The Meaning and Mythos of Manny Pacquiao - TIME

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By Howard Chua-Eoan and Ishaan Tharoor

Manny Pacquiao is going through his throwing motion at Yankee Stadium. With easy deliberation, he shows off the form he says he perfected playing elementary school baseball in the dirt-poor southern Philippines before boxing took him over completely. His shoulder slips back, his torso pitches smoothly forward, left hand and arm torquing an imaginary ball into the depths of the air-conditioned players' cafeteria, where he is waiting to take the field for an announcement. The diamond stud in his ear catches the light.

The baseball pose has a balletic grace at odds with the savage power that the best pound-for-pound professional boxer on earth exhibits in the ring. "Best pound-for-pound" is the mantra intoned with every story about Pacquiao. It sounds strange because he has never been bound by the laws of physics. In the past eight years, he has risen through six weight divisions to win just as many world championships. At the stadium, his promoters have arranged for the Filipino to make official his plan to fight Puerto Rico's Miguel Cotto for a seventh title, the welterweight, which has a maximum limit of 147 lb. (67 kg). That is a 40-lb. swing up from the 106 lb. Pacquiao weighed at the start of his career. (See pictures of the rise of Manny Pacquiao.)

He carried increased poundage through his past two jaw-droppingly awesome victories: demolishing Oscar De La Hoya in December 2008 and knocking out Ricky Hatton in two rounds in May. This is how Pacquiao's coach Freddie Roach describes his skill: "He'll throw a combination at you. You'll think he's done, but then he'll keep pounding you. And there's not a dense hardness to his punch. It just jumps on you. It explodes." Roach, who has worked with boxing luminaries such as De La Hoya and Mike Tyson, offers a little poetry when he recalls the time in 2001 when Pacquiao first came into his gym. "I just did one round with mitts with him, and I thought, 'Man, can this motherf______ fight.'" (Watch TIME's video "A Free Boxing Lesson with Oscar De La Hoya.")

At Yankee Stadium on this September day, the Puerto Ricans who have come out to cheer Cotto are jeering Pacquiao, but for all that physics matters, the Filipino is the favorite for the Nov. 14 Las Vegas bout. His payday, it is said, will be about $18 million. Back in the Philippines, you can pun on Pacquiao with pakyaw — a verb, pronounced the same way, that means "to monopolize, to corner the market, to take everything at wholesale in order to maximize profit." Pacquiao knows he wants more than he has, more than boxing can give. At the stadium, he retails anecdotes from his life to a couple of Filipinos and repeats what seems to be both an assertion and a lesson learned. "'Di ako bobo," he says in Tagalog. "'Di ako bobo." "I'm not stupid."

A Face for the Selfless
Manny Pacquiao, now 30, is the latest savior of boxing, a fighter with enough charisma, intelligence and backstory to help rescue a sport lost in the labyrinth of pay-per-view. Global brands like Nike want him in their ads. He made the TIME 100 list this year. West Coast baseball teams invite him to throw out the first pitch in order to attract the Filipino-American community. He has even become an object of desire: ESPN the Magazine has his naked torso in its Body Issue, which explores the engineering of several athletic physiques.

In the Philippines, Pacquiao is a demigod. The claim goes that when his fights are broadcast live, the crime rate plummets because everyone in the country is glued to a screen. His private life as well as the ins and outs and ups and downs of his training regimen are tabloid fodder; his much brooded political ambitions are a dilemma many Filipinos feel as existentially as Hamlet's soliloquy: To be or not to be ... a Congressman?

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Pacquiao has a myth of origin equal to that of any Greek or Roman hero. Aban-doned by his father and brought up by a tough-as-nails mother, the poor boy who loves to box is rejected by a local squad but then journeys many islands away, to the country's metropolis, Manila, to make it big. Then he leaves the Philippines to make it even bigger, conquering the world again and again to bring back riches to share with his family and friends. Now, in his hometown of General Santos City on the island of Mindanao, he and his family own commercial buildings, a convenience store, cafés and a souvenir shop that sells everything from DVDs of his fights to T-shirts to bobblehead dolls. In Manila, his children attend one of the most exclusive and expensive private schools. He is generous to a fault, spending thousands of dollars a day feeding and entertaining guests. For his last fight, he distributed $800,000 in tickets to friends.

The broad outlines of his history — his legend — have made the boxer a projection of the migrant dreams of the many Filipinos who leave home and country for work. About 10% of the Philippines' GDP is money remitted from overseas Filipinos: nurses, nannies, sailors, singers, doctors, cooks, X-ray technicians, mail-order brides, construction workers, prostitutes, priests, nuns. Some spend decades abroad, away from the ones they love, for the sake of the ones they love. Everyone in the Philippines knows a person who has made the sacrifice or is making it. Pacquiao gives that multitude a champion's face of selflessness: the winner who takes all and gives to all. "To live in the Philippines is to live in a world of uncertainty and hardship," says Nick Giongco, who covers Pacquiao for the daily Manila Bulletin. "Filipinos are dreamers. They like fantasy. And what is more of a fantasy than Manny Pacquiao?" (Read a 2004 story about Pacquiao.)

A movie has been made of his life. But Pacquiao says the full details of that life couldn't possibly fit into just one film. There are things to clear up. For one, he did not leave ramshackle General Santos City, a camp of tin and thatch, to pursue boxing, even though he did love the sport. He left home at 14 because his mother Dionisia, who did odd jobs and factory work and hawked vegetables by roadsides, wasn't really making enough to feed her six children. He had to go off and earn money elsewhere, doing anything to relieve the burden on his mother — even if she wanted him by her side. As it was, he was often absent from school because the family needed him to help sell snacks and trinkets on the potholed lanes where nearly naked children with matted hair still chase rusting bicycle wheels for fun. Pacquiao liked school, correcting and grading his classmates' homework. He "never cheated during a quiz — he wouldn't try to look sideways, this way or that," says one of his schoolteachers from the Saavedra Saway Elementary School. A decent education, however, requires several years and a lot of money. The Pacquiaos had trouble accumulating even a little.

And so young Manny plotted his trip in secret. Dionisia Pacquiao is slender and slight, like her son, and has his easy smile. "Manny has a strong mind and a strong body," she says. "Just like his mother. Except I am stronger." But she was heartbroken when he left for Manila. Dionisia recalls receiving a letter from him "saying how sorry he was [for leaving home] ... I was very, very sad. But after a while, I accepted his destiny."

From Zero to Hero
Pacquiao was not one to pick quarrels. But he did not shy away when friends got into free-for-alls: what he calls, with an almost pop-eyed relish, bukbukan — unrestrained fistfighting. He loved boxing. Dionisia recalls an 8-year-old Manny wrapping towels around his hands to mimic gloves. Rey Golingan, a General Santos City businessman, remembers the young Pacquiao attending the weekly bouts in the main plaza. "Manny was always there at the fights, waiting to be paired with someone," says Golingan. But his consistency wasn't matched by any obvious talent. "Honestly, I didn't see any potential in Manny. He was just another kid who knew if he won a few fights he might get 100 pesos [less than $3]," says Golingan. "He was always very courageous and had natural speed and power. But he wasn't a clever boxer ... He was [always] flailing around."

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When he got to Manila, Pacquiao first worked as a laborer. His enthusiasm for boxing, however, had him returning to the ring, fighting in run-for-cover, barely legal matches pulled together in one of Manila's cramped suburbs. He lingers over the names of boxers he knew who died after such fights, then moves on. The death of a friend reportedly spurred Pacquiao to turn professional.

His 1995 pro debut on a boxing show — which he won by decision — made him a local star. After that, energy alone seemed to carry him through six inconsistent years, a period in which he still managed to win two world titles in fights in Southeast Asia. Finally, a Cinderella-like twist got him noticed in the U.S. market. In June 2001, Pacquiao stepped in as a last-minute replacement at a fight in Las Vegas to win the IBF super-bantamweight title by TKO. Soon after, he walked into the Wild Card Gym in Hollywood and met the owner, Freddie Roach, who would transform the way Pacquiao fought. (See more about boxing.)

