Jan 3, 2011

Doctors who prescribe oft-abused drugs face scrutiny

WASHINGTON - JULY 09:  Director of the White H...Image by Getty Images via @daylife
By Christian Davenport
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, January 1, 2011; 9:41 PM

Twice, the patient, a man in his mid-30s, said he lost his prescriptions for Valium and Percocet. Once, he said he was in a car accident that scattered his pills on the road. Another time, he said the medicine he was first prescribed was no good, so he "returned the pills." Another time, his wife called and said their house had been "searched by authorities" and the medicine had gone missing.

Each time, no matter the story, Peter S. Trent or Hampton J. Jackson Jr., doctors at the same orthopedic practice in Oxon Hill, refilled the prescription, according to the Maryland Board of Physicians. Over the course of 21/2 years, the doctors gave the patient 275 prescriptions, mostly for Percocet, a powerful, highly addictive painkiller.

Sometimes they wrote the patient more than one prescription for the drug on the same day. In a single month, they wrote him 11 prescriptions for Percocet, totaling 734 pills.

Jackson and Trent - who maintain that they did nothing wrong - are among a small group of doctors who were the top prescribers of tightly regulated drugs in their state Medicaid programs, according to a Washington Post analysis of state data.

Last year, Sen. Charles E. Grassley (R-Iowa) asked state regulators to provide lists of the top 10 Medicaid prescribers of eight drugs - some of which have high street value because of their popularity among abusers - in an effort to identify doctors who might be overprescribing pricey medicines at taxpayer expense.

The data he collected - which do not include prescriptions written outside of Medicaid - show that some doctors prescribe far more of the drugs than most of their peers. Grassley said the findings do not necessarily suggest "any illegal or wrongful behavior," because doctors on the lists may have a certain expertise or patient population that justifies their prescribing patterns.

But the findings "may also suggest overutilization or even health-care fraud," Grassley said. In one case, he noted, a Florida doctor wrote nearly 97,000 prescriptions for mental-health drugs over a 21-month period.

After receiving Grassley's data, The Post requested the same information from the District, Maryland and Virginia for other drugs - such as Percocet, Vicodin and Ritalin - that are prone to abuse.

The Post's analysis found not only that certain doctors routinely prescribe some medications far more than their peers, but also that some of them have a long history of sanctions by professional disciplinary boards for unethical and unprofessional behavior, including overprescribing medications to patients who may have been using them to get high instead of well.

The state boards that oversee medical misconduct say overprescribing is a huge problem that they take very seriously.

The top priority is to do "whatever you think is necessary to protect the public," said William Harp, executive director of the Virginia Board of Medicine. "I want us to be very objective and very fair to these doctors and the citizens they treat."

Regulators say they are caught between trying to keep doctors from prescribing drugs unnecessarily and satisfying doctors who say heavy-handed investigations discourage them from prescribing medication that patients need.

"We get heat from both sides," said C. Irving Pinder Jr., executive director of the Maryland Board of Physicians. "Pain-management doctors say we're taking them out of business, but we're only getting those that obviously cross the line."

Meanwhile, illicit use of prescription medicine has become the nation's "fastest-growing drug problem," according to R. Gil Kerlikowske, director of the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy. Between 1999 and 2005, unintentional deaths from prescription drug overdose more than doubled, to more than 22,000, according to a study funded by the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, making such overdoses the second-leading cause of unintentional death, after automobile accidents.

Part of the problem, Kerlikowske said, is that people do not see the drugs as dangerous, because they are legal and have a legitimate use. Many doctors are prescribing more of these highly addictive drugs without fully understanding how hooked people can become, he said.

Doctors "don't get very much, if any, training in dependence, in addiction, in pain management," he said.

The drugs driving the problem are opioid analgesics, which among teenagers are more popular than marijuana, according to a federal study from 2006. These drugs have been flowing out of retail pharmacies at a burgeoning rate. Prescriptions for two of the most common opioids, hydrocodone and oxycodone, jumped from 44 million in 1991 to 179 million in 2009, according to the National Institute on Drug Abuse.

"I don't think anyone believes that pain has increased that substantially in the country," Kerlikowske said.

The lists of doctors who write the most prescriptions include some who have gotten in trouble before for overprescribing and some who have been sanctioned by state medical boards for other offenses, including borrowing large sums of money from a patient, giving narcotics to a patient even after being warned that the patient was selling those drugs, and mistakenly prescribing a lethal dose of an antidepressant to an 11-year-old boy, who collapsed on a school trip to an amusement park and died. Patients in and out


Hampton Jackson - who also practices in the District - prescribed far more OxyContin and Roxicodone (two brand names for the narcotic painkiller oxycodone) than did the city's next most prolific Medicaid provider. He wrote 63 prescriptions in 2008 and 191 in 2009; the runner-up on the list wrote 27 in 2008 and 64 in 2009. But Jackson said his totals were relatively small given the number of patients he treats. He also said he rigorously monitors patients on heavy drugs for signs of abuse.

On an average day, he said, he sees 30 to 50 patients. On an extremely busy day, he said, he can see as many as 90 in nine hours. That caseload - 10 patients an hour - is possible, he said, because many are routine follow-ups and "because I have a big staff."

Jackson said many patients who are in pain are undermedicated. Doctors, fearing disciplinary actions from medical boards, are not prescribing the drugs people need, he said.

Even though he is on probation and his privileges at George Washington University Hospital have been revoked since 2004, Jackson said he will continue to practice medicine as he deems best. If that means treating people who require strong drugs, so be it.

"A lot of people say, 'I'm not getting in trouble with the board' and 'Get them out of my office.' That's not true to my oath and my desire to help my patients," he said. "I have all these patients because doctors won't treat them."

In 2004, the Maryland board sanctioned Jackson and Peter Trent, saying that they did not heed signs of a patient's abuse problem and failed to ensure that he was "not diverting these medications for non-therapeutic purposes or was stockpiling the medications for personal use."

Although the wording of the sanction sounded tough, it really was little more than "a slap on the wrist," Jackson said in an interview. The punishment did not prohibit him from seeing patients or prescribing medicine.

In fact, records show that in 2009, while Jackson's license was under probation, he was among Maryland's top prescribers of Roxicodone and of Vicodin, a painkiller that combines hydrocodone and acetaminophen. In addition, Jackson and Trent were first and second in the District, respectively, in the number of Percocet prescriptions written in the 12 months that ended Sept. 30, 2010. During that period, Jackson wrote 684 Percocet prescriptions and Trent wrote 223.

Both Jackson and Trent, who is no longer on probation, said in interviews that they did nothing wrong and were victims of an overly aggressive board.

"They were headhunting," Jackson said. "They were looking to show the public they were cracking down on drugs."

Asked to comment on his appearance on the District's most-prescribed list, Trent said, "They ought to give me an award." He said the number is not high given that he sees 100 patients a week.

Both doctors said that they use many techniques to treat patients but that medicine is often a key component. "If there's no other reasonable way to control the symptoms, then we are forced to use medications like OxyContin," Jackson said.

As for the patient for whom they wrote 275 prescriptions, both doctors said that they were working in different locations at the time and that neither knew the other was prescribing the same medication.

