said of the opium economy. "This is not easy. . . . There is no silver bullet."

Correspondent Pamela Constable in Kabul and staff writer Greg Jaffe contributed to this report.

Tibetans in Nepal Feel Financial, Political Pressure as Carpet Industry Unravels

By Emily Wax
Washington Post Foreign Service
Wednesday, July 29, 2009

KATHMANDU, Nepal -- Thinley Sangmo was taught as a young girl in exile how to weave traditional Tibetan carpets. Her grandmother's thick hands would twist and spin spools of sheep's wool to depict the landscape and religious iconography of their homeland: hairy yaks lumbering up snow-swept mountains, puffy clouds and ponds of pink lotus flowers.

By the time she was 14, Sangmo was hunching over an upright loom for more than 12 hours a day. Sometimes she would fall asleep. She wanted to attend school, but as the oldest of seven children and as a Tibetan refugee living without full rights in Nepal, carpet weaving was her best option.

"It's very hard work. At first, I would cry," said Sangmo, now 36, with walnut-colored hair tucked into a bun. "At times, I was angry and sad about it. But I learned to appreciate it. Now, generations depend on these factories. This is all we know how to do."

Yet today her livelihood, and that of thousands of other Tibetan carpet weavers here, is under threat. The global economic crisis has spread to this landlocked Himalayan nation, among the poorest on Earth. Fewer tourists are coming to buy carpets, and tens of thousands of dollars in export orders have been canceled, industry experts say, leading to the closure of more than 500 factories.

The crisis facing Tibetan exiles in Nepal is exacerbated by the country's new government, led by Maoists, who joined the political mainstream in 2006 after waging a decade-long war. As China's influence over the government grows, Tibetans are experiencing a rise in harassment and extortion, more restrictions on their movements and greater difficulty securing education and jobs than ever before, according to a report released Tuesday by the International Campaign for Tibet. An estimated 20,000 Tibetans live in Nepal, which has centuries-old cultural and religious ties with Tibet.

"There has been change in the use of language by the Nepalese authorities to describe the Tibetan refugee flow through their country, suggesting a 'law and order' approach rather than the humanitarian approach that has characterized Nepal's treatment of Tibetans over the last decades," said Kate Saunders of the International Campaign for Tibet. "As a result of Chinese pressure on the Nepalese government, judicial system, civil society and media, Tibetans in Nepal are increasingly fearful, demoralized and at risk. "

Tibetan business and human rights leaders say that as the global economy worsened, Maoist militias and Nepalese police began "taxing" the Tibetan factories and workers, often through mafia-style shakedowns and threats. For many Tibetans still waiting for legal papers according them some civil rights in Nepal, there is nothing they can do to fight back as factories are forced out of business.

"The carpet industry is an economic and cultural lifeline for thousands of Tibetans and Nepalese," said Tinley Gatso, a Tibetan community leader in Kathmandu, Nepal's capital. "It was our culture, our art. When Nepal took us in, it was our big gift to Nepal. But now, so many carpets factories are closing. It's a very sad time, a worrying time."

Nepal is home to the world's second-largest Tibetan exile community after India. Buddhist prayer flags flutter along Kathmandu's alleyways and in its markets. Some of the world's most celebrated stupas -- whitewashed temples resembling enormous birthday cakes crossed with spaceships -- draw Buddhist monks and nuns and foreign tourists to the city's crowded squares. Recordings of the Buddhist mantra "Om mani padme hum," played by shopkeepers, echo through the narrow streets.

Since a wave of protests against Chinese rule that began in Tibet in March 2008, Nepal has been under increasing pressure from Beijing to take sterner measures against pro-Tibet demonstrations here, according to diplomats, government officials and human rights workers. A recent press statement by Nepal's Ministry of Home Affairs appears to support the tougher stance: "Nepal stands firm not to allow any external forces to use its soil against its neighbors and it sticks to its One China policy."

China accuses the Dalai Lama, the Buddhist spiritual leader, of trying to split Tibet from China. The Dalai Lama, who lives in exile in northern India, has said that although he desires greater autonomy for Tibet, he does not advocate independence.

The squeezing of Tibetans in Nepal is most vividly apparent in the carpet business.

Khamsum Wangdu is one of the biggest Tibetan carpet manufacturers in Kathmandu. He once had four factories that employed 600 people. Now he's down to one factory and 20 workers. The economic downturn and the official demands for "fees" have affected his business, he said.

"We need the international community to help us," the burly businessman said. "Instead of giving the Dalai Lama gold medals, why not focus on helping Tibetan people with the recession and all of the political instability and pressure here in Nepal? The Dalai Lama is happy when his people are happy."

Thumbing his prayer beads, Wangdu said he was once proud that he was able to employee Tibetans and Nepalese in his factories. But on a recent day, in the single factory he still operates, only half the looms were in use.

In the half-finished factory built of brick and tin, women sat cross-legged at a vertical loom. Deftly, they wielded iron rods and scissors to stretch and trim the woven pattern. Hammers were used to separate the fibers, forcing out dirt.

The factory also doubles as a day-care center. One woman breast-fed her 2-month-old daughter during a break. Children raced in and out. Others bathed around a borehole outside, shampooing their hair with buckets of water.

"So many of my friends in carpet weaving have already lost their jobs," said Sanu Mayalama, 35, whose husband recently lost his job in a TV factory in Malaysia. "My parents are still living in the mountains. They are so poor. We need this income."

Tibetan carpet weaving dates to the 7th century, when the carpets were used as horse saddles. In the past, monasteries were the weavers' main clients. That began to change in the 1970s, when trekkers and mountain climbers descended on Nepal and began to take an interest in carpets. There was a separate boom in the late 1980s, when Tibet's struggle for independence became an international cause. Today, the carpets are sold in tourist markets, along with Tibetan religious paintings, prayer lamps, brass bowls and T-shirts embroidered with the words "Yak Yak Yak, Nepal."