Roach makes a powerful impression when you meet him, because something is clearly wrong. His movements are a beat or two off-sync; the occasional phrase or sentence is interrupted by an abrupt pause, then a slurring. Roach, who is not yet 50, has Parkinson's disease, most likely the result of his own boxing career. But it has not stopped him from taking Pacquiao's energy and giving it strategy. Their partnership has created one of the most riveting fighters in boxing history. Roach seems prouder of Pacquiao than of almost any of his other famous trainees. He sometimes talks as if the fighter has already reached his peak. Manny, he says, "has nothing more to prove." He predicts a first-round knockout of Cotto but, even as people are already talking about the fight after that (Floyd Mayweather Jr. is the dream matchup), Roach says Pacquiao may have just two more fights in him and then ought to call it quits.

Pacquiao is certainly thinking of the day after boxing. In 2007 he ran for a congressional seat in General Santos City but was beaten by the incumbent, Darlene Antonino-Custodio, who hails from a wealthy family long rooted in the politics of the region. But he is almost sure to run again in the 2010 national elections, though not in the same district. (Pacquiao has his own political organization — the People's Champ Movement — but has been aligning himself with President Gloria Arroyo, who needs his popularity.) Most people say they'd rather he stay a boxer and win more accolades for the nation, that his need to help lift people up can be better served elsewhere. But politics as his second act may be a strategy born of a deeper survival instinct — from knowing the limitations of a boxer's life, particularly after the fighting is done. "'Di ako bobo," he might say.

You see, Manny Pacquiao is not the first famous boxer produced by General Santos City. The previous Filipino world champion, Rolando Navarrete, came from the same streets. Navarrete now lives in embittered obscurity on the city's outskirts, often falling afoul of the law. "Most boxers start with nothing and end up with nothing," says Pedro Acharon, the mayor of General Santos City. "Manny wants to end that story. He knows there's more to explore in life."

Will His Kingdom Come?
Pacquiao crosses himself before digging into dinner amid the Corinthian columns of Capitale, an old bank turned party space, just about where Chinatown starts in Manhattan. It is early June, and he is there to receive his second Fighter of the Year award from The Ring magazine. Even as old palookas cuss up a storm, he prays before his meal. His mother says he was always "very disciplined and God-fearing" — taking after her, of course. Her front garden features a coral-lined altar to the Virgin Mary, and an entire shelf in her living room is filled with icons and bric-a-brac in honor of Christ's mother. Dionisia wanted Manny to be a priest. Prayer reigns in his gym. "After each workout," says Giongco, "he requests a moment of silence where he prays, and then everything goes back to normal."

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Being a good Catholic is a plus for a would-be politician in the very pious Philippines. But so is knowing how to handle a constituency. Pacquiao doesn't have one so much as he has a royal court. Roach is famous enough to have his own table at the Capitale extravaganza. Beside Pacquiao sits his wife Jinkee. Filipino tabloids have published her purported ultimatums against Manny's "playboy" ways, but tonight she says only a couple of sentences and even those guardedly. She speaks mostly to the other man seated next to her, Mike Koncz, a Canadian who takes care of the little details that matter to Pacquiao and his wife. The fighter, for example, must have white rice with his meals (a hard habit to break for all Filipinos), so Koncz goes scampering for a plate of it. The slightly fusiony menu lists a side of wild rice with the entrée. That will not do for the Pacquiaos.

If Roach is the most popular foreigner in the Philippines, Koncz, who has become a gatekeeper for the Pacquiaos, is the most loathed. And not just by Filipinos. In mid-October, Alex Ariza, a Colombian boxer who is Pacquiao's fitness coach, fought with the Canadian. Koncz, says Ariza, "is so condescending, so passive-aggressive, and just doesn't care if he's being unreasonable. He crossed a line, and I just bitch-slapped him." Roach shrugs off Koncz's influence. "I'm the only one who can really talk to Manny," he says. Still, he says introducing Koncz to the Pacquiao team was "the worst f______ mistake of my life." For his part, Pacquiao tries to remain above the fray. (Read "Live Boxing at the Movies: Can It Beat the Chick Flicks?")

The fighter appears anxious as the evening wears on. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out sheets of paper — his acceptance speech, in English. While Pacquiao has no problem understanding English, which is widely used in the Philippines, he is much more comfortable speaking Tagalog, the national language, and Cebuano, the dialect he grew up with. But he is a hit with the New York City audience. All he really has to do is grin, and they are in his hands. A Filipino listening to the speech, however, senses the trouble Pacquiao will face if he decides to run for office in the Philippines. His English is heavily accented, sounding provincial to anyone used to the softly musical English of the entrenched upper classes of Manila. What would they think of someone who pronounces everything as eebreeting? Snobbery is the unvoiced rationale behind some of the opposition to Pacquiao's political ambitions: He's not really one of us.

Even one of his closest advisers isn't sure he's right for politics. Governor Chavit Singson, 68, of the province of Ilocos Sur, in the northern part of the archipelago, hangs out with Pacquiao all the time. He styles himself a kingmaker but is unclear whether Manny can be a king. "He is so humble," Singson says. "He's a simple person." Singson, however, may be a role model for Pacquiao. The governor amassed his fortune as a tobacco-plantation owner and travels in a private plane and in a bulletproof Hummer. He is an epitome of Philippine politics, where power grows out of barrels of patronage. Political reformers worry that that is the style Pacquiao has been learning during his decade of kingdom-building and distributing wealth to family friends and allies. Ramon Casiple, a prominent political analyst and reform advocate, says Filipinos know that model too well to want it from their hero. "They don't want him to run, to dirty himself and open himself to charges of corruption."

Manny's sister Isidra, however, says her brother is too strong-minded to be dissuaded from politics. "Whatever Manny does, we'll support," she says. During the huge floods in Manila in September, he took a motorcade from the mountain resort where he was training to help distribute relief to victims. "He wants to be giving service," his sister says. "He has big potential. He is caring, thoughtful and generous." Dionisia is quieter about her son's career after boxing. "I will support and pray for him," she says. But she worries. "There's a lot of trouble in politics." Can Manny Pacquiao continue to be the most loved man in the Philippines when he quits the ring and enters the cockpit of politics? That is going to be the fight of his life.

Catholics Burke, O'Malley Split Over Pro-Choice Politics - TIME

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by Amy Sullivan

The leaders of the Roman Catholic Church traditionally couch even the harshest disagreements in decorous, ecclesiastical language. But it didn't take a decoder ring to figure out what Rome-based Archbishop Raymond Burke meant in a late-September address when he charged Boston Cardinal Seán O'Malley with being under the influence of Satan, "the father of lies."

Burke's broadside at O'Malley was inspired by the Cardinal's decision to permit and preside over a funeral Mass for the late Senator Ted Kennedy. And it has set the Catholic world abuzz. Even more than protests over the University of Notre Dame's decision to invite President Barack Obama to speak, disputes over the Kennedy funeral have brought into the open an argument that has been roiling within American Catholicism. The debate nominally centers on the question of how to deal with politicians who support abortion rights. Burke and others who believe a Catholic's position on abortion trumps all other teachings have faced off against those who take a more holistic view of the faith. But at the core, the divide is over who decides what it means to be Catholic. (See pictures of Pope Benedict XVI visiting America.)

A Bull in a China Shop
It strikes no one as surprising that the 61-year-old Burke is at the center of the current fight. The former Archbishop of St. Louis made national headlines in 2004 when he became the first Catholic leader to say he would deny the Eucharist to Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry. He led an unsuccessful drive to bar Communion for politicians who support abortion rights. And as Election Day approached in 2004, Burke issued a warning to Catholics in the key swing state of Missouri that they should not present themselves for Communion if they voted for pro-choice candidates.

The Archbishop's outspoken comments did not go unnoticed in Rome. In June 2008, Burke was unexpectedly transferred to the Vatican. The move was widely interpreted as a way to put some distance between Burke and the political contest in the States. "It was not unrelated to issues of political timing," observes Mark Silk, a professor of religion at Trinity College.