The patient "would come to me, then the next day he would go to the office in Silver Spring, and we wouldn't have the records in Silver Spring, so neither one of us knew he was getting medication from us simultaneously," Jackson said.

That case has led to a change in the doctors' practice. "We've tightened up," Trent said. "The answer now is no if they say they lost their prescription." 'Egregious' violations


Montgomery County police in 2000 found a woman fading in and out of consciousness in a house so squalid it would soon be condemned as unfit for human habitation. At the hospital, the patient, who had attempted suicide before, was found to be full of booze and the same type of medications that had been prescribed by Joel Cohen, who, as it turned out, was her fiance.

For more than a year, Cohen, then a psychiatrist in Bethesda, had been prescribing the woman medications such as hydrocodone and the anti-anxiety drug diazepam but failed to keep records, according to the Maryland Board of Physicians, which placed him on probation in 2001.

In February 2006, that probation was lifted. Five months later, Cohen was sanctioned again after what the board called a "dangerous failure to meet the standard of care" with a second patient, for whom he prescribed "large amounts of medications" despite her history of alcohol and prescription drug abuse. Cohen did this, according to the board, even while he "was aware that the patient was abusing prescription medications," including the stimulant Ritalin.

In 2008, according to the D.C. Board of Medicine, Cohen was the District's top prescriber under Medicaid of three antipsychotic medications: Seroquel, Abilify and Geodon.

In the 2006 sanction, the Maryland board said Cohen had committed "egregious boundary violations" with the patient, a victim of spousal abuse who had developed borderline personality disorder. He gave gifts to her children, allowed her to take his children on vacation and gave her real estate advice. He also let the patient, whom he had been treating for 21 years, shower at his office and prescribed Ritalin for her son without evaluating him.

Cohen admitted to the board that he had "mishandled the patient's case in many ways and had underestimated his own difficulties," according to the board's final order in the case.

In that second sanction, the board said Cohen's actions "were not a one-time, short-term lapse of judgment with one patient, but rather a longstanding, documented pattern of unethical behavior dating back to 1977."

Cohen's license in Maryland has expired, but he continues to practice at Community Connections, a clinic on Capitol Hill.

In a brief interview, he said he sees as many as 16 patients a day, many of whom are homeless and do not have insurance.

"I work with severely mentally ill people," he said. "I really don't want to go into all of this. This is a very tough place to work here. We have very sick people. I think that's enough said." Clear signs of misuse


One patient's fiancee asked the doctor to please stop prescribing so many medications. The patient was an alcoholic with a history of abusing narcotics and sedatives. Once, he overdosed, and now he was in a detox clinic. Still, the doctor did not stop prescribing, according to Maryland's Board of Physicians.

In fact, over the course of a decade, Daniel M. Howell, a family-care doctor in Waldorf, prescribed more drugs, in increasing doses, even when there were clear signs that the patient was abusing his medicine, the board found.

In 2008, Howell was among Maryland's top prescribers under Medicaid of OxyContin, Xanax and Percocet.

In an interview, Howell said he "followed national pain-management guidelines in the sense that we did random urine testing on anyone that we had any suspicion about." In one year, he said, his practice dropped 50 to 100 patients for abusing prescriptions.

Howell started seeing the alcoholic patient for "possible broken ribs" in 1994. By the next year, a CVS pharmacist called Howell to report that the patient had been getting multiple refills for several narcotics from different doctors in the area. But when the patient complained of kidney stones soon thereafter, Howell prescribed Percocet.

Initially, he prescribed 20 to 30 pills at a time, the board found. By 1997, it was 40, then 60. By 2000, he was prescribing the patient 100 pills every two weeks. Then Howell doubled the strength of the pills from 5 milligrams to 10. Once, he prescribed Percocet because the patient had a "headache - frontal." At one point, Howell prescribed 300 pills within 10 days, along with 90 tablets of OxyContin, to the same patient, an amount the board called "well above the safe limit." By 2003, the patient was taking eight to 14 Percocets a day.

In 2008, the board placed Howell on probation, requiring him to take a course on prescribing controlled substances. But he was allowed to continue seeing patients and writing prescriptions. A year later, he was charged again. This time, the pharmacies - and other doctors - were complaining.

"Three concerned area pharmacists," as they called themselves in a letter to the board, said Howell was prescribing excessive narcotics to patients who "appear to have questionable and/or documented history of overuse of pain medication."

A few months later, an emergency room doctor at St. Mary's Hospital in Southern Maryland complained that Howell's overprescribing was causing overdoses. One patient had ended up in the ER but then returned to Howell's office, where he "received another very large prescription for Percocet and Xanax," the board said. The patient was found unresponsive again and was taken to the ER a second time.

"I want you to note that none of the patients I was accused of mistreating in this fashion died," Howell told The Post. "The ER takes care of the moment. But what happens the next day, when they're shaking and sweating and sometimes having hallucinations? And there isn't any acute-withdrawal center in Southern Maryland. Do you let them go into acute withdrawal, which could lead them to street meds, which are less safe than a controlled commercial product?"

In October 2009, the board suspended Howell's license but immediately knocked the suspension down to probation on the condition that he not treat patients for chronic pain. The board also limited the amount of drugs Howell could prescribe and required that another doctor supervise him.

Howell said he has been fired from the practice where he worked because many top insurance companies dropped him after the sanctions. He said he hoped to return to practicing medicine soon.

"I just want to get back to serving people," he said. Hoarding medications


The Virginia Board of Medicine came down hard on Verna M. Lewis, a physical-medicine and rehabilitation doctor in Roanoke. Her license was suspended after she was convicted in 1999 of filing false tax returns and influencing a grand jury witness.

In 2002, the board found that she was taking unused medicine from the hospital where she worked and using it in her private practice. She also told patients to return unused prescriptions to her and then had her staff take patients' names off those bottles so she could reissue the medications to other patients, even though, as the board said, she had no authority to do so.

State police and health investigators searched her office and found hundreds of doses of drugs, including OxyContin, with no patient or pharmacy names on the labels. The board also said she removed from her office two patients' files that had been subpoenaed.

Lewis applied to have her license reinstated twice, and both times she was denied. Then, in 2004, after she completed 108 hours of continuing medical education, her license was restored with several conditions, including having to pass an exam given by the national Federation of State Medical Boards.

After she took the test, according to the Virginia medical board, Lewis faxed the officials a document purporting to prove that she had scored the minimum passing grade of 75. But when the federation faxed in her official score the next day, it showed that she had failed with a score of 74.

Lewis did not return calls seeking comment. She told the board that it had not found any "actual patient harm" and that she extensively studied pain management and had never been sued for malpractice.

Harp, the medical board's director, refused to address specific cases but said, "We take prescribing complaints very seriously."

In 2006, the board reinstated Lewis's license but ordered an unannounced inspection of her practice and records and required her to log the controlled substances she prescribed.

The year after that, she was granted a "full and unrestricted license." The letter reinstating her ends, "The board wishes you well in your future endeavors."

The year after that, in 2008, Lewis was among Virginia's top prescribers of OxyContin and Roxicodone under Medicaid.

