Gen. David Petraeus, chief of U.S. Central Command, was on CNN Sunday, putting a happy face on events in Afghanistan. The confident and, by all appearances, competent Petraeus is good at this, frighteningly good; even as he spoke, two suicide bombs went off in Afghanistan, killing seven people, wounding 20. Undeterred, he told reporters that "al Qaeda is no longer operating in Afghanistan."
The CNN reporter said incredulously (and I paraphrase), "Zero al Qaeda?"
Petraeus did hedge a bit by saying that, well yes, "affiliated groups" have "enclaves and sanctuaries" in Afghanistan. But no al Qaeda.
If that's the case, then let's get the hell out of Afghanistan. After all, that was the stated goal and, as Fox News reported (I'm going to Hell—I agree with Fox News on something) "the original U.N.-mandated mission for coalition forces in Afghanistan has been accomplished."
But who really knows what's going on over there, anyway? The cultural gulf between Western reporters and troops on the one hand and the warlord-run, tribal-cursed Afghanistan on the other is too wide for any definitive statements like Petraeus's to be made. It also seems to willfully misrepresent the nature of al Qaeda. They don't issue membership badges, wear the same uniforms or have a special handshake; they shift and morph like beads of oil in a lava lamp. They come and go where they want, facilitated by the sieve-like border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. To wit: bin Laden and al-Zawahiri, al Qaeda's Frick and Frack have been at large since Sept. 11, 2001.
This isn't to say that al Qaeda hasn't suffered, as Petraeus said, "very significant losses" in recent months, and so has the wretched Taliban, whom the Pakistani military is now responsible for eliminating. And doesn't this thought help you sleep at night: The success of our war policy is dependent on the stability of the Pakistani government.
Events in the Middle East and Central Asia are confusing enough without having them spun one way or the other depending on who's the Commander in Chief. That's why I am recommending The Photographer: Into War-Torn Afghanistan with Doctors Without Borders (First Second Books), the best portrait of that region of the world I've ever seen (because my brother was in Afghanistan for two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in the 1970s, I've probably seen more than you might think). The book combines the photographs and travelogue of Didier Lefevre with the artwork of graphic novelist Emmanuel Guibert, the graphic design of Frederic Lemercier and even some lettering by rising star Marjane "Persepolis" Satrapi to produce a substantial piece of firsthand reportage worthy of Ernie Pyle or Jack London.
I don't believe there has ever been a book quite like The Photographer. The black and white photographs of the proud but war-weary Afghani people, dead or dying children, and brutally mistreated animals simply do not lie about the unimaginable amount that nation has suffered since the military coups of 1973 and 1974, the Soviet invasion of 1979 and subsequent occupation, the decade of civil war and five years of brutal Taliban rule. The U.S. intervention there in 2001 was the right thing to do. What could have turned into a triumphant slap in the face of terrorism, however, went to hell in a handbasket with the lie-riddled, pre-emptive invasion of Iraq, which may go down as the single biggest foreign policy blunder in American history.
At any rate, The Photographer will make you weep uncontrollably, laugh hysterically (yes, M*A*S*H-like gallows humor exists in all war zones) and empty your pockets to donate to the extraordinarily courageous Doctors Without Borders, which won the 1999 Nobel Peace Prize. If you are headed to New York any time soon, there's an exhibit of artwork and photographs from this triumphant book at the VII Gallery in Brooklyn, N.Y., 28 Jay St. (212-337-3130), until May 19.