Burke's new assignment came with an impressive title: Prefect of the Supreme Tribunal of the Apostolic Signatura — essentially chief justice of the Vatican's highest court. But the job, which involves hearing appeals of lower-canon-court rulings on issues like annulment requests, did not stop him from commenting on American politics. In January he charged that the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops was responsible for Obama's victory because it overwhelmingly approved a document suggesting that Catholics could consider issues besides abortion when deciding how to vote. The conference's in-house news service, he added, failed to highlight Obama's moral failings in its campaign coverage. And he called Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius, a pro-choice Catholic, a "source of deepest embarrassment to Catholics." (See the top 10 unfortunate political one-liners.)

Burke's confrontational approach doesn't always mesh with the more discreet diplomacy favored by his Italian colleagues. "He's seen as a bull in a china shop," says an American priest and longtime Rome resident. "I've seen Italian bishops roll their eyes."

In retrospect, it should have been obvious that the funeral plans for Kennedy would reignite a lingering dispute within the church. The question of whether the Senator should even be described as a Catholic because of his support for abortion rights and his checkered life history was hotly debated on Catholic blogs and religion websites like Beliefnet.com. Right-wing Catholics lobbied the Boston archdiocese to refuse the Kennedy family a church funeral. Robert Royal of the Faith & Reason Institute called O'Malley's decision to go ahead with the Mass a "grave scandal" on a par with the sexual-abuse crisis.

But it's one thing for partisans and bloggers to disparage a Mass for a dead Senator; it's quite another for a Vatican official to do so. Even some leading conservative Catholics may find they cannot support Burke's latest salvo. When told of the Archbishop's assertion that pro-choice Catholics should not be permitted funeral rites, Princeton professor Robert George was taken aback: "That's a very different, and obviously graver, claim than that with which I would have sympathy. I haven't heard before any bishop say that pro-abortion politicians should not be given a Catholic funeral."

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CardinalSeansBlog.org
Friends of O'Malley's say the cardinal was stunned by the criticism. The 65-year-old O'Malley is temperamentally Burke's opposite, a shy man who dislikes celebrity and shuns politics — a major reason he was appointed to the sensitive post in Boston. With his full beard and preference for wearing the brown robe of a Capuchin friar, the man who goes by "Cardinal Sean" is not easily identified as a Prince of the Church. When O'Malley received his red hat in 2006, he persuaded some friends to go out for a late-night snack in Rome after a long day of ceremonies. But he ran into some trouble when he tried to return to his quarters. The Vatican guards didn't believe that the casually attired man who smelled of pizza was a newly minted Cardinal.

Though he has presided over the difficult task of closing parishes and schools within the archdiocese, O'Malley is well liked in Boston and the broader Catholic community. He celebrated his inaugural Mass in Boston at a Spanish service, and he once joked that his scarlet Cardinal's robes would come in handy if Dick Cheney ever invited him to go hunting. O'Malley, however, should not be mistaken for a liberal member of the hierarchy. He is a conservative on matters of doctrine, and for the past few years, he has been the face of the church's opposition to Massachusetts' gay-marriage law. (See pictures of the gay-rights movement.)

But O'Malley did not hesitate to push back against the uproar that surrounded the Kennedy funeral. In a Sept. 2 post on CardinalSeansBlog.org — he is the only Cardinal with a blog — O'Malley wrote, "In the strongest terms I disagree" with those who believe Kennedy did not deserve a funeral Mass. "We will not change hearts by turning away from people in their time of need and when they are experiencing grief," he continued. "At times, even in the Church, zeal can lead people to issue harsh judgments and impute the worst motives to one another. These attitudes and practices do irreparable damage to the communion of the Church."

It was the first time a Cardinal had directly and publicly challenged the Burke position. O'Malley's statement was followed by another from Bishop Robert Morlino of Madison, Wis., who lamented that "the death of Senator Kennedy has called forth at least an apparent rejection of mercy on the part of not a few Catholics." It was inevitable that Burke would emerge to fire back. At a Sept. 18 dinner in Washington sponsored by the conservative media outlet Inside Catholic, Burke declared that "neither Holy Communion nor funeral rites should be administered to [pro-choice] politicians." The audience gave Burke a prolonged standing ovation. (See the top 10 Jesus films of all time.)

Silence from Rome
The American hierarchy has been divided before, most recently in the 1990s by Cardinal Joseph Bernardin's argument that abortion is not the only issue in the "seamless garment of life" that Catholics are called to promote. But the current debate, which is expected to surface again when the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) holds its general meeting later this month, is the bitterest yet. A minority faction of bishops had hoped Pope Benedict XVI would lead the way in punishing those who dissent from church teaching. His preference for avoiding the political fray has both frustrated them and emboldened them to act on their own.

The question now is whether the Vatican will move again to muzzle Burke. When he criticized Washington Archbishop Donald Wuerl last spring during a videotaped interview, he was forced to apologize less than 24 hours after the video aired. In early September, the bishop of Scranton, Pa. — a Burke protégé — abruptly resigned after a stormy tenure and was not reassigned. Veteran Vatican watchers took it as a sign that some Burkean antics — such as threatening to refuse Vice President Joe Biden Communion and disparaging the USCCB — would not be tolerated.

Rome has been silent about Burke's most recent public statements. In late September, O'Malley was named to the Pontifical Council for the Family, a minor and expected appointment, but also a reminder that the Boston Cardinal has friends in high places. "From the point of view of doctrine, Benedict has absolute firmness," says a Vatican insider. "But he does not want to see it play out in a confrontational way."

There are other signs that the word has gone forth, at least for now. In years past, the annual Red Mass held the Sunday before the U.S. Supreme Court's term opens has been so heavily steeped in pro-life rhetoric that Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg now declines to attend. This year's service, however, featured a homily by the new chair of the bishop's pro-life committee that included only the subtlest of references to abortion. More striking was the image of Biden taking Communion without incident.

— With reporting by Jeff Israely / Rome

Hillary Clinton After Mideast Trip: Diplomacy Success? - TIME

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It was Halloween night in Jerusalem, and Benjamin Netanyahu came dressed as a peacemaker. "We're prepared to start peace talks immediately," the notoriously reluctant Israeli Prime Minister proclaimed, with U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton standing at his side, poker-faced. "I think we should ... get on it and get with it."

It was a ploy, of course. The Palestinians were tangled up in themselves, yet again. They had elections looming, and their leader, Mahmoud Abbas, had to hang tough: he was demanding a total freeze to Israeli settlement-building on the West Bank — which was precisely what the Obama Administration had previously said it favored. Netanyahu was offering a partial freeze, not including new settlements in East Jerusalem, the desired capital of a future Palestinian state. This was a nonstarter for the Palestinians, but it had the holographic glow of a step forward. It was an "unprecedented" offer, Netanyahu trumpeted, with the joy of a chess master springing a trap.(See pictures from 60 years of Israel.)

It was a tough moment for Clinton, playing second fiddle at the Bibi-does-Gandhi show. President Barack Obama had softened his language on the settlements a few weeks earlier: instead of a total freeze, he had talked about Israeli "restraint" in settlement-building. And now Clinton seemed to cement the Administration's retreat, agreeing that Netanyahu's proposal was, indeed, "unprecedented," even though the U.S. still favored a total freeze. The most important thing, she added, was for the parties to get to the table as quickly as possible. The onus was back on the Palestinians — and the Palestinians quickly expressed outrage at the Obama Administration's retreat. Their Arab neighbors soon joined in, causing Clinton to backtrack two days later, telling reporters the Israeli plan "falls far short" of U.S. expectations, although she still insisted on calling it "unprecedented," which was neither diplomatic nor wise. (See pictures of Hillary Clinton behind the scenes.)

Suddenly the Obama Administration seemed wobbly on the Middle East; clearly, Clinton had been too bullish on Netanyahu's proposal (which had been negotiated over months with Middle East envoy George Mitchell and was seen, privately, by the Americans as real progress). But the Administration's mission was to get the parties into peace talks without preconditions. The Israelis were now in favor of talks. The Palestinians were setting preconditions. And Clinton had violated an essential rule of her job: boring is almost always better.(See pictures of former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright.)