Staff researchers Magda Jean-Louis and Julie Tate contributed to this report.
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A Critical Silence

Official presidential portrait of Barack Obama...Image via Wikipedia
JACKSON DIEHL
Monday, January 3, 2011; A15

In a speech to the U.N. General Assembly last September Barack Obama suggested that his administration's notoriously weak defense of human rights around the world would be invigorated. "We will call out those who suppress ideas and serve as a voice for those who are voiceless," he said. He went on to urge other democracies: "Don't stand idly by, don't be silent, when dissidents elsewhere are imprisoned and protestors are beaten."

Just over two months later, Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton visited Bahrain, an important Persian Gulf ally that hosts the U.S. Fifth Fleet. The emirate was in the midst of a major crackdown on its opposition. Two dozen dissidents, including intellectuals, clerics and a prominent blogger, had been rounded up, charged under anti-terrorism laws and allegedly tortured. A human rights group that had received U.S. funding was taken over by the government. Human Rights Watch had concluded that "what we are seeing in Bahrain these days is a return to full-blown authoritarianism."

Clinton's response? Extravagant and virtually unqualified praise for Bahrain's ruling al-Khalifa family. "I am very impressed by the progress that Bahrain is making on all fronts - economically, politically, socially," she declared as she opened a town hall meeting. Her paeans to Bahrain's "commitment to democracy" continued until a member of parliament managed to gain access to the microphone and asked for a response to the fact that "many people are arrested, lawyers and human rights activists."

Clinton's condescending reply was a pure apology for the regime. "It's easy to be focused internally and see the glass as half empty. I see the glass as half full," she said. "Yes, I mean people are arrested and people should have due process . . . but on the other hand the election was widely validated. . . . So you have to look at the entire picture."

So much for a fresh start on human rights. Clinton's Bahrain visit reflected what seems to be an intractable piece of the Obama administration's character: a deeply ingrained resistance to the notion that the United States should publicly shame authoritarian regimes or stand up for the dissidents they persecute.

Yes, Obama made a public statement the day an empty chair represented Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo at the Nobel peace prize ceremony, and both he and Clinton issued statements last week when Russia's best-known political prisoner, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, was convicted on blatantly trumped-up charges. But in all sorts of less prominent places and cases, the U.S. voice remains positively timid - or not heard at all.

After Egypt's terrible elections in November, in which ballot boxes were blatantly stuffed and the opposition brutally suppressed, the administration's commentary was limited to bland statements issued by "the office of the press secretary" at State and the spokesman of the National Security Council. Three weeks earlier, at a widely watched joint press conference in Washington with Egypt's foreign minister, Clinton made no mention of the elections, the crackdown or anything else related to human rights.

In Latin America, friends of the United States marvel at its passivity as Hugo Chavez and Daniel Ortega systematically crush civil society organizations and independent media. "I don't see a clear policy," Venezuelan opposition leader Leopoldo Lopez - a good example of the sort of dissident Obama promised to defend - told me.

When the administration touts its record it often focuses on the declarations it has engineered by multilateral forums, such as the U.N. Human Rights Council. The ideology behind this is that the United States is better off working through such bodies than acting on its own. The problem is that, in practice, this is not true. Set aside for the moment the fact that the U.N. council is dominated by human rights abusers who devote most of the agenda to condemnations of Israel. Who has heard what the council said about, say, the recent events in Belarus? The obvious answer: far fewer people than would have noticed if the same critique came from Obama or Clinton.

Back to Bahrain for a moment. The "entire picture" Clinton referred to is that virtually no one, outside the Bahraini royal family and the State Department, shared her judgment that the parliamentary election was "free and fair." The dissidents are still on trial; their defense lawyers resigned en masse last month because of the court's refusal to consider any of their motions.

Recently, Human Rights Watch spoke up again on behalf of Nabeel Rajab, the president of the Bahrain Center for Human Rights, who has been repeatedly harassed by security forces, prevented from traveling and called a terrorist by the state news agency.

Has the Obama administration spoken up for this relatively obscure and "voiceless" dissident? Of course not.
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Dec 31, 2010

Stanley Weiss - Articles in 2009 and 2010


Ending Our Isolation in Asia
December 3, 2010
  Myanmar Frozen in Time By Ethnic Rift
November 4, 2010
  Indonesia's Uncertain Dance
October 6, 2010
  A Match in Heaven
September 14, 2010
  Rowing Between Two Reefs
August 31, 2010
  India's Maoist Insurgency
July 9, 2010
  Can 'Pashtunistan' End the Af-Pak War?
June 2, 2010
  The danger of benign neglect
May 3, 2010
  Outside View: The United States, India and the
politics of benign neglect

April 28, 2010
  Will a King's Death Kill Democracy?
March 21, 2010
  A First Step Toward Democracy?
February 23, 2010
  Rivals and Partners
January 9-10, 2010
  A Civilian Surge for Afghanistan?
December 28, 2009
  Indonesia's Security Burden
September 4, 2009
  Water for Peace
July 14, 2009
  Help Us or Leave
May 29, 2009
  India: Wary on Obama
April 18, 2009
  A System That Works is Democratic Enough
April 10, 2009
  Focusing on the Wrong Election in Israel
February 25, 2009
  Only the U.S. Can Win the War on Drugs
February 25, 2009
  On Iran, Begin with the End in Mind
February 22, 2009
  Myanmar: Whom Do Sanctions Hurt?
February 20, 2009 
     

Sample Chapters from Cornell SEAP Essay Volumes

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Rice farming in Cambodia (BM)
  Browse sample chapters from SEAP essay volumes

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5       Previous 4 | Next 4


State of Authority: The State in Society in Indonesia
Gerry van Klinken and Joshua Barker, eds. 

Conflict, Violence, and Displacement in Indonesia
Eva-Lotta E. Hedman, ed. 
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IIAS Newsletter 55

Newsletter 55


Spring 2010
1 Cover
2 Contents
3 From the Director
The Study
4 Engaging North Korea after the Cheonan sinking Timothy S. Rich 
5 Working girls in Dhaka, between public and private space Anna Ensing
6 - 7 The effeminacy of male beauty in Korea Roald Maliangkay
8 Cigarette counterfeiting in the People’s Republic of China Georgios A. Antonopoulos, Anqi Shen & Klaus von Lampe
9 Negotiating with the Taliban: an Indian perspective Sanjeeb Mohanty
10 - 11 Three dreams or three nations? Rahaab Allana
12 - 13 Maulana Bhashani and the transition to secular politics in East Bengal Peter Custers
14 - 15 Moving portraits and interactive voices from the British Raj Annamaria Motrescu
16 Provincial globalisation: the impact of reverse transnational fl ows in India’s regional towns Anant Maringanti, Carol Upadhya & Mario Rutten
The Focus - Urbanisation in East Asia
17 - 18 Urbanisation in East Asia Gregory Bracken
19 Architectural iconicity: Malaysia’s Multimedia Super Corridor Leslie Sklair
20 - 21 The metropolis and the capital: Shanghai and Beijing as paradigms of space Jacob Dreyer
22 - 23 The state of cities in China Bogdan Stamoran
24 - 25 National economic reform and rural migration to China’s cities Ana Moya Pellitero
26 - 27 Constituting governance: the US Army in the Philippines, 1898-1920s Estela Duque
28 - 29 Leaping beyond nostalgia: Shanghai’s urban life ethnography Non Arkaraprasertkul
30 - 32 Writing the longtang way of life Lena Scheen
The Review
33 New For Review
34 Bookmarked
35 Cultural forms are like snow, crystal clear when hardened, opaque when soft Jeroen Groenewegen
36 - 37  The melancholy of Mocha Michael Pearson
38 Who is this ‘Indonesian Muslim’? Dick van der Meij
39 Race and multiculturalism in Malaysia and Singapore Holger Warnk
40 An extremely difficult position Nicholas Tarling
The Network
41 News
42 Opinion – East Asian art history reconsidered Anna GrassKamp
42 Response to review of The Russian Protocols of Zion in Japan Jacob Kovalio
43 A wave to surf on: ICAS Book Prize 2011 Paul van der Velde
44 Announcements
45 IIAS Research
46 IIAS Fellows
47 Colophon
The Portrait
48 ‘If it is beautiful, it will endure on every level’ The Asian Art Society in the Netherlands Rosalien van der Poel