On a recent morning, Sangmo sat in her neighborhood, where many Tibetan exiles live. Some mentioned that it was the Dalai Lama's 74th birthday but that their celebrations and religious ceremonies had been canceled. Sangmo's family, like many others here, fled Tibet with the Dalai Lama in 1959 after a failed revolt against Chinese rule.

Sangmo sat next to her grandmother, who had been a yak herder in Tibet before she moved to Nepal and learned the carpet-making craft. Both women said they worried that many people in the neighborhood will lose their jobs in the industry in the next few months.

"It's all we have," Sangmo said. "We are lost without carpet-making."

Uighurs Lose Economic Ground to Han

By IAN JOHNSON

URUMQI, China -- As Chinese leaders look to prevent another outbreak of ethnic violence, they face a key question: how to spread China's growing wealth to its ethnic minorities when they are losing control over even their traditional industries?

This month's rioting in the capital of China's northwestern Xinjiang region left 197 people dead and more than 1,700 injured, the government says. According to official statistics, most victims were ethnic Chinese, or Han, attacked by Uighurs, the once-dominant group in Xinjiang that is increasingly being eclipsed.

Although the immediate catalyst for the attacks appears to have been the murder of two Uighurs in a southern Chinese factory, longer-term problems have simmered. Like Tibetans, who rioted last year against Han partly in protest of growing Han control of their region's economic life, many Uighurs feel that Han are taking over Xinjiang's economy. Most galling to some Uighurs, Han seem to be taking over traditional Uighur industries -- from traditional markets to Muslim foodstuffs.

In downtown Urumqi, for example, the main marketplace is in Han hands, although it features sculptures of Uighur merchants outside and bills itself as a grand Central Asian bazaar to rival Istanbul or Samarkand. Even some large companies making halal foods -- those prepared according to Muslim purity laws -- are run by Han and not Uighurs. In tourism, which has boomed in recent years by featuring the exoticism of the Uighur culture, Han companies seem to dominate.

"For the Uighurs, it's their homeland, but they're not the ones who have benefited from economic growth and development," says Jing Huang, a professor of Chinese politics at National University of Singapore.

More than 90% of China's population is Han, with the rest divided among 55 smaller ethnic groups. China aims to help its minorities through an array of generous policies, from easier college admission to soft loans and hiring requirements. Some of these have helped to create a small class of prosperous Uighurs who sit on government advisory boards and have risen to top levels in the region's government. The current head of the exiled Uighur opposition, Rebiya Kadeer, for example, was a prominent Uighur businesswoman before she left.

An exact calculation of ethnic income or hiring isn't possible because while the government collects such figures, it doesn't make them public. But available statistics indicate a stubborn gap. Xinjiang's economy has doubled from 2002 to 2008, but it remains reliant on energy -- especially oil, coal and gas -- for 60% of its economic output. The companies involved in these industries are run by Han companies, and visits to oil fields suggest that most employees are Han Chinese.

Rural statistics also imply ethnic inequality. Most Uighurs live in the countryside, especially in the southern part of the province. Last year, government statistics showed rural annual income averaged 3,800 yuan ($560) in Xinjiang as a whole, but for rural residents in southern Xinjiang it is much lower. For example rural residents around the oasis town of Khotan earn 2,226 yuan a year, according to government figures. Agriculture in northern Xinjiang, which is less arid and supports cotton farming, is controlled by the Han-dominated Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps, a quasi-military organization established to pacify the region.

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Government programs have sought to level this imbalance. Soft loans to small-scale farmers, most of whom are Uighurs, have enabled them to expand production. The government has also encouraged large food companies to sign long-term contracts with small farmers to give them some economic stability.

"The government really has made a good-faith effort to improve minorities' livelihood," said Wang Ning, an economist at the Xinjiang Academy of Social Sciences.

Anecdotal evidence suggests Han control has expanded beyond the obvious areas of energy and large-scale agriculture. Huo Lanlan is a prominent Han entrepreneur who runs Xinjiang Jiayu Industrial & Trading Co. Her company offers 46 halal food products, from lamb and horse meat to camel and chicken.It is now one of Xinjiang's largest halal food processors, supplying Air China with food for its flights to Xinjiang and Muslim countries.

Most of her 300 employees, however, are Han, she says. She says she has a few Uighur employees, such as a cleaning lady, but all top positions are Han. "It's a requirement of all halal food companies to have Uighur employees," she said.

Equally striking is the Grand Bazaar. Once a stronghold of Uighur entrepreneurs, most of the bazaar was torn down and rebuilt in 2003 by a Hong Kong developer and Xinjiang Grandscape Group, a Han-run company. Just like in the fabled Silk Road city of Kashgar, whose old town is being torn down by the city's Han mayor, many Uighurs seem uneasy by the developments.

The new bazaar now features anchor tenants, such as a Kentucky Fried Chicken and French department-store chain Carrefour, both run by Han Chinese. Located in the heart of the Uighur part of Urumqi, it hasn't yet been reopened because many of the tenants are Han and afraid to return there, according to Han and Uighur business people interviewed.

Across the street is what is left of the traditional bazaar, a ramshackle series of alleys lined with small-scale Uighur businesses. The area is one of the last parts of the city where riot police are omnipresent, and the road between the old and new bazaars is still blocked to traffic.

"We are not so well organized like the Han," said one Uighur who owns a stand selling jeans. "They have the bazaar now."

—Jason Dean in Beijing contributed to this article.

Write to Ian Johnson at ian.johnson@wsj.com