Clinton's Three Qualities
For the past 40 years, the awkward Middle East press conference has helped define the job of Secretary of State. You go to Jerusalem or Ramallah; you stand there "guardedly optimistic" in public; in private, you try to move a comma, but the Israelis or Palestinians move a semicolon to block your comma. The result is almost always the same: gridlock. The breakthroughs, when they come, emanate from others. Walter Cronkite asks Anwar Sadat if he'd be willing to go to Jerusalem ... and Sadat, to everyone's surprise, says yes. The Israelis and Palestinians hold secret meetings in Oslo and reach what appears to be a breakthrough — they're talking! — which then becomes another dead end.

The job of Secretary of State is more thankless than glamorous; in some ways, the Department of State, a noble antique, is still trying to come to terms with the invention of the telephone. In an era when Twitter haiku-messaging rules, diplomacy moves at the speed, and requires the nuanced complexity, of literature. Power has drifted from State to the National Security Council and the Pentagon, especially in wartime. Only a few of Clinton's recent predecessors have distinguished themselves. Henry Kissinger, a National Security Adviser who belatedly became Secretary of State, was Richard Nixon's schizophrenic alter ego; George Shultz was a strong policy voice in the Reagan Administration; James Baker had clout because he was George H.W. Bush's best friend and a world-class dealmaker. Most of the others have been frustrated or forgettable. And yet this is Hillary Clinton we're talking about — the second most popular American in the world, an eternally compelling and supremely talented character, the subject of constant speculation, a walking headline. Her very presence in the job makes it crucial once more.

It is a cliché to say that by naming Clinton, Obama brought his most popular potential opponent into the tent. The conventional wisdom, too cynical by half, is that he thereby succeeded in neutering her, a theory bolstered by Clinton's reticence during her first nine months on the job, with special envoys like Mitchell and Richard Holbrooke doing the heavy lifting of diplomacy. But by naming Clinton, Obama also gave her great power, which cuts both ways: if she becomes dissatisfied with her role or the Administration's policies, she can become a torpedo aimed at the Oval Office. Colin Powell had similar power and a real gripe — the Iraq war — but never used it. Clinton has no such gripe, but as the Obama Administration settles in and policy differences begin to emerge among the key players, the Powell conundrum looms: How will Clinton choose to use her power? How will Obama react if and when she does?

Traditionally, the Secretary of State is judged on his or her ability to formulate policy, negotiate deals and manage the striped-pants bureaucracy. Clinton has no history as a global strategist, although her performance in the 2008 campaign indicates that she is a bit more conservative than the President, more the foreign policy realist than the Wilsonian idealist. It is also too early to judge her skill as a manager or negotiator — although her performance in Jerusalem indicates that she needs a few lessons in Middle East Haggling 101.

There are, however, three qualities that could make her a memorable Secretary of State. She brings a vision of departmental reform — the need to elevate foreign aid programs to the same status and rigorous scrutiny as diplomacy — that could change striped pants into chinos in the developing world. She is also the first elected politician to hold the office since Edmund Muskie briefly did during the Carter Administration, which has enabled her to better understand and interact with the politicians who run places like Afghanistan and Pakistan. But most important, she is an international celebrity with a much higher profile than any of her recent predecessors and the ability — second only to the President's — to change negative attitudes about the U.S. abroad.

She has the potential to become the most powerful public diplomat the U.S. has fielded in quite some time, although her performance so far, at home and abroad, has occasionally been perplexing. At home, she has often seemed tentative and deferential. In a conversation with Secretary of Defense Robert Gates aired by CNN in early October, Clinton's cautious formality took a backseat to Gates' brisk, humorous confidence on policy issues. Abroad, she seems far more confident, at times to the point of recklessness, as in Jerusalem. (See pictures of the last days of Hillary Clinton's presidential campaign.)

Independence and Candor

In the last week of October, Secretary Clinton moved squarely to the center of the world stage, attempting, at the behest of her special envoys, to improve the rocky alliance with Pakistan and nudge the Middle East pugilists into talks. In the course of the trip, there were the first stray wisps of a hint that Clinton wanted to begin asserting her independence, as the Administration, facing roadblocks across the world, struggled for a firmer foreign policy tone after an opening nine months that might be called the Rodney King — "Can't we all just get along?" — phase.

During her three days in Pakistan, she ran a gauntlet of town-hall meetings and media interviews that may have been unprecedented, to use the word of the week, for a U.S. Secretary of State. The trip, planned by Holbrooke and Pakistan specialist Vali Nasr, offered an unusually subtle itinerary for a U.S. diplomatic mission. A visit to a Sufi mosque that had been bombed by Sunni extremists, for example, sent a powerful message to Pakistan's moderate Islamic majority. "We saw her praying there," an academic named Shala Aziz told me, "and, for the first time, I'm thinking, The Americans have hearts."(See pictures of the suicide bombings in Islamabad.)

The big news was that Clinton allowed herself to be hammered with hostile questions from students, talk-show hosts and Pashtun elders — and that, on occasion, she pushed back, raising incredibly sensitive issues, like why no one in the Pakistani government knew where Osama bin Laden was, even though he had been in the country since 2002. Press accounts either emphasized the embarrassment of a Secretary of State's getting pummeled or fixed on Clinton's undiplomatic bluntness. But they missed the point: her candor, her willingness to listen to and acknowledge criticism, had begun to undermine the prevailing Pakistani image of the U.S. as arrogant and bossy, more interested in having the Pakistani military fight its war against al-Qaeda and the Taliban than in having a true strategic partnership. The contrast was especially sharp after George W. Bush's eight years of unqualified support for the military dictatorship of Pervez Musharraf. "In the past, when the Americans came, they would talk to the generals and go home," said Farahnaz Ispahani, a government spokeswoman and Member of Parliament. "Clinton's willingness to meet with everyone, hostile or not, has made a big impression — and because she's Hillary Clinton, with a real history of affinity for this country, it means so much more."

Transformative Experience
There are no toasts at state dinners in Pakistan, because there is no alcohol. There are opening statements, though, and Clinton's — delivered impromptu on the first night of her trip after tossing aside her notes — was surprisingly emotional. Earlier in the day, President Asif Ali Zardari, the widower of Benazir Bhutto, had presented the Secretary with an album of photos from her first visit to Pakistan, in 1995, and a framed photo of Bhutto and her two sons with Clinton and daughter Chelsea. "It did bring tears to my eyes," Clinton said at the state dinner in her honor at the presidential palace, "because I so admired your wife. She gave her life ..." She faltered then, choking up, but quickly pulled herself together, talking about the "reasons why we do what we do — to provide opportunities for all."

Clinton's first trip to Pakistan as First Lady in 1995 had been a transformative experience for her — the beginning, I believe, of the process that made her a plausible candidate for Secretary of State. I traveled with her on that trip; when we set off, she seemed depressed and even more private than usual. The Democrats had cratered in the 1994 congressional elections, and she had been trounced in her efforts to enact a universal health care plan. It was a very personal defeat; as Clinton traveled the country trying to sell the plan, crowds shouted her down and cursed her. Privately she admitted she was shocked by the hatred. The trip to South Asia seemed a bit of a vacation — it was Chelsea's spring break — but also a retreat to a more demure, First Lady–like role after two years as health care policy czar, although it proceeded in a decidedly wonky, Hillarian fashion. Jackie Kennedy had gone to India and famously ridden an elephant; Hillary Clinton traveled to five countries and packed her schedule with visits to NGOs.

"That was the greatest trip, just unbelievable," Clinton says now. We were sitting in her hotel suite the day after her Jerusalem gaffe, the Secretary in an electric-blue shift rather than her usual formal jacket and pants. She was wearing glasses and appeared rather freckly without her makeup. "I guess that trip has animated and informed everything I've done since," she said. She emerged from the trip reinvigorated, with a new mission. By the end of 1995, at the U.N. Conference on Women in Beijing, the First Lady had propounded a new Clinton Doctrine: "Women's rights are human rights."(See pictures of Beijing's changing skyline.)