Attachment  Size
iias_nl55_01.pdf  4.42 MB
iias_nl55_02.pdf  5.99 MB
iias_nl55_03.pdf  1.04 MB

Dec 30, 2010

New Look for Mecca: Gargantuan and Gaudy

A map of Mecca, circa 1790. Sura Al-Inshirah w...Image via Wikipedia
JIDDA, Saudi Arabia — It is an architectural absurdity. Just south of the Grand Mosque in Mecca, the Muslim world’s holiest site, a kitsch rendition of London’s Big Ben is nearing completion. Called the Royal Mecca Clock Tower, it will be one of the tallest buildings in the world, the centerpiece of a complex that is housing a gargantuan shopping mall, an 800-room hotel and a prayer hall for several thousand people. Its muscular form, an unabashed knockoff of the original, blown up to a grotesque scale, will be decorated with Arabic inscriptions and topped by a crescent-shape spire in what feels like a cynical nod to Islam’s architectural past. To make room for it, the Saudi government bulldozed an 18th-century Ottoman fortress and the hill it stood on.

The tower is just one of many construction projects in the very center of Mecca, from train lines to numerous luxury high-rises and hotels and a huge expansion of the Grand Mosque. The historic core of Mecca is being reshaped in ways that many here find appalling, sparking unusually heated criticism of the authoritarian Saudi government.

“It is the commercialization of the house of God,” said Sami Angawi, a Saudi architect who founded a research center that studies urban planning issues surrounding the hajj, or pilgrimage to Mecca, and has been one of the development’s most vocal critics. “The closer to the mosque, the more expensive the apartments. In the most expensive towers, you can pay millions” for a 25-year leasing agreement, he said. “If you can see the mosque, you pay triple.”

Saudi officials say that the construction boom — and the demolition that comes with it — is necessary to accommodate the ever-growing numbers of people who make the pilgrimage to Mecca, a figure that has risen to almost three million this past year. As a non-Muslim, I was not permitted to visit the city, but many Muslims I spoke to who know it well — including architects, preservationists and even some government officials — believe the real motive behind these plans is money: the desire to profit from some of the most valuable real estate in the world. And, they add, it has been facilitated by Saudi Arabia’s especially strict interpretation of Islam, which regards much history after the age of Muhammad, and the artifacts it produced, as corrupt, meaning that centuries-old buildings can be destroyed with impunity.

That mentality is dividing the holy city of Mecca — and the pilgrimage experience — along highly visible class lines, with the rich sealed inside exclusive air-conditioned high-rises encircling the Grand Mosque and the poor pushed increasingly to the periphery.

There was a time when the Saudi government’s architecture and urban planning efforts, especially around Mecca, did not seem so callous. In the 1970s, as the government was taking control of Aramco, the American conglomerate that managed the country’s oil fields, skyrocketing oil prices unleashed a wave of national modernization programs, including a large-scale effort to accommodate those performing the hajj.

The projects involved some of the world’s great architectural talents, many of whom were encouraged to experiment with a freedom they were not finding in the West, where postwar faith in Modernism was largely exhausted. The best of their works — modern yet sensitive to local environment and traditions — challenge the popular assumption that Modernist architecture, as practiced in the developing world, was nothing more than a crude expression of the West’s quest for cultural dominance.

These include the German architect Frei Otto’s remarkable tent cities from the late 1970s, made up of collapsible lightweight structures inspired by the traditions of nomadic Bedouin tribes and intended to accommodate hajj pilgrims without damaging the delicate ecology of the hills that surround the old city.

Fifty miles to the west, Skidmore, Owings & Merrill’s Hajj terminal at King Abdul Aziz International Airport is a similar expression of a form of modernity that can be sensitive to local traditions and environmental conditions without reverting to kitsch. A grid of more than 200 tentlike canopies supported on a system of steel cables and columns, it is divided into small open-air villages, where travelers can rest and pray in the shade before continuing their journey.

The current plans, by contrast, can read like historical parody. Along with the giant Big Ben, there are many other overscale developments — including a proposal for the planned expansion of the Grand Mosque that dwarfs the original complex — in various mock-Islamic styles.

But the Vegas-like aura of these projects can deflect attention from the real crime: the way the developments are deforming what by all accounts was a fairly diverse and unstratified city. The Mecca Clock Tower will be surrounded by a half-dozen luxury high-rises, each designed in a similar Westminster-meets-Wall Street style and sitting on a mall that is meant to evoke traditional souks. Built at various heights at the edge of the Grand Mosque’s courtyard, and fronted by big arched portes-cocheres, they form a postmodern pastiche that means to evoke the differences of a real city but will do little to mask the project’s mind-numbing homogeneity.

Like the luxury boxes that encircle most sports stadiums, the apartments will allow the wealthy to peer directly down at the main event from the comfort of their suites without having to mix with the ordinary rabble below.

At the same time, the scale of development has pushed middle-class and poor residents further and further from the city center. “I don’t know where they go,” Mr. Angawi said. “To the outskirts of Mecca, or they come to Jidda. Mecca is being cleansed of Meccans.”

The changes are likely to have as much of an effect on the spiritual character of the Grand Mosque as on Mecca’s urban fabric. Many people told me that the intensity of the experience of standing in the mosque’s courtyard has a lot to do with its relationship to the surrounding mountains. Most of these represent sacred sites in their own right and their looming presence imbues the space with a powerful sense of intimacy.

But that experience, too, is certain to be lessened with the addition of each new tower, which blots out another part of the view. Not that there will be much to look at: many hillsides will soon be marred by new rail lines, roads and tunnels, while others are being carved up to make room for still more towers.

“The irony is that developers argue that the more towers you build the more views you have,” said Faisal al-Mubarak, an urban planner who works at the ministry of tourism and antiquities. “But only rich people go inside these towers. They have the views.”

The issue is not just run-of-the-mill class conflict. The city’s makeover also reflects a split between those who champion turbocharged capitalism and those who think it should stop at the gates of Mecca, which they see as the embodiment of an Islamic ideal of egalitarianism.