Clinton is not an easy interview. She is preternaturally cautious, a consequence of her Methodist propriety and 20 years of insane public scrutiny. She does not like to talk about herself, but she did tell me one interesting story about Bhutto. When her husband was governor of Arkansas, she and Bill and Chelsea visited London and stood on the sidewalk outside Bhutto's hotel, waiting for the then Pakistani Prime Minister to arrive. "She was wearing a yellow embroidered shalwar kameez with a chiffon scarf. I was just a fan, standing on the sidewalk with everyone else. It was the only time I ever did anything like that," Clinton says.

When Clinton and Bhutto met formally, on the first day of the 1995 trip, they hit it off immediately, in part because Bhutto was also obsessed with the impact the Islamist tide was having on women and children. I remember asking Bhutto that day what the biggest change in her country had been over the past 25 years, and she said, "I used to be able to walk down the street wearing jeans, without a headscarf. Now I can't." When I asked her why, she said — bluntly — "The Saudis," who had been aggressively funding religious schools. Of course, Bhutto's acquiescence to, and participation in, the general corruption of the Pakistani government was part of the reason public schools were so inadequate and madrasahs became popular. (See pictures from the aftermath of Benazir Bhutto's assassination.)

Ironically, the rise of Sunni extremist groups like al-Qaeda has brought Clinton's interests — microfinance, education and health care — to the center of national-security policy for the first time. The impetus came not from the State Department but from the military, where counterinsurgency doctrine demanded that social services in war zones — schools, justice, economic development — reinforce the military's efforts to secure the population. As a result, there was immediate chemistry between Clinton and General David Petraeus, author of the Army's counterinsurgency manual, who became one of her prime military mentors when she served on the Senate Armed Services Committee. At one point, well before Obama made his presidential intentions known, I asked Petraeus if there was any potential Democratic candidate who understood how his mind worked, and he said, "You mean, aside from Hillary?"

It was Clinton who brought together Petraeus and Holbrooke ("my two alpha males," she calls them) for the first time — at her home in Washington on the Friday before the Obama Inauguration. The affection and respect she gained for the military while serving in the Senate has helped make the relationship between State and the Pentagon less fraught than usual — although Defense Secretary Gates' insistence on the need for bigger State Department budgets hasn't hurt. In fact, relations with the Pentagon have gone smoother, at times, than Clinton's relationship with the White House staff. Clinton was particularly irritated by the ridiculously strict vetting process that thwarted her favored candidate for USAID director, Paul Farmer, from getting the job. "It was all sorts of niggling things," says a Clinton adviser, "like, Farmer had at one point brought more than $10,000 in cash into Haiti. The money was for a needle-exchange program, but the amount was illegal."

Another of Clinton's military mentors, retired General Jack Keane, once told me, "I'm a Republican. I disagree with her about practically everything, but she'd make a hell of a Commander in Chief." There is a palpable toughness to the woman, a hard edge that contrasts with the President's instinctive impulse toward conciliation. One of the sharpest exchanges of the presidential campaign came when Obama accused Clinton of echoing the "bluster" of George W. Bush after she said the U.S. would be able to "obliterate" Iran if it used nuclear weapons against Israel. Clinton's edgier tone has been evident from the start of the Administration: she took a sharper position than the President on an Israeli settlement freeze by claiming, in May, that Obama wanted "to see a stop to settlements. Not some settlements, not outposts, not natural-growth exceptions." And then, in Jerusalem, her use of the word unprecedented seemed a rhetorical leap beyond the No Drama ground rules.(Read "Clinton's Collateral Damage.")

The White House was not entirely thrilled with either statement. But then the White House staff is several steps removed from a negotiating process. The Palestinians are weak and divided. The Israelis have been difficult, as always: whenever Mitchell raises East Jerusalem in talks with the Israeli Foreign Minister, the Israeli stands up and walks out of the room. Despite Netanyahu's momentary, tactical enthusiasm for peace talks, his Likud Party has always favored the de facto incorporation of Palestinian lands into the state of Israel.

Hillary's Choice
The tensions between the White House and State raise a fascinating question going forward. Obama and Clinton are in substantive agreement on the President's diplomacy-first philosophy and on most policy issues — although neither is willing to disclose the content of their private conversations — but style often predicts substance in foreign policy; neither Obama's gauziness nor Clinton's inconsistent bluntness overseas seems particularly solid. There is a growing perception that the Administration's policies have been thwarted across the board: Afghanistan is a mess, Iran seems ready to scuttle the nuclear negotiations, there's no progress in the Middle East, the Syrians and North Koreans remain recalcitrant, the Russians have been offered a freebie on missile defense, and the Chinese have been given a pass on human rights with no apparent quid pro quos.

The White House argues that some progress has been made: Iran is on the defensive, and North Korea has said it will return to the six-party talks. Clinton argues, correctly, about the need for "strategic patience." But the only thing Obama really has to show for his efforts so far is a Nobel Prize for Potential and — no small thing — the wisdom to have refrained from doing anything so wildly stupid as invading Iraq. The President has been willing to use military force — the Predator drones that have decimated al-Qaeda's leadership testify to his lack of squeamishness — but this Administration is supposed to be about the efficacy of using subtler expressions of U.S. power. That doesn't happen overnight, but for Obama's policies to be considered a success, it has to happen sooner or later, in a way that can be explained to the public.

There is also a growing sense that the President's inexperience is beginning to show — not in his overall policy, which represents the views of a broad, moderate national-security consensus ranging from Brent Scowcroft to John Kerry, but in his execution of the details. The Afghan strategy review has been too public and taken too long; the Middle East peace hunt has become a wild goose chase. A letter to Iran's Supreme Leader is a productive gesture only if it gets a response; if it doesn't, it seems weak and supplicatory. A call for the Israelis to freeze settlements is effective only if it is accompanied by the credible threat of a reduction in aid. "You can't be seen pushing countries around — demanding [that] Israel freeze settlements, demanding that Hamid Karzai reform his government — and not get results," says Leslie H. Gelb, author of Power Rules. "The leaders of these countries are tough, successful politicians, and they'll begin to take you less seriously." (See pictures of the 1979 revolution in Iran.)

Clinton is unwilling to acknowledge these problems, and her staff is loath to admit her occasional mistakes. Her praise for the President is fulsome, and aides say the relationship with Obama really — really — is strong. But there are also burblings and emanations from Clinton's staff and friends, Foggy Bottom body language, that suggest there is a need for the Administration to produce a second act after the Rodney King phase. And the White House is perplexed by the uncharacteristic lack of discipline indicated by Clinton's occasional overseas gaffes.

These tensions are well within the boundaries of normal, creative policymaking. There is absolutely no indication that the Secretary is frustrated to the point of jumping ship — or returning to politics as a candidate for governor of New York, as has been rumored. Quite the contrary, she seems intent on making history as Secretary of State. To do that, though, she will have to have the same authority at home as she has abroad. She will have to become the President's primary foreign policy voice. Over the first nine months of the Obama Administration, seven different Obama officials have spoken on the Sunday talk shows about foreign policy. Clinton has been on each of the Sunday shows once. "Either you have one person sending the foreign policy message, with the clear approval of the President," says a former Republican Secretary of State, "or there is no message."(See pictures from eight months of Obama diplomacy.)

Aides to Obama say they would like to see her on the Sunday shows more often. (Indeed, Clinton's staff acknowledged that she was asked to appear two additional times but was traveling and unable to do so.) Ultimately, though, television is a metaphor for the larger questions that need to be resolved: How much can these former rivals — both extremely guarded and private people — really trust each other; and, if not Clinton, who will emerge as the President's alter ego on foreign policy? At this point, the strongest member of Obama's national-security team is Gates — but he's a Republican and an unlikely spokesman or presidential confidant on anything beyond Pentagon issues. General Jim Jones has settled in as National Security Adviser, but he's not a political animal — and every President needs a close foreign policy adviser who understands the intersection of long-term strategy, politics and diplomatic chess.

Clinton's value to the Administration was clear in Pakistan. She wowed a public so skeptical that it had been questioning the $7.5 billion in purely economic and humanitarian aid the Administration had promised. "How much damage control have you been able to do on this trip?" asked Meher Bokhari, a television-news-show host, at the end of Clinton's meeting with Pakistani women. The Secretary seemed nonplussed by the bluntness of the question. "I don't know," she said. "I hope some."

Afterward, I asked Bokhari to answer her own question. "Well, this trip was long overdue," she said. "The Pakistani people really needed to talk to an American about our concerns — the strings attached to aid programs, the drone attacks, their history of support for the military dictatorship. And it needs to be followed up. But if you ask me about the damage control" — she paused, thinking it through — "I'd have to say a lot. She accomplished a lot." (See pictures of Clinton meeting Michelle Obama.)

In the end, though, Clinton's success will be determined by whether she can expand her role beyond public diplomat. She will have to become a more sure-handed negotiator and, most important, a trusted adviser to a President who knows where he wants to go in the world but hasn't quite figured out how to get there.

The Associated Press - Malaysia Muslim preacher charged in factional feud

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KUALA LUMPUR, Malaysia — Islamic authorities in Malaysia charged a popular Muslim scholar Wednesday with delivering an illegal lecture in what critics considered an attempt by conservative clerics to silence a leading moderate preacher.

Asri Zainul Abidin has cultivated strong support among young people in the Muslim-majority country for criticizing what he called overzealous efforts by Islamic officials to clamp down on immoral behavior.

The case against Asri indicates conservative Islamists are worried about threats to their influence from a younger generation of moderate clerics in Malaysia.

In recent years, clerics have faced criticism for issuing edicts that barred girls from behaving like tomboys and banned Muslims from participating in yoga, although neither was enforced. Earlier this year, an Islamic judge ordered a Muslim woman caned for drinking alcohol. The sentence is yet to be carried out.

Clerics say such practices violated Islam, but the hard-line edicts have hurt Malaysia's reputation as a modern and moderate Muslim-majority country.

Asri, 38, pleaded innocent in an Islamic Shariah court to the charge of conducting a religious lecture in central Selangor state Nov. 1 without authorization from the state's Islamic department. Asri, who remains free on bail ahead of a hearing scheduled for Jan. 5, faces a maximum prison sentence of two years or a fine if convicted.

The Islamic state agency defended its move after detaining Asri earlier this month, saying he had broken the law by not securing official permission to conduct religious talks.

However, Asri said he was a victim of "selective prosecution" because he has repeatedly said that Malaysia's senior clerics should not be obeyed blindly — despite their tremendous clout in dictating how Muslims should live.

Asri has triggered controversy by slamming Islamic authorities who conduct raids on hotel rooms to look for unmarried Muslim couples having sex. He has also defended the right of non-Muslims to use "Allah" as a translation for "God" in Bibles and other non-Muslim texts. Other Islamic officials have insisted the word "Allah" is exclusive to Islam.

The Malaysian Muslim Professionals' Forum criticized the prosecution of Asri and urged Islamic authorities to "respect the right to dissent and to uphold freedom of expression, and to argue based on wisdom and not on hearsay or personal attacks."

Pakistani Successes May Sway U.S. Troop Decision - NYTimes.com

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By SABRINA TAVERNISE and ERIC SCHMITT

SARAROGHA, Pakistan — This windswept, sand-colored town in the badlands of western Pakistan is empty now, cleared of the militants who once claimed it as their capital. But its main brick buildings, intact and thick with dust, tell not of an epic battle, but of sudden flight.

A month after the Pakistani military began its push into the Taliban stronghold of South Waziristan, militants appear to have been dispersed, not eliminated, with most simply fleeing. That recurring pattern illustrated the problems facing the Obama administration as it enters its final days of a decision on its strategy for Afghanistan.

Success in this region, in the remote mountains near the Afghan border, could have a direct bearing on how many more American troops are ultimately sent to Afghanistan, and how long they must stay.

Pakistan has shown increased willingness to tackle the problem, launching sweeping operations in the north and west of the country this year, but American officials are still urging it to do more, most recently in a letter from President Obama to Pakistan’s president, Asif Ali Zardari, over the weekend.

On Tuesday, the military escorted journalists on a tour of the area, where it closely restricts access, showing piles of things they had seized, including weapons, bombs, photos and even a long, curly wig. “It all started from here,” said Brig. Muhammed Shafiq, the commander here. “This is the most important town in South Waziristan.”

But lasting success has been elusive, tempered by an agile enemy that has moved easily from one part of the tribal areas to the next — and even deeper into Pakistan — virtually every time it has been challenged.

American analysts expressed surprise at the relatively light fighting and light Pakistani Army casualties — seven soldiers in five days in Sararogha — supporting their suspicions that the Taliban fighters from the local Mehsud tribe and the foreign fighters who are their allies, including a large contingent of Uzbeks, have headed north or deeper into the mountains. In comparison, 51 Americans were killed in eight days of fighting in Falluja, Iraq, in 2004.

“That’s what bothers me,” an American intelligence officer said. “Where are they?”

The Pakistani military says it has learned from past failures in a region where it lost hundreds in fighting before. It spent weeks bombing the area before its 30,000 troops entered. It struck alliances with neighboring tribes.

But the pending campaign was no secret, allowing time for local people and militants to escape, similar to what happens during American operations in Afghanistan.

“They are fleeing in all directions,” said a senior Pakistani security official, who did not want to be identified while discussing national security issues. “The Uzbeks are fleeing to Afghanistan and the north, and the Mehsuds are fleeing to any possible place they can think of.”

But there was some fighting, as destruction in Sararogha’s market area shows, and the fact that the military now occupies the area is something of a success, analysts say. American officials have expressed measured praise for the Pakistani operation so far.

“The Pakistani Army has done pretty well, and they have learned lessons from the Swat campaign, including the use of close-air support from their fighter jets,” said a senior American intelligence official, referring to the army’s first offensive this spring.

But big questions remain: How long will the military be able to hold the territory? And once they leave, will the militants simply come back?

“Are they really winning the people — this is the big question,” said Talat Masood, a military analyst and former general in Islamabad, the capital. “They have weakened the Taliban tactically, but have they really won the area if the people are not with them?”

Winning them over will not be easy. Waziristan’s largely Pashtun population has been abandoned by the military in the past, including in 2005, when, after a peace deal, a military commander called Baitullah Mehsud, the head of the Taliban, a “soldier of peace.” People who are from this area are still deeply skeptical of the army’s intentions.

“People want to know: how serious is the military this time?” said a military official who asked not to be named in order not to undermine the official position publicly.

The military argues that it is, saying that it has lost 70 soldiers in this operation so far, on top of more than 1,000 killed in the last several years of conflict.

Maj. Gen. Athar Abbas, principal spokesman for the Pakistan military, said that about 50 percent of the Mehsud territory is now under army control, including most major towns and roads, and that the military would soon begin to press into villages where militants were hiding.

Finding a reliable local partner will be difficult. The Taliban and Al Qaeda have ruled the impoverished area for so long that they have altered its social structure, killing hundreds of tribal elders and making it hard for the military to negotiate.

The alliances that the military has struck with neighboring tribal leaders, including Hafiz Gul Bahadur, may also prove problematic. The senior Pakistani security official said Mr. Bahadur was hosting the families of two top Pakistani Taliban leaders.

Some American officials also voiced concern that if and when the Pakistani Army crushes the Mehsuds, it will declare victory and cut more permanent peace deals with other Pakistani militant factions, rather than fighting and defeating them.

But the Pakistani military argues that as long as the other groups are not attacking the Pakistani Army or state, it would be foolish to draw them into the war, particularly because Pakistan is not confident the United States will be around much longer.

Mr. Masood explained the thinking: “You are 10,000 miles away and we are going to live with them, so how can we take on every crook who is hostile to you?”