“We don’t want to bring New York to Mecca,” Mr. Angawi said. “The hajj was always supposed to be a time when everyone is the same. There are no classes, no nationalities. It is the one place where we find balance. You are supposed to leave worldly things behind you.”

The government, however, seems unmoved by such sentiments. When I mentioned Mr. Angawi’s observations at the end of a long conversation with Prince Sultan, the minister of tourism and antiquities, he simply frowned. “When I am in Mecca and go around the kaaba, I don’t look up.”
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Dec 29, 2010

In India, a struggle for moderation as a young Muslim woman quietly battles extremism

A Muslim couple being wed alongside the Tungab...Image via Wikipedia
By Emily Wax
Washington Post Foreign Service
Tuesday, December 28, 2010; 12:00 AM

AHMEDABAD, INDIA -- Rubina Sandhi had settled in for a night of homework when panic swept through the narrow, congested alleys of her neighborhood.

It was Sept. 11, 2001. Television sets in the mosques, tea shops and market were beaming images of the World Trade Center engulfed in flames in New York. Five months later, Rubina's house was burning as Hindu mobs torched Muslim areas of her city, leaving thousands of people homeless. She remembers smoke hovering over Ahmedabad just as it had over New York.

With their few remaining possessions, Rubina's family members took refuge in a squalid relief camp and, several weeks later, moved into ramshackle housing on the edge of the city - where only Muslims lived and worked. "We felt like ghosts," recalled Rubina, who was then 12.

The rioting was among India's worst sectarian violence in decades, hardening divisions between the Hindu majority and the country's 140 million Muslims as hard-liners on both sides sought to exploit the tensions. Soon after the rioting, many young Muslims in Rubina's neighborhood started following stricter forms of Islam as imams fanned out into the region's poorest Muslim areas, some bringing with them Wahhabism, the fundamentalist form of Islam practiced in Saudi Arabia.

Some Indian Muslims even sought training in Pakistan to carry out acts of revenge in India, their version of violent jihad. For her part, Rubina chose a different struggle, determined to be a good Muslim and daughter as the community around her became more radicalized. She fought for the right to make decisions for herself, and she tried to find a way to voice her beliefs as a woman, as others around her were being silenced.

Her decisions would mirror those of many other young Muslim women in her city who entered adulthood in the aftermath of religious violence and the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. She would be asked to compromise her dreams, and her commitment to Islam would be questioned.

Ahmedabad, a 600-year-old city in the state of Gujarat, has long been a vibrant historical center where religions aspired to coexist. It was the headquarters for Mahatma Gandhi's ashram and his peaceful freedom struggle and is celebrated for its Indo-Islamic architecture. Of the city's 5 million people, 11 percent are Muslim.

Before the riots, many Muslims in Rubina's neighborhood celebrated Hindu traditions. Yet tensions between Hindus and Muslims here often rose to the surface.

The violence in 2002 erupted after 59 Hindus were burned to death on a train as they were returning home from a pilgrimage site. Muslim extremists were blamed for the blaze, but the cause of the fire remains in dispute. In 2004, a government-appointed panel ruled that the train fire was an accident and not caused by Muslims.

Soon after the anti-Muslim riots, extremist imams started to gain more clout. Among them was a firebrand televangelist named Zakir Naik, whose weekly sermons are broadcast from Mumbai and Saudi Arabia. Thousands of young Muslims have been drawn to his powerful slogans, including his declaration that to defend Islam, "every Muslim should be a terrorist."

This more conservative brand of Islam became more acceptable, and it seemed to empower Muslim men in India. But it had the opposite effect on Muslim women. The imams and mullahs warned young women to stay indoors, to forgo higher education and to become dutiful mothers of as many children as God would give them. The children, they said, would replace the Muslims killed during the riots.

"The Hindu mobs who attacked us called us all terrorists. Then the mullahs wanted to take away our freedoms," Rubina said, adding: "Everyone felt confused." A pervasive fear


Rubina's father, Mohammed Sandhi, had an eighth-grade education and a job selling incense sticks to Hindu temples. When he was a young boy, his grandparents had told him haunting stories about Muslim-Hindu tensions in the 1930s and rioting in the southern city of Hyderabad that forced the family to migrate to Ahmedabad.

Mohammed believed in the aspirations of a rising India. He had saved for years to move the family into a comfortable two-room home, and he hoped that his two children - Rubina and her older brother, Irfan - would be the first in their family to attend college.

But after the riots, Mohammed began to believe that his ambitions were naive, at least for Indian Muslims. "We thought that was the past, over, just our history. But after the 2002 riots, we worry every day that the violence could happen again," he said.

In the street just outside the family's housing complex, 69 people, mostly Muslims, were burned alive during the riots, the first and largest single massacre during the crisis, a federal investigation later found.

From there, fighting spread. Over the next two months, more than 200 mosques and hundreds of Muslim shrines were burned down, and 17 ancient Hindu temples were attacked, according to police and human rights workers.

Everything in Rubina's home was destroyed: childhood photographs, birth certificates, school records and land deeds.

The family left behind the charred ruins of their home for a relief camp, one of more than 100 that housed 150,000 Muslims after the riots.

The city slowly calmed, but acts of violence on both sides continued and people remained fearful.

Watching their parents weep, Rubina and Irfan grew angrier and more confused. "We never thought this could happen here," said Rubina's mother, Mumtaz Sandhi. "We thought we are Muslims. But we are also Indians." Silencing women's voices


After several weeks in the camps, Rubina's family settled in Juhapura, a poor area on the western outskirts of the city where many Muslims moved from Hindu-dominated localities.

The neighborhood has some middle-class areas but is largely poor, and activists have fought for basic government services, including paved roads, a sewage treatment system and garbage collection.

During her teenage years, Rubina started to notice that her brother, like many young Muslim men, was growing more observant of Islam, more conservative, introverted. They had always been close, and tragedy had strengthened their bond. But their paths began to diverge as Irfan sought comfort and sanctuary in the strictures of Islam.

Rubina, like other young Muslim women, feared she would lose her freedom under those strictures. She resisted calls from increasingly conservative imams to wear a traditional black garment that covers the body and sometimes the face.

In Gujarat, more and more women suddenly started dressing more conservatively, often as a show of Muslim pride but also to ward off sexual advances and potential sexual violence.

Rubina's mother began covering her hair, and Rubina said Irfan soon told her that he preferred to marry a woman who dressed conservatively.

Around this time, Rubina met a social worker named Jamila Khan at a meeting for Muslim women concerned about the living conditions in Juhapura and profiling of Muslim men as terrorists. But Khan also spoke out against Muslim leaders intent on reeling in Muslim women, curbing the liberties enshrined in India's secular constitution. She described herself as an "Islamic feminist."

"It doesn't matter what our women were wearing," Khan told Rubina and her friends. "What is important is still having a voice. Islamic rigidity is silencing our most dynamic Muslim female minds."

Many of Rubina's peers were giving up on having a career and were marrying and starting families earlier. Instead of going to college to study business or medicine, many were taking up courses at nearby mosques that taught them to be good Muslim wives.

But as Rubina entered young adulthood, she said, she became aware of the hypocrisy among many of the imams. Although they preached that Muslim women should be homemakers, they sent their daughters to private schools and universities in Britain, Canada and the United States.