And there is history to overcome. One Pakistani intelligence official pointed to the American abandonment of the region in 1989, after the Soviet Union left Afghanistan. “If they leave in haste, like they left in the past, we will be back to the bad old days,” the official said. “Our jihadis would head back to Afghanistan, reopen training camps, and it will be business as usual.”

Sabrina Tavernise reported from Sararogha, Pakistan, and Eric Schmitt from Washington. Ismail Khan contributed reporting from Peshawar, Pakistan.

Pakistani army shows off captured Taliban posts - washingtonpost.com

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'FOUNTAINHEAD OF TERRORISM'
Arsenal, signs of mini-state found

By Pamela Constable
Washington Post Foreign Service
Wednesday, November 18, 2009

SARAROGHA, PAKISTAN -- A toy car booby-trapped with explosives, chemistry textbooks and handwritten case files from a Taliban court were among the debris left behind by fleeing Islamist militants in this remote village in the conflicted tribal region of South Waziristan.

The now-deserted village, which was retaken by Pakistani army forces two weeks ago and visited by Western journalists on Tuesday for the first time since, had been a stronghold of Taliban forces for nearly five years. Army officials described its capture as a military and psychological milestone in their month-old operation to flush militants out of the region.

"This place was a fountainhead of terrorism. All government authority was expelled, and the Taliban leaders even had press conferences here," said Maj. Gen. Athar Abbas, a military spokesman, standing on the roof of a mosque that overlooked the rubble of a market, school and military fort that were destroyed in five days of heavy fighting.

Yet even though army officials said they had killed 180 Taliban fighters in Sararogha, bringing their reported enemy toll to more than 550 since the Waziristan operation began, they acknowledged that hundreds more had melted away into the vast desert scrub and craggy hills surrounding this outpost, testing the army's will to continue pursuing them.

The Obama administration has been pressing Pakistan to move more aggressively against Taliban forces, a message that national security adviser James L. Jones was reported to have carried to Pakistani officials during a visit last week. In particular, U.S. officials have urged the army to move into neighboring North Waziristan, where most fighters are thought to have fled.

But Pakistani officials have bristled at the suggestion. Foreign Minister Shah Mahmood Qureshi declared Monday that Pakistan "will not be prodded by outsiders" into conducting specific military operations. Although Pakistan and the United States cooperate closely in the war against Islamist terrorism, the partnership has been fraught with frustration and clashing strategic goals.

Public resentment against the United States has grown with persistent reports in the Pakistani media that Xe Services, the U.S. contractor formally known as Blackwater, is operating in Pakistan. The Pakistani Taliban blamed Xe on Monday for a series of bombings against civilians, including a car bombing that killed more than 100 civilians in a Peshawar market late last month. In an English-language statement posted on its Web site, the Taliban said that Pakistani and U.S. government charges that insurgents were responsible for the blast were part of a plot "to create hatred among the common people" against the Taliban.

Xe is thought to have two Defense Department contracts in Pakistan -- one to construct U.S. training centers for the Frontier Corps, the Pakistani government security force that operates in the border regions, and another to assist in operations at a Pakistani air base in Baluchistan from where the CIA has launched missile attacks from unmanned aircraft against insurgent targets.

Amid the signs of bilateral military frictions, army officials seemed eager Tuesday to portray the recent capture of Sararogha, and another longtime Taliban stronghold in the village of Laddha about 20 miles north, as proof that their Waziristan campaign is moving ahead successfully. The army flew a group of journalists to the region by helicopter.

Army officials said they had carried out a three-phase strategy this month to encircle the area, attack Sararogha by air and finally send in ground forces. They said they met fierce resistance from rocket attacks and artillery in the surrounding hills but finally prevailed after a five-day battle.

Once in Sararogha, they found ample evidence of a Taliban mini-state. A school had been turned into a militia training center and courthouse, with classes in how to manufacture improvised explosives and formal hearings on local disputes. Directives on Taliban letterhead, left scattered in empty rooms, ordered certain mullahs to be given weapons and decreed that no marriage dowry should cost more than $900.

Morale seemed high among the hundreds of soldiers stationed in the two villages. Many wore long beards, and some saluted visiting officers with the Muslim greeting "Salaam aleikum." But they took pains to distinguish their notion of faith from the violent credo of the Taliban.

Officials in both towns said the majority of Taliban forces in the area seemed to be Pakistani, although they said a few had been Uzbek. There was not a single civilian visible in either place, only a few stray donkeys grazing among the rubble of ruined mosques, shops and schools. Army officials said that the inhabitants had fled during or before the recent fighting, but that once the region is secure, they hope the government can attract civilians back with new roads and development projects.

Despite the gung-ho mood in the wake of these recent advances, military officials acknowledged that the Taliban was well organized, armed and equipped, and that the campaign against the group is far from won. They estimated that there are 5,000 to 8,000 active Taliban fighters in Waziristan, which means that only a fraction have been killed.

"I do not see an end to this war," Maj. Nasir Khan said. "They want to stretch our resources thin and lure us into difficult areas. We cannot take on these monsters everywhere at once, but they are terrorists, and we must keep on fighting them."

Afghan minister accused of taking bribe - washingtonpost.com

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$30 MILLION PAYMENT ALLEGED
Massive mining project awarded to Chinese firm

By Joshua Partlow
Washington Post Foreign Service
Wednesday, November 18, 2009

KABUL -- The Afghan minister of mines accepted a roughly $30 million bribe to award the country's largest development project to a Chinese mining firm, according to a U.S. official who is familiar with military intelligence reports.

The allegation, if proved true, would mark one of the most brazen examples of corruption yet disclosed in a country where the problem has become so pervasive that it is now at the heart of Obama administration doubts over Afghan President Hamid Karzai's reliability as a partner. The question of whether Karzai can address his government's graft and cronyism looms large as he prepares for his inauguration Thursday for a new term, and as President Obama completes a months-long strategy review that will define the future of U.S. involvement in Afghanistan after eight years of war.

Karzai is coming under intense international pressure to clear his cabinet of ministers who have reaped huge profits through bribery and kickback schemes. Although he announced a new anti-corruption unit this week, the president has been reluctant to fire scandal-tainted ministers in the past, and it is unclear whether he is ready to do so now. Meanwhile, Afghans' perceptions that they are ruled by a thieving class have weakened support for the government and bolstered sympathy for the Taliban insurgency.

In the case of the minister of mines, there is a "high degree of certainty," the U.S. official said, that the alleged payment to Mohammad Ibrahim Adel was made in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, within a month of December 2007, when the state-run China Metallurgical Group Corp. received the contract for a $2.9 billion project to extract copper from the Aynak deposit in Logar province. Aynak is considered one of the largest unexploited copper deposits in the world.

The selection of the Chinese firm, known as MCC, has angered some Afghan and American officials who worked on the bidding process with Adel. They say he was biased toward the company and did not give a fair hearing to the proposals of Western firms. But the issue has also gained urgency because the ministry is reviewing offers for another massive mining deal -- this time for an iron ore deposit west of Kabul known as Haji Gak -- for which MCC is the front-runner.

"This guy has done this already; we're in the same situation again," said the official, who spoke on the condition of anonymity.

In an interview, Adel denied repeatedly that he has received any bribes or illicit payments during his three-year-old tenure as minister and said that MCC won the contract after a fair review process. The Chinese company's investment -- including plans to build a railroad and a 400-megawatt power plant, and to make an $808 million bonus payment to the Afghan government -- far exceeded that of other firms, Adel said.

"I am responsible for the revenue and benefit of our people," Adel said. "All the time I'm following the law and the legislation for the benefit of the people."

The performance of the Mines Ministry under Adel typifies the weakness of Karzai's government. Afghanistan's wealth of mineral resources represents a potential bright spot in an otherwise feeble economy. Flush with copper, iron, marble, gold and gemstones, the mining sector could become a major source of revenue for the country.

But today, no major mines are functioning, and current and former U.S. and Afghan officials said incompetence and corruption have hindered the industry's development and frightened away potential investors.

"There is a pattern of improprieties that have gone on. We do know that the World Bank procedures, and the government of Afghanistan procedures, were badly breached repeatedly," said one former American adviser to the ministry. "There is every reason to believe there were probably gratuities exchanged."

Adel trained as a mining engineer in what was then the Soviet city of Leningrad, and his autocratic style has alienated current and former Afghan and American officials who have worked with him. It also has prompted widespread allegations that he or his deputies have received payments to award lucrative contracts to allies.

The first major contract of Adel's tenure was to privatize the Ghori cement factory, the country's only functioning cement plant, set in the limestone hills of Baghlan province in northern Afghanistan. The former mines minister, Mir Mohammad Sediq, said that Mahmoud Karzai, the head of the Afghan Investment Co. and the brother of the Afghan president, approached him, asking to take over the factory.

President Karzai replaced Sediq and installed Adel as minister in March 2006. Adel moved quickly on the cement proposal. A competitor for the project, the Aria Zamin company, said Adel used his influence to deny the firm a fair chance. The company's representative in the bidding, Nasir Khisrow Parsi, said that in the final days of the bidding process, Adel told him his company needed to present $25 million in cash to the ministry as a guaranty to show that the firm was serious.

"I told the minister, 'This violates the rules of the process. This is totally wrong,' " Parsi recalled. "In a country like Afghanistan, a person cannot carry even $100,000 from one place to another."

But Mahmoud Karzai's Afghan Investment Co. (AIC) came up with the money. The cash for the guaranty was carried in a cardboard box, flanked by gunmen, and placed on a desk in the ministry's headquarters in Kabul, officials said. One former deputy minister who witnessed the spectacle feared violence, but the deal went smoothly and AIC won the right to rehabilitate and expand the factory.

Adel defended the process but acknowledged that he has changed his procedures. "It was unusual. It was our first bidding," he said.

To Parsi, it was a blatant example of influence peddling in the ministry.

"They can do whatever they want," said Parsi, who now works in the geology department of the Mines Ministry. "The whole ministry is corrupt. No one is clean there. I don't see how this is going to end. Only God can stop this corruption."

Mahmoud Karzai could not be reached for comment. Adel said he exerted no influence over the ministry's decision. "If Mahmoud comes here, he has to sit there 30 minutes or one hour waiting for me," Adel said in his office.

The contract called for a massive increase in production -- from the 40,000 tons produced this year to 3 million tons -- by refurbishing the functioning plant, finishing construction on a second, adjacent factory, and building a third. But on a recent visit to the factory, the grounds were quiet and nearly abandoned. A manager blamed technical problems.

The work on the Aynak copper mine, in the high desert terrain of Logar province, has also gone slowly. The Chinese company has fallen about a year to 18 months behind schedule. The railroad project has not started. The company has complained about security threats from neighboring villages, despite an on-site force of more than 1,500 Afghan national policemen.

The deposit is estimated to hold enough copper to generate more than $200 million a year in government royalties, an amount equivalent to about a third of Afghanistan's budget last year, according to a report on the project by James R. Yeager, an American geologist who served as a ministry adviser.

Yeager's report criticized what he called a "murky and insufficient tender process" led by a "strong-willed minister unrelenting in his preference to see this award through with Asian partners." In ministry meetings to evaluate the bids, which included proposals from American and Canadian firms, Adel was a dominant force, several officials said.

"Anytime somebody brought up anything, he would squelch it," Yeager said in an interview. "We never really had any discussion."

Exit Plan Critical to Afghan Buildup - WSJ.com

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by Gerald Seib

Policy arguments in Washington sometimes take on an otherworldly feel -- and so it is with the public wrangling over Afghanistan policy.

Outside the walls of the Obama administration, the argument has been almost entirely about numbers: How many additional troops should be sent to Afghanistan? Should it be 10,000, 20,000 or 40,000? But inside the Obama administration, say those who actually have been involved, the debate has been much less about troop levels than commonly imagined. Instead, it has much more to do with ensuring that the American troop buildup, whatever its size, isn't open-ended.

Executive Washington Editor Gerald Seib explains what the Obama administration must now do to ensure that any America troop buildup is a prelude to Afghanistan taking over the security job itself.

The key for President Barack Obama, these people say, is having a plan that ensures the American presence is a prelude to, rather than a substitute for, Afghanistan taking over the security job itself. The goal is for American troops to reverse the rise of Taliban strength in the short term, buying time for Afghan President Hamid Karzai to build up security and police forces that can take over while American forces phase out.

The internal discussion, in short, is less about the size of the entrance ramp than the location of the exit ramp.

Seeing the debate this way helps decode what seem to be the riddles in the Obama administration's long pause for a policy review before deciding what steps to take next. President Obama, who has a plateful of other security issues to worry about as well, ordered a rethink because he feared the military plan for a buildup, whatever its other virtues, seemed open-ended.

This summer's Afghan presidential election, marred by evidence of corruption, threw a big wrench in the works because it suggested President Karzai wasn't taking steps to gain the legitimacy needed to take over his own security portfolio. (Monday's announcement that Mr. Karzai is forming an anticorruption unit, by contrast, shows he might be getting the message.)

And last week's much-publicized cables from Karl Eikenberry, the American ambassador to Afghanistan, which expressed skepticism about a troop buildup, were less a statement opposing more troops than a declaration of concern that if the U.S. does too much on the security front, President Karzai's interest in doing more for himself might atrophy.

The goal in the rethink, then, is to put in place a specific plan for an Afghan force buildup that moves directly parallel to a new American military push against the Taliban. And a crucial, but little-noticed, adjunct of that strategy requires making sure that next-door-neighbor Pakistan steps up the pressure on the Taliban and al Qaeda elements that use its territory as a safe haven for their operations in Afghanistan.

On that front, the problem is that Pakistan has great interest in clamping down on the Taliban factions that target the Pakistani government -- but relatively little interest in worrying about the Taliban elements that target Afghan's government next door. That needs to change, which is a big reason Gen. James Jones, President Obama's national security adviser, made a quiet trip to Pakistan over the weekend.

Constructing such a two-track Afghan policy -- American troops in while Afghan forces bulk up -- may sound easy, but in fact it is quite hard. It requires talking tough to President Karzai without alienating the very man who is the essential partner in the entire enterprise. (See related article, A20).

Indeed, the administration may well have over-done the bad-mouthing of Mr. Karzai, weakening the very Afghan leader it now must depend upon.

The strategy also faces a profound practical problem: Poor Afghanistan simply can't afford to sustain the kind of robust security force the administration desires. Years of American aid in the billions likely will be needed to pull off that feat.

But the most insidious problem is that setting hard timetables for a military withdrawal almost inevitably aids the enemy. Departure schedules, if known publicly, simply make it clear how long the bad guys must endure to simply outlast rather than defeat the Americans. That is why military leaders blanch at the thought of setting precise timetables.

So can the U.S. build up while also setting the stage for an eventual wind-down?

One who says yes is Brett McGurk, who served on the National Security Council staff of President George W. Bush and, until recently, President Obama. Mr. McGurk argues that success is possible because he helped pull off something very similar in Iraq.

In Iraq, the 2007 "surge" of U.S. forces unfolded alongside a painstaking process of negotiating a security agreement with the Iraqi government, laying out not just the role of American forces but a timetable for their withdrawal. "The surge is now called the surge," Mr. McGurk says. "But internally in Iraq, when we were talking about it, we called it the bridge" -- as in, the bridge to an Iraqi takeover.

There are, of course, huge differences between Iraq and Afghanistan, Mr. McGurk notes, the key one being that Iraq's government wanted American troops to phase out, while in Afghanistan "almost all the political actors want us to stay."

Still, in Iraq as in Afghanistan, the military trend lines at the outset of the surge were turning south and the leader the U.S. had to work with, Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, was seen as a weak reed on which to lean. That changed over about a year's time. Maybe, just maybe, Iraq showed it is possible to see an entrance and exit ramp at the same time.

Write to Gerald F. Seib at jerry.seib@wsj.com