During her first and only year at college, a Hindu extremist group circulating on campus began warning Hindus against having friendships or romantic relationships with Muslims. Rubina said some Hindu students started calling the places where Muslim students gathered "the Gaza Strip" or "Pakistan."

"But I am Indian, too," Rubina said she wanted to tell them. She felt ashamed. Betrayed. Silenced. Fighting for change


At home, religion had started to drive a wedge in Rubina's family. Irfan, when he talked to her at all, often chided her for not covering her hair. He wanted her to quit school and marry a man whose version of Islam was as strict as his. With her father's support, she refused.

"We don't really talk that much right now," Rubina said of her brother, who declined to be interviewed for this article.

Her father arranged for her to marry a moderate Muslim, a man who had a promising job as a hotel manager and to whom Rubina felt attracted. Still, his family insisted that she withdraw from college to start preparing for her nuptials. With her brother and father pushing for the marriage, she agreed.

She gave up her dreams of an English-language degree, a steppingstone for working-class Indians seeking better jobs in the country's booming call centers and outsourcing industries.

The trajectory of her life suddenly seemed predictable, she thought, from fiancee to wife to mother and, as is tradition in many Muslim families, caretaker of her husband's home and family. But she still refused to cover her hair.

Not long after she was engaged, 10 gunmen - young Muslims suspected to be part of a Pakistani jihadi group - crossed the Arabian Sea and came ashore in Mumbai, India's financial and cultural capital. During a three-day siege of the city, the assailants killed 166 people and injured scores - including Muslims - in part as retribution for atrocities in Gujarat, according to recordings of their cellphone conversations, which the Indian government later released.

It was a turning point for India's Muslim community. For the first time in anyone's memory, many Muslim leaders came together to express anger against Pakistan, where the attackers were said to have been trained. Muslims in Mumbai even refused to bury the gunmen, nine of whom died in the attacks. The backlash was also directed at extremists within the Muslim community.

"Many Muslims were very worried that we would be attacked after the siege of Mumbai," Rubina said. "We stayed at home, closed our shops. But after watching the Muslims of Mumbai protest in the streets, some here found the courage to protest against the terrorists and explain where we stood."

The anti-extremist movement spread to other Indian cities with large Muslim populations, including Ahmedabad. Rubina and other women in her neighborhood saw it as an opportunity to speak out against extremism at a time when fatwas, or religious decrees, against women were on the rise.

"Why do Muslim woman have to be so docile and submissive?" asked Khan, the social worker, who opened a chapter of a national Muslim women's group just down the street from Rubina's house. "Everyone is complaining about terrorists. This is the moment for Muslim women to speak up about our rights, too."

The women's group filed, and later won, a lawsuit against the city accusing it of failing to provide electricity, water, and sewage and trash services in Muslim communities.

Emboldened by that success, Rubina soon began studying health issues as part of a government campaign to help young mothers in the neighborhood care for sick children, offering health tips and medicine.

"Many families here still think it's not safe for a girl to be out in offices or on the roads," she said one recent day, braiding her long hair and loading her briefcase with notes about neighbors in need.

She walked past the mosque where her brother prayed. Nearby, children played hopscotch over open sewers clogged with plastic bags and crushed soda cans. She paused and tried to remember what her life had been like, how safe she had felt before the riots. Now 22, she wondered whether her life would have been different.

"Would we have a better life?" she asked. "Would Muslims have a better life?"

Just weeks ago, Rubina married the hotel manager. "My husband and his family will let me work. That is what's important," she said. "I don't want to sit home. There is a lot of work to do in the community. We are still recovering."

Her brother attended the wedding ceremony and praised her work as a health activist, one of the few times he has let on that he was proud of her.

Rubina glowed in a red sari, her hands stained with henna. She danced with the women in a midnight celebration at her home. And her father and brother danced in a nearby room.
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Dec 27, 2010

Cherokee, Apple partner to put language on iPhones

Oil on canvas painting of Sequoyah with a tabl...Image via Wikipedia
Sequoyah (BM)

By MURRAY EVANS
The Associated Press
Thursday, December 23, 2010; 4:26 PM

TAHLEQUAH, Okla. -- Nine-year-old Lauren Hummingbird wants a cell phone for Christmas - and not just any old phone, but an iPhone. Such a request normally would be met with skepticism by her father, Cherokee Nation employee Jamie Hummingbird.

He could dismiss the obvious reasons a kid might want an iPhone, except for this - he's a proud Cherokee and buying his daughter the phone just might help keep the tribe's language alive.

Nearly two centuries after a blacksmith named Sequoyah converted Cherokee into its own unique written form, the tribe has worked with Apple to develop Cherokee language software for the iPhone, iPod and - soon - the iPad. Computers used by students - including Lauren - at the tribe's language immersion school already allow them to type using Cherokee characters.

The goal, Cherokee Chief Chad Smith said, is to spread the use of the language among tech-savvy children in the digital age. Smith has been known to text students at the school using Cherokee, and teachers do the same, allowing students to continue using the language after school hours.

Lauren isn't the only Cherokee child pleading for an iPhone, "and that doesn't help my cause," Jamie Hummingbird joked, knowing he'll probably give in.

Tribal officials first contacted Apple about getting Cherokee on the iPhone three years ago. It seemed like a long shot, as the devices support only 50 of the thousands of languages worldwide, and none were American Indian tongues. But Apple's reputation for innovation gave the tribe hope.

After many discussions and a visit from Smith, the Cupertino, Calif.-based company surprised the tribe by coming through this fall.

"There are countries vying to get on these devices for languages, so we are pretty excited we were included," said Joseph Erb, who works in the Cherokee Nation's language technology division.

The Cherokee take particular pride in their past, including the alphabet, or syllabary, Sequoyah developed in 1821. In 1828, the tribe obtained a printing press and began publishing the Cherokee Phoenix, which the Cherokee claim was the nation's first bilingual newspaper. Copies circulated as far away as Europe, tribal officials say.

The Cherokee language thrived back then, but like other tribal tongues, it has become far less prevalent over the decades. Today only about 8,000 Cherokee speakers remain - a fraction of the tribe's 290,000 members - and most of those are 50 or older, Smith said.

Tribal leaders realized something must done to encourage younger generations to learn the language.

"What makes you a Cherokee if you don't have Cherokee thoughts?" asked Rita Bunch, superintendent of the tribe's Sequoyah Schools.

Tribal officials thus decided to develop the language immersion school, in which students would be taught multiple subjects in a Cherokee-only environment.

The Oklahoma school began in 2001 and now has 105 students in kindergarten through fifth grade. They work on Apple laptops already loaded with the Cherokee language - the Macintosh operating system has supported Cherokee since 2003 - and featuring a unique keypad overlay with Cherokee's 85 characters, each of which represent a different syllable.

But Erb and co-workers Jeff Edwards and Roy Boney knew there had to be more ways to tap into the younger generation's love of cell phones, iPods and the like.

"If you don't figure out a way to keep technology exciting and innovative for the language, kids have a choice when they get on a cell phone," Erb said.

"If it doesn't have Cherokee on it, they all speak English," he said. "They'll just give up their Cherokee ... because the cool technology is in English. So we had to figure out a way to make the cool technology in Cherokee."

Initially, the thought was to simply create an application so texting could be done in Cherokee. But that idea quickly grew.

Apple officials and their tribal counterparts spoke often during the give-and-take that followed. When prospects seemed bleak, Edwards said tribal officials "used our immersion school students to pull on heartstrings." And Smith, the chief, made the trip to northern California to speak with Apple's decision-makers.

Apple has a history of secrecy when it comes to its product releases, so tribal leaders didn't know for sure the company was going forward with the idea until just before the September release of Mac iOS 4.1.

Erb said the Apple devices that support Cherokee are most popular with students, but the technology is slowly gaining traction with older tribal members, especially those who might not like using computers but routinely use cell phones.

Apple spokeswoman Trudy Muller declined to answer questions about the company's work with the Cherokee, the costs involved, or whether Apple plans to collaborate with other tribes.

Tribal officials say Cherokee is so far the only American Indian language supported by Apple devices.

However, they're not the only indigenous people using technology to save their language. One of the languages supported in the Mac operating system is Hawaiian. And in 2003, the Hawaiian Language Digital Library project went online, making available more than 100,000 pages of searchable newspaper archives, books and other material in the language native to Hawaii.

Back in Tahlequah, Lauren Hummingbird just knows she wants an iPhone. Using the device to practice Cherokee at home would be easier "than getting this out of the bag," she said, pointing to her laptop. "You can just text."

That enthusiasm for using Cherokee-themed technology is what will help keep the tribe's language, and thus its culture, alive in generations to come, Smith said.

He compared the use of Cherokee on Apple devices to Sequoyah's creation of the syllabary and the tribe's purchase of the printing press.

He sees a day when tribal members routinely will read books and perform plays and operas in their native language.

"You always hear the cliche, 'History repeats itself.' This is one of those historic moments that people just don't comprehend what is happening," the chief said. "What this does is give us some hope that the language will be revitalized."
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Somalis are desperate for a new life, but refugees face a dangerous road

DADAAB, KENYA - AUGUST 19: Women wait to recei...Image by Getty Images via @daylife

By Sudarsan Raghavan
Washington Post Foreign Service
Sunday, December 26, 2010; 1:44 AM

GALKAYO, SOMALIA -- Deka Mohamed Idou sat under a tree, exhausted after a grueling six-day journey. She touched her belly, yearning for her unborn child to kick.

This is why she took the long, bumpy road out of Mogadishu: War. A missing husband and three missing children. A shattered house.

This is why she's here in this wind-swept no man's land between Somalia and Djibouti: Peace. Work. An education for her two other children. She can't see what awaits them. Perhaps sanctuary. Perhaps more suffering. But she's certain of one thing.

"I will deliver my baby in a place without gunfire," she said.

For Somalis, the road out of Mogadishu is a last resort. Those traveling on it have fled homes abruptly with terrified children, and crossed a wilderness of thieves, armed Islamists and marauding tribesmen. Many have been robbed, beaten, raped, even killed.

The situation in Mogadishu has become so bad that nearly 300,000 Somalis have made their way out this year, swelling the ranks of what is, after Iraq and Afghanistan, the third-largest refugee population from any country in the world. Most are women and children. The men who have survived have stayed behind to protect their homes, or they went ahead. Some have vanished in the chaos. Others are fighting.

The road, and the places along it, is the most visible evidence of a population still disintegrating, amid hopelessness and death, two decades after the collapse of Siad Barre's government plunged Somalia into an endless civil war.

Today, al-Shabab, a militia linked to al-Qaeda, controls large chunks of the Muslim country and seeks to overthrow the fragile U.S.-backed government. The militia's Taliban-like decrees and recruitment of children provide more reasons for Somalis to flee.

They travel north, often to places they have only imagined, arriving hungry and desperate. They join the hundreds of thousands who have fled since 1991, leaving behind a city that once had 2.5 million people.

Many remain too poor to flee. The ones with some means head for camps in Somali towns like Galkayo, Bossaso and Hargeisa, searching for peace and support. The ones with a few dollars more head for foreign lands - Djibouti, Yemen, Saudi Arabia - searching for a new life.

Those who succeed enter a world where they can be deported at any moment, where they are increasingly viewed as a security threat. Those who fail, and most do, are trapped in a humanitarian limbo, resigned to hardship, dependency and a broken life.

Or they die.

"They travel from one hell to another hell," said Ahmed Abdullahi, a U.N. refugee protection officer in Galkayo, 470 miles northwest of Mogadishu and often the first stop on the journey toward Djibouti and Yemen.

These are the stories of women who have taken this road, from the places they end up. Galkayo


Six miles north of Galkayo, in a place called Halabokhad, 473 families are stuck in a makeshift settlement. The landscape is hot, dusty, bleak as their lives.

They live in round, cramped tents made from clothing and straw. They become isolated, unable to afford transportation to town.

Local officials are in charge of the settlement, which is supported by the United Nations. But there is only one borehole for water. Food and medical care are also scarce. Bone-thin children have yellowish skin, a sign of malnutrition in a country where one of every seven children dies before age 5. Women deliver babies inside their tents, sometimes without help.

This is where Amina Aden arrived three months ago with her exhausted children and nothing else. Her neighborhood was engulfed by war. Her husband was killed in crossfire a day before they fled their home carrying only what they could. A few miles outside Mogadishu, masked men stopped their minibus filled with refugees. The youngest women were ordered out. Aden heard them scream while they were gang-raped.

The men returned, and Aden braced herself. Her eight children surrounded her, crying, tugging at her clothes. The men looked at them, then grabbed another woman. "My children saved me," Aden, 35, recalled with a feeble smile.

After the rapes, the men delivered one final blow: They robbed all the passengers of their meager possessions. "They even took our sandals," Aden said.

Her children, ages 3 to 15, do not attend school. For breakfast, they drink tea. For lunch, they eat a bland porridge. There is never any dinner.

"I cannot even buy milk powder for my baby," said her neighbor, Kaltoom Abdi Ali, 37. She, too, fled Mogadishu with her seven children after mortar shells crashed into her house two months ago. In the mayhem, she was separated from her husband.

"I don't know where he is," Ali said.

Her 14-year-old and 16-year-old sons work 14 hours a day, washing cars, cleaning houses or collecting garbage for local residents. On most days, they earn $1. "I want my children to have an education, but if we leave here, life could be worse," Ali said. "No one cares about us."

For the most part, help is limited. After two decades of conflict, famine and drought, the United Nations has had difficulty raising funds to assist Somalis, U.N. refugee officials say. There's donor fatigue and, in a post-9/11 world, nations are preoccupied with terrorism, security and other global crises. The United States, Somalia's main donor, has provided more than $185 million to Somalia's government and an African Union peacekeeping force, but withheld humanitarian funding this year, fearing that al-Shabab was siphoning off foreign aid.

More than 2 million Somalis have sought haven in U.N.-supported refugee camps in neighboring countries and in settlements in nearly every region of Somalia. The conflict has significantly blocked the ability of U.N. and humanitarian agencies to deliver aid to south and central Somalia, which are under al-Shabab's control.

Here, and in other settlements around Galkayo, women fear the night.

Two weeks ago, three masked gunmen entered Asha Muse's tent. In front of her four children, they beat her and her niece, Muna. The men tore the women's clothes off and took turns raping them for two hours. One attacker stabbed Muna in the thigh with a knife.

Another turned to Ali's son.

"If you make a sound, we will kill you," Muse recalled him saying.

Before they left, the men stole $85 and some clothes.

"Everybody rapes women. The soldiers, the militias, everybody," said Hawa Aden Mohammed, an activist who runs a women's shelter in Galkayo where victims of rape and other gender-based violence seek shelter.

Muse and her niece did not inform the police or aid workers. Muse has stopped collecting garbage, fearing her attackers will spot her. Her neighbors, who helplessly listened to their screams, look at her sympathetically.

"We can't go back to Mogadishu. We can't afford to leave here. We know we will get raped again," said Muse, her tears filling her eyes. "But there's nothing we can do." Bossaso


They arrive in this coastal town, filled with pirates and smugglers, with dreams of sailing to Yemen.

A few months ago, as the war edged closer to his house, Ali Osman Ado took his pregnant wife and five children out of Mogadishu. A trader, he had saved enough money to move them to Bossaso - $135 from Mogadishu - and to pay smugglers to take him to Yemen, then Saudi Arabia.

"He told me when I get there, I will find a better life. I will come for you and the children," recalled Hassina Abubaker, 30, two months pregnant at the time.

He didn't know that Yemeni authorities, fearing that al-Shabab militants could infiltrate and join al-Qaeda's Yemen branch, were cracking down on Somali refugees, his wife said. He didn't know that Saudi Arabia had sent more than 9,000 Somalis back to Mogadishu. He didn't know the smugglers would be ruthless.

Three days after he left, his friends called her from Yemen.

"The ship was overcrowded. The crew started to throw people off the boat to make it more stable," said Abubaker, staring listlessly at the dirt floor of her tent. "My husband was one of them."

Over the past three years, 1,066 migrants died or went missing - they were in boats that capsized or they were killed by smugglers, according to U.N. officials.

In another tent, Fatima Ali Omar held her baby. When he turns 1, she plans to go to Yemen because she heard they "treat refugees well." Eventually, she wants to be smuggled into Saudi Arabia to work as a maid. She knows that women have been raped along the way. She knows that many are forced into prostitution. She knows that if she complains, she will be deported.

"Nothing matters as long as I find a good life at the end of the journey," Omar said. "I will forget I was raped." Hargeisa


This is the capital of the Other Somalia, a place barely touched by war, where gunfire is seldom heard. Known as Somaliland, this region broke away from Somalia in 1991 and today has its own elected, functioning government. The streets are bustling; new construction rises from nearly every corner.

Fatima Ahmed Noor fled here from Mogadishu after al-Shabab tried to recruit two of her nine children, after the war drove her husband insane and he separated from the family.

She has found anything but peace. The clans that rule Somaliland look at her with suspicion and disdain because she is from southern Somalia, where al-Shabab rules. Somaliland considers itself an independent country; the world does not recognize it as such. Authorities treat Somalis like Noor as foreigners. She and her children live in a refugee settlement and have little access to health care, education or jobs.

"They say, 'When we get recognition, we will also recognize you. You are displaced from another country, so you have to be treated as a foreigner,' " Noor said. "Everyone from Mogadishu is in the same condition."

She and her children earn $3 a day washing clothes, if they are fortunate.

As she spoke to this reporter, a community leader came over and glared at Noor. "I want to listen to what you are saying," she said harshly. She is among those who hurl verbal insults at Noor and her children.

What makes Noor equal to the other women in the settlement is this: "Rape is very common here," Noor said. "There is no discrimination." Along the Djibouti border


Six days ago, Deka Mohamed Idou was in a different world. She had a house, a family. She had somehow survived 20 years of civil war in the capital.

Then, in a blur, her life fell apart. A clash between al-Shabab and the government forces erupted in her neighborhood. In the chaos, she was separated from her husband and three of their children. With their two other kids, she fled Mogadishu.

Along the way, she was robbed. She had to borrow $60, the cost of coming from Galkayo to this forlorn border. Two months pregnant, in a rattletrap minibus on a bumpy road, she constantly worried that she would lose her baby.

Now, on the edge of a foreign land, she worried as much about what she left behind as what lay ahead.

Idou looked down the road, at the Djiboutian border police, at the U.N. refugee workers preparing to register her, at the white gate that would open a new life for her family. Soon, they will be transported to Ali Addeh, a desert camp across the border in Djibouti.

"How will they treat us there?" Idou asked. Ali Addeh camp, Djibouti


A bazooka shell struck Aisha Mohammed Abdi's house in Mogadishu, killing her uncle. She fled the capital with her husband and five children. Two died of hunger along the way. Days later, they arrived in Djibouti.

"I dreamed of a better life," she recalled.

That was 20 years ago.

She still lives in this camp, hundreds of miles from the capital, on a barren, oatmeal-colored landscape ringed by tan mountains. The Somalis call it "Tora Bora" because the region resembles Afghanistan. This is where Djibouti's government, worried that newcomers would take jobs away from its citizens, sends Somali and Ethiopian refugees.

The U.N. rations of wheat flour, oil, lentils and sugar are not enough to feed Abdi's family. There is also a shortage of water. Every day, Abdi walks six miles to fetch wood. She sells most of it; the rest is for cooking and heating their tent. There is no electricity.

Rapists are here, too. Two policemen guard the camp of 14,000 refugees. Darkness is the rapists' accomplice.

"Women can't identify their abusers," said Ayan Mohammed, a Djiboutian social worker. "Everyone is afraid."

Abdi once dreamed of being resettled to another country. No longer. Only 64 Somalis left for the United States and other Western countries this year, less than half of 1 percent of the Somali refugees living in Djibouti.

She once dreamed of returning home. No longer.

"It is worse in Mogadishu now than when I left," she said.

Today, she no longer dreams.

"I have been a refugee for 20 years," said Abdi. "Whether I stay longer here or leave for another place, only God knows. But I have lost all hope."
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Dec 24, 2010

The Human Trafficking Problem in US-Malaysia Relations

by Pooja Terasha Stanslas

Asia Pacific Bulletin, No. 88

Publisher: Washington, D.C.: East-West Center in Washington
Publication Date: December 15, 2010
Binding: electronic
Pages: 2
Free Download: PDF

Abstract

The United States is Malaysia's largest trading partner, and US-Malaysia relations generally revolve around three main themes: economics, security, and Malaysian political modernization. Current events often have a role in highlighting particular aspects of these themes, which on occasion can give rise to contradictions in the bilateral relationship. The listing of Malaysia to Tier Three, the lowest rank, in the annual Trafficking in Persons (TIP) report by the US Department of State in its 2001, 2007 and 2009 publications is one such instance. In the 2009 report, Malaysia was one of seventeen countries cited in Tier Three, alongside North Korea and Myanmar. Pooja Terasha Stanslas discusses the problem of human trafficking in US-Malaysia relations, highlighting Malaysia's recent efforts to remedy the situation.
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Dec 18, 2010

Recent Human Rights Watch Studies